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matildashoney · 4 years ago

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𝙸 𝙵𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝙰𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎? // 𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙳𝚊𝚢

𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝚂 // 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 // 𝚃𝙰𝙶𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 // 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚁: 𝙱𝙸𝙿𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁, 𝙰𝙽𝚇𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚈

𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 @theharriediaries , @meetmymouth , @hunflowers 𝚊𝚗𝚍 @truckerhatharry 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚊-𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝚒'𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

Harry’s jaw nearly breaks from how hard he’s clenching his teeth together, right now, trying desperately to control his emotions, his hormones, and his voice while he and Caroline have at it, yet again. Harry believes it to be a miracle that they get along nearly a third of the time, the other two-thirds very much consisting of petty arguments like the one that they’re having, right now. Outbursts like these are common in the Styles-Ryan Household, especially since they’ve not been apart for three weeks and four days – not that she is counting at all – and Harry is driving Caroline insane. More insane than she already is, according to her.

Harry hates when she says that, and yet, she does, every single day.

“Harry, you’re unbelievable!” Caroline says, smacking her hands against her bare thighs like a child in a tantrum and walking towards the edge of the bed where Harry’s ankles are crossed, where he is laying comfortably against their headboard, and taking his feet and throwing his legs off the side of the bed. Harry lays dramatically on his side, refusing to stand. “Get out of bed, Harry! I’m not letting you miss your bachelor party. That’s final.”

“Oh, that’s final?” Harry mimics, breathing out a laugh and shaking his head, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Caroline through hooded lids, his nostrils flaring with his anger as she stands with his knees touching her thighs, her hands reaching for his and wiggling her fingers dramatically to try and grab his hands and pull him upright, at least. “Caroline, I don’t want to go, and you can’t make me. That’s what’s final.”

“God, you’re so difficult,” she huffs frustratedly, turning on her heel and walking towards their wardrobe, leaning over to take her platforms – that he loves on her body – and zip the backing on her heel. Clad in his favorite dress, she, along with their friends, have designed everything perfectly for the evening if he would just get up and get ready. Harry’s left Caroline with no choice, but to yank out the toxicity card – as Caroline likes to call it, Harry hates it, though. “Fine, Harry. If that’s what you want, stay home without me.”

“Hold on a second, Cal.” Harry narrows his eyes, knowing that Caroline isn’t quite finished. There’s no way she’s leaving the conversation alone this easily. Contrary to what she believes though, Harry would prefer not to argue about it, so he stands and walks over to her, kisses her cheek and smiles at her graciously. “Thank you.” Caroline looks at him with her pretty brown eyes and smiles, shrugging her shoulders and walking towards her vanity in the corner of the room, sitting on the bench and reaching for the tube of lipstick ready to be worn on her skin. “Are you still going, Callie? I thought–”

“Shakespeare, you’re the one having an issue. Obviously, it’s not me,” Caroline hums the interruption, shaking her head and patting the lipstick with her thumb to make sure that it’s perfectly marking her mouth. “Guess I’ll have to go by myself. Manic and all that. Ugh, that’s such a shame, too, isn’t it? Quite a shame that I have to go out, by myself, to a bar, with all our friends, and get drunk and dance without my fiancé because he’s being a baby about going out, tonight.”

“Callie,” Harry says warningly, shaking his head and gently squeezing her shoulder as he stands behind her in the mirror. “Quit it. Don’t say that when you know how it makes me feel. Cross that boundary and we’ll have a bigger argument on our hands.”

“Ugh!” Caroline groans and knocks her head against her neck dramatically, running her fingers through her hair and letting the curls cascade down her back, the singular braid where her part meets her scalp adding what she likes to call ‘character’ to her look for the evening. “Harry, I’m only saying these things because they’re true. Technically, the mania cycle has started. Technically, you’re being a child about going out. Technically, I’ll have to go and get drunk by myself because you won’t come with me. All the things I’ve said are true, whether you’d like to admit it or not.”

Harry knows that Caroline’s right, which infuriates him even more so. Caroline is right – as much as he hates to admit it – simply because of the fact that their argument technically began while in the shower together when Harry said that he wouldn’t be going out, tonight. Harry refused to discuss it further when Caroline stepped out and wrapped herself in her robe – the one that she loves so dearly that he bought her for the holidays – and she looked at him with wide eyes, as though he had grown three heads in the midst of their conversation. Caroline, technically, is right, but that doesn’t mean that the manipulation of saying things to get under Harry’s skin is any more right or just.

“Cal, you’re saying these things to get under my skin,” Harry says affirmatively, as though he knows without a shadow of a doubt – which he does – and his eyes narrow at Caroline in the mirror. “That’s not right. Tell me, what would Kate say if you said you were going out, tonight.”

“Kate agreed that it would be good for us to see somewhere other than the eight walls we see every day between the bookstore and our apartment.”

Of course, Kate said that, Harry wants to say. Kate doesn’t see you every day, she doesn’t know how scary it was to find you that day. Of course, Kate thinks it’s better for you to go out and not stay where you’re safe with me.

“Harry, I know that I’m safe when I’m with you,” Caroline says, dragging Harry out of his thoughts and into reality. “That’s why I’d like you to come, if for no other reason than to make sure I stay safe. ‘Course, you can mope and whine and complain the entire time, if you’d like, but I would like to have you there. Bachelor and Bachelorette parties are something we can only do once. That’s not something we get to have back.” Caroline looks at Harry and narrows her eyes before saying, “’Cause obviously you can’t divorce me, so you’ll only get one.”

“Can it, Callie.” Caroline laughs at that. Harry would never think about divorcing Caroline, especially not after everything they’ve been through, so the comment alone is always enough to annoy him, and she knows it. That’s the perk of being in love with someone that’s neurotypical, she would say, their things that annoy them are always the same, whereas she is something different every day. “Fine, fine. I’ll come. I’m not happy about it, though.”

Caroline kisses Harry’s cheek and frowns when a lipstick stain is left on his skin, her thumb rubbing at the maroon tint gently and then squeezing his shoulders in a hug. Harry’s arms immediately wrap around her waist and he’s nearly cleared of his annoyance, enough to smack her backside – all in good nature – playfully and let out a laugh. Caroline squeaks and pinches his hip, earning a perfect smile from Harry and a shine of his dimpled cheeks. “Get dressed and let’s go. Today’s the one day I’d rather not be late.”

* *

Harry’s hand is tight in Caroline’s as they walk towards the front door, the light outside flickering on and a bustle of commotion coming from the inside of the townhouse. There are at least three or four cars that are not Niall and Liv’s stacked in the driveway, all huddled close together to try and prevent parking on the street. Caroline squeezes Harry’s hand, and she smiles at him softly, kissing his cheek once more – without any tint of her lipstick left behind, this time – and knocks on the front door, waiting for either Niall or Liv to answer. Caroline smirks when Harry squeezes her hand back, wrapping their arms around her shoulder and bringing her into his chest and kissing her head lightly, comfortingly, and she knows that he’s no longer angry with her.

Niall’s townhouse apartment is only a few blocks south of where Harry and Caroline made a home. Liv and Niall can afford a bigger place, with Niall working at the publishing house and Liv working at one of the biggest magazines in the city, and it’s nice. Harry is happy for his friends, his best friends, and yet still feels the twinge of jealousy that he can’t give more to his fiancée than his best friend can give to his girlfriend. Harry’s guttural reaction is to feel this jealousy, this hindrance to his pride, his ego, and there’s something about it that makes him feel ill. Caroline would remind him that she loves their little hole in the wall, as she calls it, their little safe space. Callie and I will have more someday, someday soon, Harry reminds himself, shaking his head and tucking his nose in Caroline’s hair as they wait for the door to swing open and their friends to greet their arrival.

Naturally, Caroline and Harry are late. They’re always late.

“Callie!” Niall shouts from the foyer when the door swings open and his arms wide open for a gracious introductory hug. “Harry, long time no see, mate! Callie hasn’t been able to drag you out of the house in a month!”

Niall must be drunk already, Harry assumes, shaking his head and laughing as he steps inside the house and hugs his best friend tightly. Although, Niall is right; it’s been nearly a month since Harry has seen anyone but Caroline and the two other workers at the bookstore beneath their apartment. Harry hasn’t wanted to see anyone, to face reality. Living in a bubble of distance has been nice for a while, but Caroline is surely getting tired of it. “Things have been tough! Leave me alone!”

Niall looks side to side, as though to make sure that Caroline is gone and their privacy is ensured. Caroline’s voice is travelling through the tiny walkway into the kitchen, Liv already chatting with her about things that make no sense to Niall and Harry and Mitch joining in their conversation. “Is Callie okay? Only go into hiding like that when Cal isn’t doing so great.”

Harry sighs, pulling his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, nodding cautiously, peering around the corner to get a glimpse of what his fiancée is doing and smiling slightly to himself at the sight of her, smiling and giggling with their friends and enjoying her time out already. Maybe this is good for her, for us. “Callie wasn’t doing great for a while. I wanted to stay home, where I could keep an eye on her and keep her safe. Things were scary, there, for a while, and you know what? Despite every single time I’ve tried to deny it, I can’t, I can’t be without her. She’s my everything. I have to do what I have to do to keep her safe and happy and healthy.”

“We know, Harry.” Niall smiles, and Harry knows it’s a pitying smile, but it’s a smile, nonetheless – a smile that Harry hasn’t seen in nearly a month that he’s missed dearly. “Come on, before Mitch thinks we’ve lost our shit, out here.”

“There’s the man of the hour!” Mitch calls from the barstool next to Liv, immediately grabbing Harry’s attention and bringing a genuine smile to his features. Harry realizes, then, that he hasn’t smiled once since they arrived nearly ten minutes ago.

“There you are!” Caroline smiles, nearly jumping into Harry’s chest and slinging her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek and smiling brightly at him.

Harry swears he hasn’t seen her this happy in months, likely since their engagement six months ago, and he’s beginning to think that keeping her away from their friends might’ve been more harmful than beneficial in her recovery. Guilt is always on Harry’s brain, lately.

Caroline leans onto her toes and grabs his cheeks to ensure his attention, her sweet, honey eyes making his heart speed up in his chest. “You know, I was beginning to think you left me and went home, Shakespeare.”

“Never,” Harry smiles softly, leaning towards her and pecking her lips, smirking when a slight blush creeps onto her cheeks. He kisses her temple and wraps his arm around her waist, settling at the curve of her hip. “Can’t get rid of me that quickly. Can’t get rid of me at all, but especially not when you’ve promised me a night of dancing and drinking.”

Caroline raises her eyebrows suggestively. “At all? That’s a staggering promise when the divorce rate for significant others where one partner has bipolar disorder is nearly one hundred percent.”

Of course, Caroline would know that, Harry says to himself, rolling his eyes and patting her backside playfully. “Cal, since you know this fact off the top of your head, I’m assuming you also know that there is a ten percent part of that statistic for partners that don’t get divorced, which will be you and myself, as far as I’m concerned. Honestly, I’m not all that concerned.”

Caroline’s lack of response, at first, makes Harry chuckle. Her eyes narrow slightly, and her lips turn into a devilish smirk and she leans onto her toes to whisper, “Confidence looks good on you, Harry,” she says, kissing his jaw and reaching around his back for her drink on the counter, a condensation ring wetting the rim of the glass. “Find it very sexy.”

Harry shakes his head and shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the way her hand has shifted slightly to lay on the curve of his back and his trousers feel slightly tighter. Caroline knows what she’s doing, she always does. “Cut it out, Caroline. Our friends are around.” Caroline shrugs her shoulders and giggles, the quiet laugh that makes his heart swell in his chest and feel loved by her. Her hand squeezes his waist before taking a sip of her drink and she looks at her best friend, as if they’ve already talked about how to get him to loosen the reigns a bit. “Okay, okay, you’ve got me out of the house, finally. Anyone care to tell me what we’re doing tonight?”

Clapping a hand onto Harry’s shoulder, Niall grins smugly and says, “Mate, we’re taking you out and getting you absolutely plastered.”

“Wonderful,” Harry says dryly, a breathy laugh passing through his lips and his eyes trading from the drink shoved into his hand – tequila, no doubt – to his fiancée, who is already getting clingy with her best friend and talking about how much she’s missed her. “Haven’t seen you all in almost a month and there are no stories to tell? I’d hate to say that I’m almost insulted.”

Mitch scoffs and shakes his head, “One month without you around, barely talking to us, and you think there are no stories to tell? I didn’t fly out from California to not have stories to tell.” Niall nods his head towards Mitch in agreement. “Haven’t you got some stories to tell? It’s been nearly a month without you talking to anyone, H.”

“Oh, surely,” Harry smirks sarcastically, clicking his tongue and taking a sharp breath in, “the adventures of running six bookstores across the country and getting to love this one, right here.” Harry smiles brightly at Caroline and her cheeks flush with a twinge of red that glimmers beneath the crème on her skin. “Always an adventure and worth a story.”

Mitch rolls his eyes. “Look, H, we all know you’re in love and everything, but fuck’s sake, tone it down a bit.” Mitch’s girlfriend is going to meet the group at the very first bar they’re attending, insisting on giving the friends time alone for a while before embarking on the hellish evening that would be their joint celebrations. “Think we should head out soon? Sarah is meeting us at the restaurant at eight. If I’m not mistaken, there are some others meeting us there, too.”

Caroline looks to Harry with confusion, only to see him shrug his shoulders and stare equally as confused. Maybe it’s your cousin, Molly, Harry wants to say, but he doesn’t want to get Caroline’s hopes too high before anything is revealed, and he certainly doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, if that’s it. That would make their friends very angry with him. Rightfully so.

“God, imagine if it was Molly. Could you imagine if Molly was here?” Caroline laughs aloud, and Liv’s eyes go wide, and Harry knows. Caroline ignores the teetering smile on Harry’s mouth, going on about how she’s so happy to be spending the night with their best friends and how they mean everything to her. Harry knows that everything is going to be right in the world as soon as Caroline lays eyes on her cousin, the one that she grew up with that was like a sister to her, whose mother loved her as her own. Harry knows that if anyone is closer to Caroline beside him and her father, it’s Molly and Aunt Daisy. “That’s absurd, though. Molly wouldn’t come all this way for the bachelorette party. Having a baby and all that? No way.”

Molly’s daughter, Ocean, is nearly two, now.

Harry and Caroline were there for her birth. Flying out to California and waiting in the labor and delivery lobby while Molly and her husband, Dylan, welcomed Ocean into the world. Caroline swears it was the best day of her life, to see her cousin – who’s more like her older sister – become a mother and be the happiest she’s ever seen. Caroline always swore that she would never have a child, but Harry saw the look in her eyes when she held that baby for the very first time, when they took pictures of Molly and Caroline and Ocean altogether, when Harry held the baby for the first time. Maybe it wasn’t that her mind had changed, but something made her think that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have one.

That’s all Harry could really ask for, anyway.

Harry laughs lightly at his fiancée and her dramatics, knowing fully well that she still sees their niece as the infant she once was, “Ocean is talking and walking, now. She’s nearly two, Cal.”

“That’s still a baby, Shakespeare. Trust me, if we ever have a baby, you’ll still think they’re a baby at two years old, too.”

Of the voices in the room, Harry’s is the only one to stay silent, after that. Niall, Liv, Mitch, and Caroline fall into mindless chatter, talking about the wedding and the upcoming events that they have sorted through, even though the event is maybe a max of thirty people. Harry stays silent and leans against the counter, sipping his drink mindlessly and listening to Caroline as she roams about the room and tells story after story to her best friend.

Harry doesn’t say anything about the comment Caroline’s made, even though it’s all he can think about, knowing that it would make her panic knowing that she’s brought up having a child, once again. Coming home from the hospital, it’s become a more reoccurring topic in their household, and Harry doesn’t want to push anything on Caroline when things are finally starting to get better. He isn’t oblivious, though. He sees the way she looks at the babies that come into the bookstore when they’re working, or the way she holds the baby that her publisher had only two months ago. Harry sees the way her eyes light up at the mention of their future and their wedding and all the things that come along with being a family, because that’s all she wants.

Caroline wants to have a family, a family that she can love and rely on, that isn’t only her father and her aunt and her cousin, that mean something to her and love her as much as she loves them. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ll have three children and a huge farmhouse and a life in the midlands, no, but it means that the company that Caroline surrounds herself in, now – her fiancé, their friends, her cousin and aunt, even her fiancé’s immediate relatives – are the family that she always wanted to have.

Harry wants to give Caroline that. If Harry could give her anything, he would give her a family.

Niall’s voice commands the attention of everyone in the room, making everyone else, including Harry, fall silent and bring their eyes to him. “All right, let’s get going to dinner. Made the reservations a bit later in case anyone was late.” Niall winks at Caroline. “Cal, everyone worked really hard, especially your fiancé to make this surprise happen for you and we don’t want you to miss it.”

Caroline looks to Harry, walks towards him, and wraps her arms around his waist, squeezing his hip sweetly and leaning her chin on his chest. “Especially you?”

“Aren’t you the one that said we’ll only get married once?” Caroline nods without saying a word, solely intending on listening to what Harry has to say. “Then, I’m going to go all out for you, Cal. You deserve everything and more than that, Buggy.”

“All right, all right. Enough of that, H. God, you two are disgusting,” Niall laughs, reaching out for Liv to take his hand and making his way towards the front door. “Oh wait!” He reaches around the coffee table for something and brings out a blindfold. “You’ll need this.” Caroline looks at Harry and Niall with furrowed brows, confusion written across her face. “Trust me, okay?”

Caroline, for once in her life, nods quietly, and decides not to make an argument.

* *

Harry knows it was wrong to lie. Harry knows that it was wrong to lie and say that he didn’t want to go to the bachelor party. Harry is sure of that. Harry is well aware that it’s wrong to lie to Caroline and tell her that he doesn’t want to go, and that she shouldn’t go either, when in actuality, he has been working all along with her best friend to make sure the surprise worked out in her favor. He wasn’t told what the surprise might be, but he had an inkling, a guess as to what it could be, and he wanted that for Caroline, so badly.

Caroline deserves the world, and Harry would do anything to give it to her.

Considering that, one lie wouldn’t really hurt her, right? At the end of the day, the surprise is for her. That would make this all better, wouldn’t it?

Harry’s hands are gently guiding her through the entryway, holding her waist securely, her hands holding onto his hips as they walk inside, the rustling and commotion of other guests and customers ringing through the restaurant. Caroline slowly readjusts her position, clasping her hands together beneath her chin and sighing nervously, the noise level coming to a halt and the only thing she can hear is the quiet chatter of Liv and Niall standing next to her. Harry doesn’t say a word, but she can feel him loosen his grip around her, and it makes her know that they’re at their spot for the night.

“Can I take the blindfold off?” Caroline wonders aloud, taking a deep breath and beginning to feel slightly claustrophobic under the darkened light. Harry leaves her side, she can feel it, and the anxiety starts again, nervousness wracking through her body. “Shakespeare?”

“Take your blindfold off, Cal.”

Caroline slowly takes off the blindfold – the makeshift blindfold that was really one of their friend’s bandanas from festivals they all go to every summer – and her eyes well with tears at the sight. Molly standing in front of her, grinning, arms wide open waiting for a hug. “Hey, Cal.”

“Molly,” Caroline whispers wetly, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around her cousin tightly, squeezing her and holding her as they cry tears of joy and excitement and giggle quietly to themselves. “Molly, I can’t believe you’re here. This is insane.” Molly gently wipes Caroline’s tears and then wipes her own cheeks, smiling brightly and hugging her once more. “How the hell did you get here? How’s Ocean? Dylan? Are they here?”

“Harry gave your best friend my number and she organized everything for us. Dylan and Ocean are here, too,” Molly grins, cupping Caroline’s shoulders and sighing contently. Molly looks genuinely happy, and that makes Caroline smile and the anxiety suddenly calm throughout her body. “Ocean, Dylan and I are staying for a week, but tonight, it’s all about you and Harry. All of us are here for you two. That’s what matters tonight. That we celebrate you two and your love and all that means for you. Caroline, do you know how much happiness you deserve to have in life?” Molly frowns when Caroline shakes her head. “All of it. All the happiness. That’s what this is going to be. Happy.”

“I love you,” Caroline says barely above a whisper, wrapping her arms around Molly’s shoulders and bringing her into a tight hug, blinking back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “I love all of you.” Caroline turns to Liv and Harry standing side by side, a huge smile spread across her features, threatening to ache her cheeks. “Shakespeare, did you know?”

Harry is trying to hide the grin on his face. Harry’s trying so hard not to smile, not to break into a sloppy grin and pull Caroline into a hug and whisper how much he loves her. “Partially.”

Caroline walks over to him, wraps her arms around his waist, smiles and says, “I love you, H,” and guilt washes over him, weighing heavy on his chest as though lied to the most important person in his life.

Harry is selfish when it comes to Caroline. He knows that. Harry knows that he’s selfish and that’s why he’s beginning to feel guilty for not wanting to come, tonight, for wanting to keep Caroline at home where they can stay in their tiny bubble of security and never leave. Caroline is so happy to be around her friends and Molly, that Harry knows it was wrong of him to want to stay home and even try to get her to stay there, as well. He’s working on it, especially in therapy with her, day by day, to be less nervous when it comes to going out and about after an episode and working on being more secure with the highs and lows.

His heart is heavy, and Caroline can tell by looking at him.

“Don’t feel badly,” she whispers, reaching onto her toes and having her lips touch the shell of his ear to make sure that no one else can hear her. Molly and Niall and Liv are talking amongst themselves, while Mitch is waving down his girlfriend from the entryway, and Harry is wrapping his arms around Caroline’s waist to hold her tightly to his chest, ensuring that no one can hear what she’s trying to say. “All you want is to keep me safe, H, which I appreciate. Everyone knows that. Want you to know, though, that I am happy that we’re here, that we’re with our friends. And I want you to enjoy tonight with me. Guilt isn’t something you need to feel, okay?”

Harry doesn’t say a word, at first, simply lifting his head from her neck and kissing her, pressing his lips to hers and soaking in the way she immediately kisses him back, their lips moving wordlessly on each other’s. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Caroline smiles and says what she always says to Harry when he says the three words she needs to hear, making him smile and feel his heart flutter. “Love you more.”

Quickly, Harry and Caroline turn around, trying to avoid any attention on their conversation and finding their table and taking a seat with Liv and Niall, Mitch and his girlfriend following closely behind. Molly takes a seat next and stands, laying her hands on the table and smiling as if with an announcement. “Okay, okay! I want to hear a story about you two that I haven’t heard before. Obviously, I know that Harry used to be an ass and I know Callie hated him, but we haven’t heard stories about the first kiss and things like that! Callie likes to keep secrets.”

“More like privacy,” Caroline laughs, taking a sip of her water and sighing, trying to think of a story to tell. Truth be told, Caroline didn’t tell anyone much about her relationship with Harry before they were officially dating, so most stories are ones that their friends and family don’t know. Caroline didn’t tell anyone, not because she was embarrassed, but because she was utterly confused by her emotions, by her feelings, and it was easier to ignore everything than to face the impending change that was about to make her life completely different, forever. “I guess I could tell you about our first kiss.”

“On your first date, right?” Liv says, handing her menu to the waiter and ordering her food quietly. Niall’s arm is around her shoulders and Caroline can see that they’re happy, too. Caroline notices those things, she’s realized lately, she really notices when people are happy. Niall and Liv, Molly and Dylan, Harry – all of them are happy. Caroline wants to be included in that. “That one, we know, I think, Cal.”

“Harry and I kissed way before that, Liv. Like, years before that.”

“Three times, actually,” Harry says with a smirk. “Caroline kissed me three times.”

Niall and Mitch snicker, knowing that they’ve heard this story from the days they happened, and Liv’s eyes go wide. Molly whistles, and Caroline can’t hold back her own laughter and she settles into her seat and knows that this story is about to get interesting.

Harry and Caroline haven’t seen each other since that dreaded day at Caroline’s apartment with Liv and Niall watching what Caroline would call the “show”. Caroline and Harry somehow managed to keep their interactions strictly to email, corresponding simply through the computer, which allowed for the two to pass Rigsby’s class and make it to their final semester without a qualm or quarry about whether or not they would be able to graduate in the springtime. Liv and Niall are still going strong, dating for nearly six months, now, and Niall basically lives with Caroline and Liv. Caroline doesn’t mind Niall all that much, what she does mind is the way he is constantly bringing up Harry. Harry Styles, that ridiculous man with a God complex and an ‘I’m better than you think I am’ attitude that surely gets on her last nerve.

Caroline hasn’t seen Harry since that day they fought, and yet, Harry is all she can think about. Harry would’ve said this, Harry would’ve said that – it’s beginning to get annoying.

Max caught on to the way things were going, the downwards spiral that Caroline was heading in, and suggested an appointment with the psychiatrist to change her medicine, which only made Caroline more angry with the situation and say that they need to call it quits for a while. Her boyfriend didn’t argue like she was expecting, like Caroline was wanting (slightly); instead, he simply kissed her on the cheek and told her to call him when she was feeling better, when the episode was over – that much he didn’t say, but it was implied, she assumes.

Only now, three months later, Caroline never called. Only now, three months later, in the middle of February, with the wind chilling against her cheeks and mascara marking her skin, Caroline is alone in the world, isolated and hidden from outsiders, sitting in the bed of her rusty maroon truck, with nothing but a headache and faulty brain.

Bipolar Disorder is funny. Caroline thinks so, at least. Caroline thinks it’s funny that media, particularly social media, has labelled anyone with the more common disorders as more or less harmless to society, that it’s normal and almost quirky now to have these disorders that can debilitate and affect your everyday life, and yet, the disorder that she and nearly six million other people have is labelled as unstable and violent and dangerous in the worst-case scenarios. Caroline thinks about all the things she’s heard in her twenty-some years of life, all the, ‘you’re crazy’, ‘you’re so bipolar’, ‘can’t you just like, be normal’, or her personal favorite, ‘just be happy!’, and cringes to herself, shaking the feelings away and trying to think about something else. If Caroline could just, be happy, she wouldn’t be taking medication, she wouldn’t be in therapy, she wouldn’t be in this position. Caroline wouldn’t be alone if people with Bipolar Disorder could just ‘be happy’.

Gabriel and Caroline Ryan would be in the Grand Canyon, today. They would be in the Grand Canyon, screaming and exploring and travelling across the national park to see sights they’ve seen nearly twelve times. Caroline misses her father dearly, misses him more than anyone could ever miss a person, and it makes her think about the day her life changed forever over a year ago. The Grammys’ Music Cares would have a dedication for him this year, for the change that he brought to the music industry in the short time he was part of it. Caroline wants to go, but she’s nervous to go alone, to have to talk about her father by herself without anyone there. Molly and Aunt Daisy might come if she asks, but she’s nervous. All of it is a lot to think about. All of it is too much.

Heavy footsteps, likely from an early morning runner, bring Caroline back to reality. Quickly wiping her eyes and blinking away the tears – maybe a bit too quickly and hurting her eyes in the process – Caroline gathers her emotions and takes notice of where she is. Is Caroline really at the beach, again? This is the third time this week that she’s woken from a manic episode and found herself at the beach an hour away. Caroline didn’t notice the sun rise or the waves change into high tide, only her emotions and the way her brain is devilish, even on a good day.

“Caroline?” Harry nearly trips over his own feet when he sees Caroline sitting in the bed of her truck. Harry takes the headphones out of his ears, walking towards the truck and knocking on the side, peeking his head around the corner and smiling softly when her eyes lift to meet his. “Is that my best friend?” Harry always says stupid shit to make her angry; it gets a reaction; it gets Caroline to speak to him.

Going on to notice a few things, first, before she even responds, Harry makes a point to realize that this must be the mania thing that Liv was talking about when he asked what was wrong with Caroline the last time they spoke. Liv, privately, indulged Harry and told her what Caroline’s ‘problem’ is, telling him that if he wanted to understand it, then he should do his own research or maybe try to be nicer and talk to her. Harry voted for the research on his own accord and the fact that Caroline barely glances at him. Caroline’s body is clad in nothing but shorts and a silk camisole, something that would be normal for the summertime or even to wear around campus – which he’s seen a million times with her before – but it seems different this time. Maybe it seems different because the weather is barely permitting to be outside without sweatshirts and sweatpants, but it seems different, nonetheless. Caroline’s olive skin seems slightly pale, and Harry swears that he’s seeing things when there are black tracks on her cheeks. Lastly, it’s February, and Caroline is at the beach at sunrise without even a blanket to lay over her body.

Harry can simply tell something is off, and he wants to know what it is.

“Are you stalking me, now?” Caroline says spitefully, shaking her head and biting her bottom lip to hide the shivers wracking through her body.

“Always so hostile, Caroline,” Harry says, shaking his head in a mimicking tone. “Can’t you just be nice for once?”

“Can’t you just mind your own damn business?” she says hurriedly, her chin dropping to her chest and her hands combing through her hair frustratedly as she sighs. Achingly so, the thoughts are intrusive and cruel as they ripple through her brain. Don’t cry again. Don’t cry again. Don’t cry again. Especially not in front of Harry. He’ll just think you’re crazy like everyone else. He doesn’t get you, Caroline. He never will. He’s not anyone you can trust. Caroline mistakenly trusts the thoughts and looks at Harry with annoyance, “Look, what do you want, Harry?”

Harry lets out a breathy laugh and then walks around the edge of the truck and takes the bed down, leaning on the edge of the hood, and sitting on the ledge. “Honestly, I wanted to go for my morning jog to clear my head. Apparently, you like to drive to the beach I like to run at. I saw your truck, which has you in it, crying on the beach at,” Harry looks at his phone, “seven in the morning. Do you want to talk?”

“Don’t think you want to hear about my problems, Mr. Shakespeare,” Caroline laughs, sighing audibly when Harry takes his sweatshirt off and offers it to her without saying a word, making it known that it’s not an option, that she’s going to wear it, and her arm reluctantly reaches out for it, hands climbing through the sleeves and pulling it over her torso. “Thanks.”

Harry shrugs it off and takes the initiative to sit closer to her, taking a seat in the corner of the bed and sitting across from Caroline as she stares into space, her eyes focused on the crashing waves of the high tide and the way the sound whooshes over their silence. “Well, Caroline, you’ve never told me your middle name, Ryan, it’s freezing and you’re in shorts at the beach, in your truck, with barely anything, not even a blanket, to cover you. I think that warrants a conversation. At the very least, give me the outline of what’s going on. As your friend.”

“Oh,” Caroline nods, a sarcastic smirk toying at the corners of her mouth, “so we’re friends, now, Harry?” Harry shrugs and Caroline looks at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows, “Made it through one semester barely speaking to each other and you think we’re friends?” Caroline’s tone is harsh but there is a hint, the slightest hint, of a playful tone beneath her words.

“Oh, haven’t we always been, Caroline?” Considering how tense things were between the two a little less than two weeks ago when the semester ended, when they had to give their final presentation of their annotations together while only communicating through emails – and their professor never even noticed – it certainly would make sense that they weren’t friends. Caroline forces a half-smile at him, and Harry swears that his heart could have stopped beating at the sight. “Think our friendship started right before you called me privileged. That really started it all, for me, at least.” Caroline’s smiled before, surely, she has, while writing or while she was talking about her book in class just before everything went to shit, but never to Harry. That is a sight for sore eyes, certainly. “C’mon, Caroline Ryan. Make yourself be vulnerable for once. That’s how people become friends.”

“Vulnerable isn’t really my thing.” Caroline sighs audibly, her fingers running through her hair and taking a deep breath, trying to find the right words to make her life seem a little less pathetic than how it really feels to tell the tale. Caroline always hated this part, with girlfriends and boyfriends and friends and family, having to tell the sob story that always warranted a sympathetic stare and a pitying apology. That was never something she wanted. Caroline never wanted anyone to look at her and feel sorry for her; Caroline had a good life, has a good life.

Beyond the whole, brain not working properly, thing.

“Make it your thing.” Harry looks at Caroline and cautiously sets his hand on her knee, not caring that his sweatshirt is now pulled over her knees and her thighs are tucked under the material, certainly stretching it out beyond fixing. Liv told Harry that Caroline doesn’t like to be touched, that it stresses her out to be hugged or touched or bothered without rhyme or reason, and he knows that this is a risk, but he wants her to look at him, to meet his stare, and know that he’s telling her the truth. “Caroline, I want to be your friend. I can’t make that any clearer than what I’ve been trying to do.”

Harry is referencing all the apologies he’s made, all the efforts at parties and gatherings to talk to her and try to make conversation, all the work that he dedicated to their project for Rigsby and the conversations he’s had with her best friend to try and understand why she is the way she is. Caroline has ignored everything, in and including knowing that Harry has asked Liv about her and her disorder. Caroline hasn’t ignored everything to be rude, no, but to save Harry the time.

Harry is just going to leave like everyone else. Like her father, like her mother, like her boyfriends, like her friends. Harry is no different than anyone else she’s met.

“Harry, you don’t want to be my friend.”

“How do you know?” Harry is insulted by that, by the harshness of the words. How could Caroline even know what Harry wants, when she’s barely taken the time to get to know him? “Caroline, you have no idea what I want.”

Something about the way Harry says that sets Caroline off on a tangent.

“Harry, if we become friends, everything will change; there’s going to be this attachment between us, something neither of us will be able to control. It’s not the ‘let’s hang out every few days or so’ or the ‘let’s see each other with our friends’ type of attached. It’s more than that.” Caroline waits for Harry to say something, and when he doesn’t, she continues, “There will be no reason, but something in my head will say to text you at two in the morning, just because, and I’ll want to talk every day and be around you. It’s addictive for me to be around people. It’s not normal. There’s nothing normal about me, Harry. There’s never a normal amount of anything, it’s over indulged and incessant and it’s why I don’t have a relationship anymore. It’s why my life is pretty lonely; it’s why I like to be alone. That’s why I’m moving out of the apartment with Liv and getting my own place. Quite hard to annoy people if you’re not around them much.”

Harry looks shocked when Caroline says this, this revelation, a certain and outright explanation as to why she’s been holding herself back from a relationship with him in any way, especially when it’s felt like he’s been trying so much. “Is that what you think? That you’re annoying?”

“My mom thought having a daughter with bipolar disorder was annoying, and that’s why she left,” Caroline says beneath her breath, nearly quiet enough to prevent Harry from hearing, but the waves had receded, and the wind had slowed, and the silence was forgiving enough to allow him to listen. Harry’s wide, green eyes alone told Caroline that he heard every word. “My dad was the only person that ever understood me. His brain was like mine, absolutely fucked. My dad had the coolest brain, though. My dad’s brain, even though he had bipolar disorder, too, it just worked. My dad could write songs and go on tour and raise a daughter by himself for seventeen years. All of that, he could do all of that, with a brain that tells you you’re worthless, all the time. My dad was a whole fucking superhero.”

“Only been a year, right? A little bit over?”

“One year and sixty-two days,” she mutters, pulling the sleeves of the hoodie over her hands and wrapping herself tighter in a ball, her thighs pulled to her chest and her chin resting on her knees. “Matters to no one but me, though. That’ll always be how it is. Only me.”

“Matters to a lot of people, Caroline,” Harry says, sliding in closer to her body and having his feet touch hers. “Mattered to me when I heard the news. Mattered to all his fans. Matters to you.” Caroline sucks in a heavy breath and lets it out between slightly parted lips, ignoring the way Harry has inched closer to her and his hand is dangerously close to reaching out and laying a comforting touch to her thigh. Harry opens his mouth, hesitating to even bring the sentence back into conversation, “Caroline, I had no idea about your mother, I’m sorry.”

There it is. The pity.

Caroline quickly changes the subject. “Come in the ocean with me.” Harry looks as though three heads had suddenly appeared through her body, six eyes staring back at him with wide green irises as she raises her eyebrows and gives a pointed stare. “Well? Are you coming?”

Harry grabs Caroline’s hand and there is a rush of electricity that passes through their fingertips, a current that is warm and attractive, adrenaline-like, encouraging another touch. “Caroline, it’s freezing in there. Have you got any idea how cold the water is going to be in February?”

“And your point is?”

Harry stares at her in amazement, pursing his lips together and trying to understand where the lack of care is stemming from, where the lack of empathy for her wellbeing comes from when she’s got so much going for her. “Go if you want to go; I’ll stay here and wait.”

“You’ll stay? You’ll stay while I go into the ocean,” Caroline repeats with a laugh for confirmation, knowing that he must be insane to stay and watch her go in the ocean during a moment of pure mania, the feeling of wanting to feel anything in her veins, particularly the adrenaline that the freezing, salt water will give her. Harry seems supportive, surely, but will that last? “Are you sure?”

Harry’s heart sinks and his lips purse tighter in a straight line, nodding silently, his mind set on proving her instinct wrong – her instinct that says everyone will leave if she shows the slightest bit of the uncontrolled side of herself. “Caroline, I’m sure.”

“God, Harry, you have to stop calling me ‘Caroline’,” she says sternly, tugging his sweatshirt off her torso and tossing it in the back of the truck, watching as he smoothly grabs it and holds it on his thighs. “Dad barely called me ‘Caroline’ and he named me.”

“Alright, I’ll call you,” Harry waits for a moment, thinking carefully, “Callie, only Callie, from now on. That’s something I can do. Can I call you Cal, too? Is that off limits?”

“Okay, Cal and Callie are fine.”

Harry can tell that there’s something underlying that she wants to say in the way she says ‘okay’ and the way she bites her tongue, but not wanting to push the slight progress they’ve already made, Harry makes the choice to leave it alone. “Callie, are you really going in the ocean?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“’Cause it’s bloody freezing. That’s why,” Harry says matter-of-factly, as if all of his logic is going down the drain talking to her. “Like, you’re really going in?”

“Not all of us feel everything in the world, Harry,” Caroline says, shaking her head and bringing her arms to fold across her chest. “Like me, for instance. On days like today, it’s lovely to feel absolutely nothing.”

Harry stares at Caroline with curiosity and interest in his eyes, a look purely made of concern and misunderstanding. His furrowed eyebrows and wrinkled forehead say his confusion, enough to tell her that he’s absolutely oblivious to what she really means by feeling nothing. “Nothing?”

“Not a damn thing, Harry.”

Caroline rushes into the water, then, without saying another word. Hair twists along her shoulders, slightly messy and greasy and unwashed from a few days, her skin dry and likely drinking in the feeling of the water against her ankles as she slowly lowers herself into the ocean, reaching to where her knees meet the sea, and the waves crash into her thighs. Harry doesn’t say a word, simply watching her as she soaks in the way the water feels on her numb skin, and he shivers, thinking of the temperature against his body. Harry knows, now, what this is.

Caroline stays in the water for well over ten minutes, Harry sitting in the bed of her truck, watching her as she soaks in the water crashing over her thighs and wetting the hems of her shorts. Harry can see her shivering, the way that if the waves slow, he could probably hear the chattering of her teeth from across the beach. Caroline looks happy, though, and Harry isn’t sure if that’s a side effect of the mania or medication or what, but he certainly isn’t going to ask. That’s off limits. Liv made that very clear. Consciously bringing up Caroline’s mania will make her shut down and tune whoever it is out for good – hence the break with her boyfriend – and that will leave Harry with no connection to Caroline at all. That’s not what Harry wants at all.

“Are you daydreaming, again, Mr. Mitty?” Caroline’s voice tugs Harry out of his daydream, the reference to the fictional character making him laugh breathily. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing at all,” Harry shrugs, handing her the sweatshirt and watching her as she yanks it over her head, the material falling to her thighs and sitting very much oversized on her frame. “If we hadn’t just become friends,” he says confidently, swinging his legs over the edge of the truck and adjusting their bodies slightly so that she is tucked between his thighs, “I think I might’ve tried to kiss you, Callie.”

“Might have?” Caroline laughs, shaking her head and shoving his shoulder back with her hand, the sleeves endearingly tucked over the heels of her hands. “Come on, Harry, be vulnerable. Honestly. Can’t lie to me and tell me you wouldn’t have tried to kiss me that day we were having a screaming match outside my apartment if I had let you.”

“If you had let me. Alright, Miss Ryan, whatever you say.”

“Fine, then,” Caroline says surely, taking a deep breath, climbing onto the edge of the bed of the truck and straddling Harry’s waist, grabbing his cheeks in her hands firmly, and finally laying her lips on his. Caroline’s eyes are squeezing shut, trying to ignore the sparks flying through her skin and the way Harry’s hands have found their way to her waist, holding her to him, his mouth immediately reciprocating the kiss and giving the same energy she’s putting out. On the long list (three) of people that Caroline has kissed in her lifetime, this may be the most interesting, the most unusual. Coming from someone that she hated mere weeks ago, kissing Harry feels worldly different, like something that is almost, right, in a way; it feels okay to be kissing him.

Caroline’s first kiss was a boy in the tenth grade, Connor was his name, on her very first date; very, how do you say politely, inexperienced. Caroline’s second kiss was Maxwell, on their third date, and many others after that, and they were always lovely. Max’s kisses made her feel loved when she was feeling lonely. Max made her feel warm inside, made her feel happy. Caroline loves Max, and she may always love him. Her first love. Caroline’s third kiss is with a man that she absolutely was disgusted with until about thirty minutes ago.

And that alone, the mere thought of kissing someone that she once hated, is how Caroline knows that she is manic. Harry doesn’t know that, though. Harry doesn’t need to know that. That’s something that she doesn’t need to share, not right now, now when they’ve just become friends.

“There,” Caroline says, pulling away and wiping at her bottom lip, slowly climbing off his thighs and jumping onto the tarmac. “Is it out of your system, yet?”

Harry shakes his head confidently, a smug smirk sitting prettily on his features. “Callie, you’ve just opened pandora’s box with that, sweetheart.”

“Ew,” she says, gagging at the thought of being called anything other than her name by this man that she’s suddenly become uncomfortably close with, and walking around to the side of the truck to grab her keys from the passenger seat. “Think about calling me a cutesy name like that again and I’ll key you, Carrie Underwood style.”

“Got a lot of rage in you, Callie.”

“Got a lot fucked up things going on in this brain of mine, Harry.” Caroline leans over the side of the truck, laying her arms on the rim and leaning her chin on the back of her hands. “Are you sure you want to be my friend? This is what it’s like, like, sixty percent of the time. Maybe seventy. I’m kind of insane, Harry.”

“Callie, you’re not insane.”

Caroline looks at Harry as though he’s grown three heads, and he’s insane for saying such a thing. Clinically, Caroline is mentally ill. “I just told you I have Bipolar Disorder,” she says astoundingly, as though the fact alone would make him want to run and hide away from her forever. “That makes me insane, Harry. Clinically insane.”

“Clinically insane is used for criminals,” Harry says with a laugh, shaking his head at the dramatization of their entire conversation. Caroline was surely dramatic, way over dramatic for someone that would barely hurt a fly. Harry kind of likes it. “Are you a criminal?”

“Hard criminal.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry chuckles, leaning his hands on the edge of the truck and sliding off the bed, his feet landing on the tarmac with a hard smack. Caroline turns to face him, and a breath catches in her throat as she notices how close they are; with one wrong move, their chests, their entire bodies would be touching. “Hardened criminal, you are. More like a pesky bug. That’s what I should call you from now on. How’s that for a nickname? Not nearly as cutesy as sweetheart.”

“Easy there,” Caroline says, shutting the truck and climbing into the driver’s seat, moving her things around and shoving the mess to the passenger seat floor, rolling her window down to speak to him. “You and I aren’t close enough for nicknames like that, just yet. You just convinced me to be your friend, Harry. That’s enough for one day, I think. I think that’s good.”

“You called me Shakespeare! That was a nickname!”

“That was more of an insult, Mr. Literal.”

Harry shakes his head and leans over the windowsill of the driver’s seat, smirking wildly and staring into Caroline’s light green eyes. “You’ll learn to love me Callie Ryan, you’ll see.”

* *

New York is freezing, even for the springtime. Harry knew this, but for some reason, it didn’t occur to him how cold it would be until he and Caroline were walking through the exit doors of the airport and the wind was whipping against his cheeks. Caroline turns to Harry, pulling his hood over his head and ears and smiles quaintly, patting his cheek and nodding towards the car waiting for their arrival on the curb.

Harry can tell that Caroline is anxious, and he instinctively grabs her hand, trying desperately to comfort her, squeezing her lightly and taking the initiative to walk to the man outside the car and talk to him about their situation. Caroline is reluctant to let go of his hand, and immediately grabs his hand when they’re seated in the backseat, forcing a smile at him – that he knows is fake – and talking to the driver about her father and the event and thanking him for the ride. Harry gets out first and checks the two into the hotel, sighing and trying to convince the receptionist that there should be two rooms in reservation, or at the very least, a room with two beds.

“Harry, it’s okay,” Caroline insists, shaking her head furiously and squeezing his hand, silently begging him to not cause a scene in the middle of the all-too-fancy hotel that they’re in. “Can you just get the keys so we can go upstairs?”

Harry knows that Caroline is having a literal panic attack as they stand there, and his first reaction is to wrap her tightly in his arms and hold her there until she’s okay. Caroline stands next to him, handing the receptionist her identification and anxiously twitches her knee and cracks her knuckles, Harry’s hand immediately goes to her back to try and alleviate some stress.

Harry likes how things have changed since that morning at the beach. Harry likes things a lot. Harry doesn’t mind that he knows the intimate details about Caroline’s mental health, the days she has therapy, the times she takes her medication. Harry knows these things because of how much their relationship has changed since that morning, since they decided to become friends and let everything change for what feels like the better.

“Here you are, Miss Ryan. Enjoy your stay!”

“Thank you,” Caroline swallows thickly, smiling and nodding and turning on her heel quickly to walk towards the elevators in the corner of the lobby. Harry follows quickly behind, lugging their suitcases behind him and nudging the elevator closed with his elbow. Caroline is quiet for the first few minutes, and then says, “Thank you for not causing a scene.”

“Giving you basic, common courtesy, Cal,” Harry says, gesturing for her to exit first when the elevator dings and reaches their floor, the sliding doors opening slowly. “Think we have about three hours before we have to be downstairs at the venue. Can you squeeze in a nap in that time, do you think?”

Caroline opens the door shakily and walks inside, setting her belongings on the table and waiting for Harry to shut and lock the door behind her before she says a word. “I want to go over my speech, I think. Maybe I’ll call Molly and read it to her, again.”

Harry nods knowingly, “’Course, whatever you want.”

Harry wasn’t originally supposed to go to this event with Caroline. It was meant to be her cousin, Molly, and her aunt, Daisy. It was meant to be her family, coming to honor Gabriel Ryan for the evening, but since Caroline’s grandparents passed away, Aunt Daisy became ill, and Molly couldn’t have time away from work, Caroline was left with her only other option: her friends. Liv is proposing her thesis in the morning and couldn’t miss the meeting, and Niall really didn’t to impose. Caroline was left with only one person to really be there for her when she needed it the most. Caroline was left with the one that she was unsure could really handle the mess that she would be. Caroline was left with certain uncertainty.

Harry.

MusiCares for The Grammys is a huge event. Likely one of the biggest events of the year in the music industry, beyond The Grammys and the award shows, themselves. Caroline has been once or twice with her father when she was a young girl, even with her mother, once. Harry is standing next to her, holding her hand tightly, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles trying to soothe the anxiety that he knows is coursing through her veins in this very moment.

Coming from the moment she walked out of the bathroom with her dress hanging loosely off her shoulders and her lace shoes untied around her ankles, Harry knew that Caroline would be a mess and the mania that she felt earlier in the week would be long gone. Especially gone by the time she is listening to Dave Grohl – her father’s mentor, his best friend, her godfather – give his speech about her father and all that he gave to the world of music. Caroline wouldn’t be able to handle listening to that, especially from the person that arguably knew him better than she did.

“Honestly, I don’t think I can do this, Harry. I don’t think I can get up there and talk about Dad to all these people who didn’t give two fucks about him when he was alive, but suddenly care now that he’s gone,” Caroline says suddenly, staring at Harry with wide eyes, nervously biting her cheek and feeling as though the walls are caving in around her. “How am I supposed to do this? This isn’t fair! This is his award. They don’t even know that they’re releasing his new album, this year. Am I supposed to announce that? Harry, help.”

Harry doesn’t know what to do. Harry doesn’t know what to say, what to do in this situation, how to make everything better. Harry wants to make Caroline feel better, to make her feel like there’s someone there for her that will be cheering her on and making her feel like every word she says is important, that people will listen, and that the words she will say will be just as important to everyone in that room as it would have been if her father was there to make the acceptance speech, himself. Harry does what always seems to calm Caroline, grabs her cheeks and brings her into his chest, holding her tightly to him and squeezing his arms around her.

“Usually, this would work, Harry,” she says with her cheeks squished to his chest, trying to pull her face away from his neck and meet his stare, “but this is something desperate and, honestly, I think I’m going to lose it.” Caroline’s eyes flick between Harry’s lips and his emerald eyes, and she knows what she wants in that moment, a simple kiss, a barely-there peck, something to keep her mind away from the speech and onto something different. “Could you kiss me?” Harry hesitates, looking from side to side, and Caroline begins to panic, thinking that she’s overstepped a boundary and Harry is surely going to hate her and dislike her forever and ever. “Actually, never mind, that was a stupid question, that was ridiculous. I’m so sorry I even asked. I shouldn’t be able to speak. That’s so embarrassing and certainly not something you want to do, and it was inconsiderate of me to ask. I’m very sorry. I’m going to go. I have to do this. I’m sorry.”

“Caroline,” Harry says without thinking, grabbing Caroline’s cheeks and hurriedly pressing his lips against hers, their mouths moving rhythmically together, the emotions and the adrenaline coursing through their veins making everything feel a million times more intense than it truly is.

“Thank you,” Caroline mutters against his mouth, silently hoping that Harry knows that she is expressing her gratitude for more than simply the kiss. “Okay, I have to go,” she says, looking at the stage and the imposing thoughts intruding her mind about the speech tucked away in her chest. “You’ll stay here?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Harry kisses Caroline’s forehead, squeezing her in a tight hug before nodding towards the stage and gently nudging her towards the staircase, Dave Grohl standing there, smiling, waiting with the award held in his hand to hand to her. Harry whistles loudly when she steps on the stage, and she turns to look at him with a knowing smile, the erupted cheers of the audience not anywhere near what she wanted to be hearing. Caroline would have preferred to give the speech to Harry and Harry only. Harry wouldn’t judge her.

“Thank you. Thank you so much,” Caroline says nervously, trading the heavy plaque in her hands and sucking in a deep breath as the tears prick at her eyes. “Gabriel Ryan said many things about the world, specifically saying, ‘this world will take you for granted’, and ‘sometimes it’s the ones you love most that hurt you the worst’. Gabriel Ryan felt abandoned by the world in many ways, especially when his mental health went through the worst times. Gabriel Ryan, however, found a silver lining. Music.” Caroline looks away and stares at the ceiling, tears welling in her eyes and her voice becoming shaky. “My father loved being a musician. He felt like his purpose on this planet was to make others feel less alone, to make a crowd of twenty thousand people feel like they were best friends with everyone in the room. Dad’s goal in life was to make someone feel like their life was worth living, that their life meant something, that they weren’t simply a thing in whatever mess life is. I don’t think my father realized that he did that for every single one of you, at one time or another; that he changed the lives of so many people.” Caroline looks over to Harry for support, and she can see the tears in his eyes, and she blinks, the tears that were once welled inside her eyes now coming along her cheeks. “Mental Health is a tricky thing. There’s still this stigma around it, around Bipolar Disorder, that makes you think that anyone that has it is crazy or something. That you’re crazy, or violent, or different, or otherworldly. God, please know, that you’re not crazy, you’re not any of those things. That’s something Gabriel Ryan wanted people to understand. That was something that my father dedicated his whole life to – educating about mental health. That’s why he’s receiving this award, today. ‘Cause someone, somewhere, felt better by what he did, what he does.” Caroline sucks in a breath through her teeth and says under her breath, barely loud enough for the microphone to grab what she’s saying, “Dad, I wish you could see how much you mean to all these people.” Harry nearly walks on stage to comfort her, but Caroline blinks back her tears and gathers her emotions. “I want to thank the Academy for dedicating this award to my father and everything that he worked for. I want to thank everyone that was his friend, for always supporting his endeavors and making him feel less alone. Lastly, I want to thank my father, Gabriel Ryan, for being the man that the world needed, to teach us everything about mental health. I hope that your message transcends past anything you could ever say with song.” Caroline holds up the award one final time and says, “Thank you.”

Caroline receives a standing ovation, whistles and cheers and eruptions from the audience standing on their feet to support every word that she spoke. Harry is screaming from backstage, whistling and hollering for her, his voice travelling louder than any other voice in the entire room. Caroline walks quickly towards him, his hand reaching for the award to hold for her, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and tucking her face in his neck instinctively. His hands rub along her back, rocking her back and forth comfortingly as she sobs into his neck. Harry knows that no ounce of that speech was easy, that nothing about it was something she wanted to give.

Harry sighs and leans against her ear to speak, trying to hide the smirk that itches to form on his mouth when she relaxes at the touch, “That was amazing, Callie. You brought me to tears. You brought everyone to tears. That was fucking fantastic.” Caroline pulls her head away from his neck, his thumbs going beneath her eyes to wipe the mascara tracks that are forming beneath her lashes. “I’m so serious, Cal. That was better than I imagined it would be.”

And then, Caroline kisses Harry. Again. Caroline kisses Harry like she’s never kissed anyone before. The kiss is desperate and messy and saying things that neither of them could say aloud if they tried. Like, ‘I love you’, ‘Thank you for being here’, and ‘I needed you’.

Harry always says exactly what he’s thinking, though, and Caroline isn’t sure what to say back. “Caroline, I think I love you.”

Caroline is feeling so many emotions, so many thoughts are swirling around her brain, and the only thing that feels comforting is hearing those words come out of Harry’s mouth, even though they’re the most terrifying words that she’s ever experienced in her life. Harry said the words that Caroline thinks that she’s feeling, the ones that have been sitting heavy on her chest since they started getting close, since they shared their stories about their family and their friends and the way their minds words against them. Harry, too, has his mind working against him, sometimes, and Caroline has been there to see him through it. Caroline, although not nearly as worried about losing him as she was about losing her father, never left his side and saw to it that the feelings went away, and he would go back about his day. Caroline loves Harry. Of course. Caroline has probably loved Harry since before they even became friends that day at the beach. Caroline was, well, infatuated with him. Could Caroline say that to him in this very moment, though? Could Caroline say that aloud without absolutely ruining the things they have going?

“I, I.”

“Don’t feel like you have to say it back. It’s okay. I know you don’t feel that way about just anyone. I just, I want you to know that you’re not alone. That I love you,” Harry says hurriedly, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly to bring her attention from her shoes to his eyes. Harry’s eyes look pretty, right here, a glossy green that are shining beneath the stage lights. “Let’s go back to the hotel. Cal, we can talk there, privately. Okay?”

That’s the thing. Caroline loves Harry. Harry is one of her very best friends. Caroline just can’t say it.

Harry and Caroline go straight to the hotel, waving goodbye to all the celebrities trying to gather around her and speak to her and sharing a few words here and there, but ultimately, Caroline can’t handle speaking to anyone except Harry, in this moment, and saying exactly how she feels. Caroline owes it to herself, to Harry, to say how she’s feeling before she fucks everything up the way she always does, the way she knows that she will.

Harry walks inside first, holding Caroline’s hand, gently guiding her through the chaos that exists downstairs and around the hotel to avoid a panic attack before they’ve even gotten to the privacy of their room. Harry’s eyes flick towards the back of her dress, and Caroline moves her hair away from her neck to give him access to the zipper to bring it down her back. Her body shivers at the touch, and he offers a shy smile as she walks around the room and reaches for her pajamas without so much as glancing at him. Harry can tell that Caroline is panicking, and it makes him upset that he wasn’t able to avoid it with her. Harry has come to realize that some things are simply unavoidable with Caroline.

“I, I don’t think we can kiss anymore.” Harry turns his head away from the string of his pajama bottoms and looks at Caroline, who is standing with his oversized sweatshirt hanging loosely over her torso and nothing but a tour shirt – presumably – and shorts underneath. “I think it means something different to both of us and I don’t think we can kiss anymore. I’m sorry that I kissed you today. I shouldn��t have. That was stupid of me. I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a minute, then two, then three, only giving a hum and standing from his seat on the lounger beside the bed, and Caroline knows by his hardened jaw and tense demeanor that he’s angry, or something is wrong, and she’s the reason. All Harry can say is, “Okay, Caroline.”

And like that, Caroline ruined everything for her and Harry. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t say another word to Caroline as readies everything for the night and gathers his things for the morning. Caroline was supposed to show Harry around New York City in the morning, her favorite city, before leaving for the airport, and if they want to be awake in time, they need to go to sleep. That’s what Harry’s telling himself, at least. Harry doesn’t want to admit that he’s heartbroken by Caroline’s words, that there wasn’t a small part of him that prayed that she would feel the same way as he does, that would want him in the way that he wants her. Harry has to justify everything to himself, the three stolen kisses over the course of their relationship, the hours they spent together talking and the studying and the growing closer and closer. Harry has to make himself believe that he was the only one to have feelings in this way, that everything he imagined in his head was make believe. Like Shakespearean Fiction – painful and heartbreaking.

“Are you not going to talk to me, now? Is that it? I try to avoid everything changing between us and you won’t even look at me. And after everything you promised me? That’s fucked, Harry.”

“All I need is a little time, Caroline,” Harry says frustratedly, looking away from his hands and staring at a heartbroken Caroline on the opposite side of the bed, the single bed that they’ll have to share, tonight. “That doesn’t change how I feel about you, how you’re one of my best friends.” Caroline can feel the tears slipping down her cheeks when he says those words, because as much as Harry wants to be angry, he can’t make her feel alone. That’s not who Harry is, anymore. “Come here, Cal.”

Caroline pulls the comforter away from the edge of the bed, climbing beneath the sheets and nervously circling her arms around Harry’s waist, his back propped against the headboard, his ankles crossed beneath the sheets as he wraps his arms around her body and brushes his fingers through her hair softly, nearly leaning down to kiss her head before stopping himself. Harry knows that everything is going to change from here on out, that nothing will be the same and everything will feel different, because Harry’s just confessed his love for Caroline and Caroline has rejected him in the worst way, by saying she’s afraid. Harry has done everything to make sure Caroline isn’t afraid, that she’s comfortable and safe around him, and if he couldn’t even make her comfortable as a friend, how could he ever do so as a lover?

“I love you,” Caroline says suddenly, barely above a whisper, barely audible to Harry’s ears. “I just think I love you differently than you love me.”

Harry doesn’t say a word, simply turning off the bedroom light and laying further into the pillows beneath his head, Caroline laying comfortably on his chest, his hands holding her tightly as though she’s going to disappear in the morning.

Maybe Caroline is. Maybe everything that they’ve worked for is going to disappear the second they wake, and they realize that they’ve made a grave mistake by kissing and sharing their feelings for one another. Maybe Caroline is going to disappear in the morning, disappear from Harry’s life for good.

* *

Caroline hasn’t heard a word from Harry since their journey from LAX, since New York, since he held her hand and she held the plaque for her father on her thighs and they talked mindlessly about how things have changed since their very meeting. Caroline thought things were alright, thought things were going to be okay. That’s how it felt, at least.

Caroline looked to Harry as she was getting out of the car, watching carefully as he took her suitcase from his trunk and walked it up the long driveway to her father’s house – that he somehow convinced her not to sell in the time being – and set it on the stairs leading to the front door. Harry doesn’t make the effort to come closer, to give Caroline a squeeze as he always does, simply smiling and waving and turning on his heel to walk back to his car.

Caroline shouts out, “Are you not going to give me a hug?” Harry turns on his heel again, walking back towards Caroline and opening his arms wide for her. Caroline rushes into him, breathing him in and soaking in the way his arms fit around her, strong and secure, that make her feel safe. “Harry, you’ll call me, right? You don’t hate me, now?”

“’Course not,” Harry says without hesitation, leaning his nose into her hair and breathing her in, a secret weighing heavy on his chest and his heart as he stands there. Harry can’t tell her. Harry can’t break her heart, like that. “I’ll call you soon, Cal.”

And Caroline waits five days for Harry to call. Five painfully long days. Five days and then Caroline is picking up the phone, ready to yell profanities at Harry around the world for ignoring her and leaving her to think that he doesn’t want to be around anymore. Caroline is ready. Caroline really is.

Caroline is ready; that is until three alarming beeps sound on the other end, and a devastating message plays through the speaker.

we’re sorry. you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @goldenbabys-world , @burberryharold , @stylesfics-xx , @grace-ful-gold , @summertimestyles , @laur-sogolden, @yourhsficsplug, @morethanamelodyy, @truckerhatharry, @plzplzme2

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dreamdropxoxo · 4 years ago

Note

Please, write Lamen + “We met each other on a Sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame” 🥺

Thank you so much for the prompt! I had a blast writing it. <3

Laurent had a headache and bad taste in his mouth when he left the room where he had spent the night before, but the worst thing was certainly the still very present sexual frustration eating away at him.

He popped a mint into his mouth. At least problem number two could be easily fixed.

He should have known better than to trust a winning smile and charming personality to expand to a good performance in bed. Good looking, charming guys were almost always a disappointment. Just like Jake, James, Justin?, he had no idea what the guy’s name was, had proven.

He just wanted a coffee and to forget that this night had ever happened.

Laurent went down into the lobby of the expensive hotel. Well, at least the receptionists were professional enough to not ogle him while he made his way out of the building.

Outside he took a deep breath of fresh air, as fresh as the air in the city ever could be, at least. It had been stuffy in Jacob, John, Jeremy’s? bedroom. He was very sure the name had started with J. Actually, that wasn’t important at all.

He slung his jacket over his shoulder and started marching down the street. It was only three blocks to his apartment and his favorite bakery was just around the corner.

So, he decided to make a small detour. It was early enough on a Sunday morning that most people were still in their beds or at least in their houses. Laurent looked forward to his own bed, which was blessedly empty of grunting guys who wouldn’t be able to find his prostate even if it had a red, glowing X on it.

Walking up to the bakery, he was glad to see that there were only few customers inside and most of them looked just as tired as he felt. He had looked into the mirror shortly before leaving and while he had dark circles under his eyes and an impressive scowl fixed on his face, he didn’t look half bad. A bit tousled, but not in an entirely unattractive way.

He wouldn’t enter the bakery if he looked like the woman before him. Although she looked much more satisfied than he felt. Damn it, maybe if he had been as sexually satisfied as she must have been then he wouldn’t care either about how his hair looked.

“Good morning!” A loud voice behind him exclaimed and half of all the people currently inside the bakery groaned and held their heads. Laurent wasn’t part of this group, he had too much self-control to do more than flinch slightly.

The young man behind the register, however, grinned brightly. “Damen. Good morning. How are you?”

To Laurent’s absolute astonishment, the greeting was echoed by at least 30% of the room.

“I’m very well. How are you guys?”

The woman in queue before Laurent turned around to look over his shoulder at the guy standing behind him without a doubt. She had a big grin on her face. “I’m doing great. Good to see you, Damen. What’s the score this time?”

The much too happy and definitively too loud guy hummed noncommittally. “I’d say a seven out of ten? Great blowjob but much too little participation in everything that followed.” He kept his voice low, so that not the whole bakery heard him in contrast to his very obnoxious greeting, but Laurent stood directly there. Between them.

He couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “And that’s still a seven for you? Aren’t your standards pitifully low?”

The woman burst out into laugher, while she nodded. “That’s true. He’s right Damen. If your description is correct, that’s not worth a seven. Were the last months that despairing?”

The man behind him actually chuckled too. It was a nice sound. Warm, deep and entirely too happy. “Well, to be fair, he had very beautiful blue eyes.”

Laurent finally turned around. And looked up and then some. He was not short by any means, with 5’11’’ but this Damen guy had to be at least 6’6’’.

Damen immediately stopped laughing. Staring at him, as if he was transfixed by what he saw. He was very handsome and he had a dimple. Laurent had a weakness for dimpled, handsome men, even if they were entirely too loud on a Sunday morning at 6:30 in a bakery full of hungover people.

The man opened his mouth and said, “However, he can’t hold a candle to you.” He stared into Laurent’s eyes, as if he was hypnotized. “I’m Damen. Nice to meet you.”

“I figured.” Laurent replied with an arched eyebrow. He had his fill of unsatisfying, good-looking, charming strangers for the day. However, the woman who had talked to Damen before elbowed him lightly. “I’d give him a chance. If he looks at you that way you can expect at least a mind-blowing fuck, most likely even more if that’s on the table for you.”

Laurent turned his gaze away from Damen to look at her. She grinned and ordered her triple espresso with a confidence that was utterly unfitting of her surroundings. When he looked back at the man, he was still staring at him and Laurent allowed himself a little smirk.

“I’m Laurent.”

#captive prince #laurent #damen #lamen #laurent x damen #meet ugly #prompt #answered #to celebrate 100 followers!#thank you so much <3

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candy-and-writing · 5 years ago

Text

What A Triple Lutz Can Do

Dark! Bucky x Ice Skater! Reader x Dark! Steve

Summary: Steve and Bucky have found each other again, after everything they've been through. When Steve meets you at the Winter Olympics, he decides you're the perfect little doll for their plan.

Warnings: non con/dub con, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, male masturbation, pet names—kitten, oral sex (female and male), fingering, poly relationship (m/m/f), somnophilia, light bondage, more to be added as the story goes on

A/N: This is loosely based off @henchry post about Chris Evans dating an ice skater. I read it and instantly had this idea, I’ve just never posted it. I think I unintentionally used bunny by @buckybarney as inspiration in making final edits. They also helped me figure out how to make this moodboard, so thank you! Please let me know if you enjoyed this, I had a lot of fun writing this!

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Before the war, before Bucky had fallen off the train and Steve crashed into the ice, before the Avengers and before and the world made Steve Rogers harder—colder—he liked to call himself a hopeless romantic. He wanted to meet eyes with someone across a diner and feel the fireworks explode in his chest. He wanted to buy a girl flowers, he wanted to walk down the streets of Brooklyn while it was snowing with her hand warming his. He wanted to buy his girl a ring, he wanted to get married, have a family.

He thought he would get that with Peggy, but he missed his chance. When he woke up in another century, he thought for sure he would never get his happily ever after. The women today were so. . . brash. A lady was supposed to be kind, polite, and dutiful. He understood that times were different, but that shouldn't excuse the ungrateful attitudes.

Then he found Bucky again, and the crazy world he had been forced into didn't seem so hopeless anymore.

Tony had received a call from the International Olympics Committee, formally inviting the Avengers to the Winter Olympics. They were in Italy this year, Milan and Cortina. It was the first Olympic Games to be held in two cities, according to Bruce.

The committee had asked Steve to conduct the medal presentations for ice skating and hockey. They wanted Thor to carry the torch for the opening ceremony, but he was off-world and unavailable.

So here Steve was, sitting in the Mediolanum Forum venue next to Sam so he could watch the ice skating events. He figured if he was going to be giving the winners their medals, he should see why they won.

The committee had given the team access to front row seating, and that's where he was when you came out.

You were the third skater, and the first American representative, to take the ice. Your hair was pulled into a braided braid low on the side of your head with a blue flower pinned above the bun. The little dress you wore was modest—the same shade of blue that matched your flower and a sleeveless neckline that connected to a sheer fabric for sleeves and a higher neck, the little flowy skirt stopping in the middle of your thigh. Lines of little jewels dipped along your bust, beads varying in size. You had makeup on, like all the previous girls, but yours was light and glittery—save for the ruby red lipstick, but even that looked classical on you. It reminded Steve of the makeup women would wear back in the thirties.

He was so focused on you that Sam had to elbow him in the ribs to get his attention. He shut his jaw then, listening to the way your name rolled off the commentator's tongue, the syllables lining and matching each other perfectly.

You were twenty-one, and this was your first time competing in the Olympics. You've competed in other national and international tournaments, and you've done good in them if he was understanding correctly. It made an odd sense of pride swell in his chest. You were skating to Disney's Beauty and the Beast.

You moved to the middle of the rink as the announcer informed the stadium who conducted and performed your piece. You had four quads set in your routine, two in the first half and two in the second. It got quiet in the arena as you raised your arm over your head and arched your back like a ballerina. Steve counted five seconds before the music started and you spun around slowly. You started to move your body and—

Oh. Oh.

Steve was sure his jaw had dropped to the floor. The way you moved was bewitching, beautifully languid yet articulate. It was like the music moved through you, coursing through your veins as you made it entirely your own, bringing something so utterly delicate and ethereal out of the melody. You made it show in your body, in your movements.

The first of your quads were coming up, something called a quadruple lutz. Steve didn't know what it was, but when you threw your leg back and jumped, spinning in the air before landing and the crowd erupted into applause, he figured you did it correctly.

Your feet glided across the ice as you skated backward, your muscles tensing—you were preparing for your next quad. You kicked your leg back and used it as momentum to jump, spinning and landing what the commentator called a quadruple flip. The crowd cheered again.

Your expression—the raw focus and determination hiding behind your eyes—was gorgeous. Your crimson lips were parted slightly, eyelids hooded as you brought your head up. The delicate expression, the way your shoulders tensed as you jumped and spun in the air once, twice, three times before you landed gracefully on your toes had the breath leaving his lungs.

It was art. You were a work of art. So beautiful he wanted to lock you behind a glass cage and put you on display. You commanded the ice as if you controlled it, with such a degree of intricacy that Steve thought if you jumped high enough or spun fast enough you would grow wings and fly away.

You were in your element. You kicked your foot back before bringing it forward, using it to start your jump. You spun in the air and landed on one foot, your other leg spread out and leading the twirl you used to end the jump. The stadium cheered, Sam said something about a triple axel.

Steve wished the song lasted forever, wished he could watch you forever, but soon there was a flute trilling and you slowed, circling back to the center of the rink and just like that—your performance was over. The crowd exploded into cheers, throwing flowers, stuffed toys, anything they had in their pockets.

You broke into a smile, your plump lips parting and bringing out your dimples. Steve swooned as you waved to the crowd, bending to pick up a rose. Your gaze met his, and he swore he felt fireworks erupt in his chest. You smiled at him before skating off the ice, hugging a man sporting a red lightweight jacket with the USA logo embroidered on the sleeve, his dark hair slicked back. Steve watched as you smiled at him, not missing the way he stared at your ass as you turned away.

Then, suddenly, you were in first place. Your eyes went wide and you jumped up, hugging the man in the red jacket—Steve assumed he was your coach. He heard your squeal above the rest of the cheers.

Even from where he was sitting, your eyes were bright, brighter than your smile. Steve was proud of you, pride swelled in his chest as he watched you speak with a reporter. His eyes stayed glued to you as you shook hands with the reporter, your coach walking you to the locker rooms. He watched you until he couldn't anymore.

A strange desire pulled at his heart as he pulled his Stark Pad out, looking you in F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s database.

After watching your performance every other skater seemed dull, incomparable, to you. The judges must have thought so, too. You stayed in first place, winning the competition.

According to F.R.I.D.A.Y, you grew up in Chicago, but you moved to Manhattan for college. You got a new coach, Adrian Tucker, who was a gold and silver medalist back in the nineties. You're a junior at NYU, majoring in Art History. You have an Instagram, some sort of social media Peter had been trying to convince him to get, and Steve created an account immediately just to follow you. You had pictures of yourself, of friends, of the rink, even a pair of ballet shoes.

So you did ballet, good to know.

The award ceremony couldn't come soon enough. The idea of being closer to you sent butterflies fluttering through his stomach. Ever since he had gotten him back, Steve and Bucky have been talking about settling down—creating a life with a girl and starting a family. But they haven't found the right partner, but maybe. . . ?

When he stood in front of you, he swore he almost stopped breathing. You were gorgeous. Your hair had been taken out of the bun, cascading down your shoulders in loose waves. Your makeup was still done the same, but he noticed light freckles dotting along the bridge of your nose. Your eyes sparkled up at him—good God, you barely stood past his chest—your painted lips parted in a smile as you took him in. He placed the gold medal around your neck, congratulating you. You whispered a small, "thank you, Captain," and Steve felt a spark of electricity jolt down his groin.

Your voice was light, melodic, quiet. You were respectful, something he valued in people, in women. He could almost imagine you posed as the perfect housewife. With the perfect husband—or husbands—with the white picket fence, the kids. He could imagine your belly swollen, the little children running around calling you 'mama'. You were young, right at that age where women would start becoming wives and mothers back in his day. The thought only made his cock harder as he watched you on the platform, waving to the audience with the biggest smile on your face.

As he sat back down next to Sam, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He pulled up Bucky's contact and sent him a picture from your Instagram.

'I think I found her,' he typed.

Bucky remembered the first time he realized he was in love with Steve—he was sixteen. He had danced around with plenty of girls already but none of them ever really seemed to stick. He had saved up enough money to spend Steve's birthday at Coney Island, that was the day he made Steve ride the Cyclone, back when he was still skinny. He had bought Steve a hotdog, which a pelican attacked him over. Bucky was crying from laughter, face red and stomach aching, when he looked over at Steve. Something just clicked then.

The past couple of months, Steve and Bucky had been making plans to add a third partner into life. After all this time, fighting Nazis and being mind-controlled and saving the universe time and time again, they both agreed they deserved it—that they deserved a family. They had both been selfless for so long, was it so wrong to want someone to be selfless for them? To want someone soft that could share their love?

Steve and Bucky were great together—the love of each other's lives, in fact—but they shared an overwhelming need to dominate, to control. On and off the field. When they fucked they were ruthless, full of scraping nails and biting teeth. Fingertips that left bruises that lasted for days. They needed someone else, someone they could focus that control on, someone who could take them so gently and lovingly, a way they rarely took each other.

Then he got Steve's text. You were young, and it wasn't hard to find out almost everything he needed to know about you. Steve helped him use F.R.I.D.A.Y to figure out where you live—a small apartment that was close to your college campus. You could walk to class if the weather permitted it. It also wasn't too far from the ice rink you trained at. It was easy for Bucky to find a building across from your suite where they could watch you. You liked to keep your window open, let the sunlight in.

They took turns sitting on the roof of the neighboring building, looking through a pair of binoculars. They would watch you for hours—watch you do simple things like reading. That was Bucky's favorite, the way your lips moved ever so slightly as you read the words on the page. You enjoyed reading horror novels—Steven King, Mary Downing Hahn, an author named Chuck Palahnuik. A worn copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula and Mary Shelley's Frankenstein sat on your bookshelf. At first glance, Bucky never would have pegged you as a horror kind of girl, you were too sweet and too timid. As he continued to watch you through the cameras Steve had him install, though, he saw that you very much liked psychological thrillers. You would watch a show on YouTube about true crime and haunted locations, a couple of amateurs who didn't quite know what they were doing. They were funny, though. Steve and Bucky would watch you laugh as you stared at your phone, smiling to yourself.

You trained at a ballet studio in lower Manhattan, worked out at a gym a block away from that. They were quick to memorize your routine once they started. You'd wake up at five-thirty every morning and make yourself some breakfast. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday's you hit the gym and the studio; you'd go to whatever classes you had that day, grab a coffee at the campus cafe, then head to the skating rink for two hours. Two and a half hours max. You went home, studied, and then you were left to your own devices. Sometimes you read, sometimes you baked and God, Bucky almost couldn't stop drooling at the thought of tasting your cooking. You'd watch television in your small living room and be in bed no later than eleven o'clock every night to start your day again.

One Monday morning, Steve and had followed you to the gym. They'd been doing that the last few weeks. At first, Steve reasoned it was so they could watch over you, in case you got into some trouble. Some mornings they planned on running into you on the sidewalk, pretending it was an accident—there was a flower cart along your route you liked to stop and admire, sometimes buying a bouquet of daisies for your little bachelor pad—but the timing never seemed right. Steve was never wearing the right shirt, or Bucky's hair was always a mess from the wind.

You took a cab, which Steve followed a couple of cars behind on his motorcycle. The air was brisk, the first signs of spring coming into the city. Some of the trees had started growing their leaves again, vibrant greens against the grey winter sky. He parked his bike underneath a plotted tree that had just started to turn, the tips of the leaves a bright green as blossoms began to bloom, pastel pinks against vibrant greens with petals blowing in the wind. He bought a newspaper from a vendor a couple of stores down and sat on a nearby bench, catching up with the world as he counted down the minutes. You would be in there for an hour and fifteen minutes almost exactly.

Steve almost couldn't sit still. He was itching to get his hands on you, to feel you. He and Bucky have been watching you for a long time now, waiting for the right moment to get their hands on you. Steve was growing impatient.

At forty-five minutes, his eyes began to flick up at the building every few minutes. He knew it wasn't time yet, but there was always a chance you got done early.

At an hour, his gaze hovered just above the paper. Ten more minutes, he told himself.

At an hour and twelve minutes, you emerged. Steve watched as you hugged your coat to your chest and began walking. The studio you danced at was only a block away, so you wouldn't have to be out in the cold for long. Still, Steve couldn't help but chastise you for not wearing something warmer. All you had on were a pair of thin leggings—that hugged your ass beautifully, he might add—and a compression tank top under your lightweight sweater.

Steve rushed to his bike, folding the newspaper in his hand and revving up the engine. He drove down the block, parking in front of a cafe across from the ballet studio. He watched you enter the studio and sat at a table, ordering a cup of coffee. He saw you through the floor-to-ceiling windows, your let stretched up over your head. He reached for his sketchbook and pencil, laying it out on the table before him.

The night of the Olympics, the first time after Steve had seen you, he stayed up all night drawing you. He found a video of your performance on the internet, watching it on repeat as he drew you in different positions. The first sketch he did was of you with your arm over your head, just before you started skating. He found he loved drawing the shape of your lips, so the next sketch was a portrait of your face. Your long lashes were hooded, eyes downcast and your lips parted slightly as the pencil scratched against the paper, your plump lips etched in charcoal. The expression Steve caught you in was oddly ethereal, the kind of innocence that Steve found absolutely breathtaking.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Steve sighed, pulling the device out of his jeans. Cursing, he reread the message Sam sent, looking back up across the street. You were still in front of the window, leg propped up on a bar with your upper body reaching for your foot. He sighed, closing his sketchbook as he stomped toward his bike.

Steve and Bucky trudged back into the Compound, exhausted and irritated. Not only have they been unable to see you for a week and a half, forced to watch you through the cameras hidden throughout your apartment, but the mission had been a complete bust. They had been sent away to Northern Peru, where Fury had given them intel about a group of HYDRA smugglers shipping illegal weapons into the country. Unfortunately, Steve and Bucky spent twelve days in a cramped, boiling building across from the target's warehouse and managed to find nothing before Fury called them back.

Steve was sweaty, Bucky hadn't taken a shower in a week, and they missed you. Bucky wanted to touch you, he wanted to kiss you until you were breathless. He watched you on his phone when he could, often opting to watch the camera feed than to sleep.

Once they were in their suite, Steve stripped his uniform off, leaving it in a heap on the floor to pick up later. Right now he just wanted to feel clean. He turned the shower on and peeled his boxers off as Bucky undressed, Steve stepping below the showerhead. The warm water felt nice against his taut muscles, his shoulders relaxing under the water pressure. He watched the dirt and grime from the mission get washed away, down the drain in muddy-grey color.

As he massaged shampoo through his hair, his thoughts wandered back to you, fingers itching to run against your skin. The way your lips always looked so soft, how utterly delicious you would look with them wrapped around his cock. The sweet little noises you would make as he forced himself down your throat—you were so small, it wouldn't take much to make you choke on him.

Steve groaned as his fist wrapped around his length. Almost two weeks without imagining you on your knees, imagining your mouth on him and he was oh so sensitive. He cursed, running his thumb over his slit. He pictured your tongue dragging against his girth, your wrecked expression as you struggled to take him deeper, as Bucky struggled to fit himself in behind you. He fisted himself faster, gasping out your name.

"Yeah, baby," he mumbled to himself. "Just like that. Fuck."

He could only imagine how beautiful you would look when you came. Your skin sweaty, hips bucking, your innocent little eyes rolling to the back of your head as you squealed. Oh, you were definitely a squealer. They would make you cum over and over and—

He bit back a moan as he came, hot white spurts coating his stomach as he slowed his movements, nerves on fire. He sighed, rinsing himself off before he turned the water off. He was still hard, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get himself off.

The tips of his fingers buzzed as he redressed himself and Bucky hopped in the shower. Steve didn't know if it was the stress of the mission or the adrenaline you gave him, but he couldn't wait anymore. He didn't have the patience to wait anymore.

He was watching the camera feeds in your apartment when Bucky came out of the bathroom. All it took was one look from Steve—they already had it all planned out, they just had to put it into motion.

You struggled to unlock your door, twisting the key in the lock a few times, cursing as you pushed your shoulder against the door, stumbling as the door swung open. You managed to catch yourself before knocking over your vase of daisies, straightening as you waited for your world to stop spinning.

You knew it had been a bad idea when you agreed to go out tonight. You're such a lightweight and after just three shots and half a glass of wine, you're going to have a killer hangover in the morning. God, and it's three a.m. But Annie had begged you to come with them. You haven't hung out with her in so long, you were desperate to see her again. You just wished she hadn't dragged you out to a bar.

You dropped your handbag on your little dining room table, opening the refrigerator to pour yourself a glass of orange juice. You drank half the glass in a couple of gulps, letting out a sigh as you set the glass down. As you moved to pull your phone out of your purse, you heard the floorboards creak, like someone was taking a step.

You froze, looking down the hall. The boards in your bedroom creak like that when you step down on a certain spot, but you've been in the apartment long enough to learn where it is exactly and step around it.

As quietly as you could, you made your way down the hall, checking the bathroom. You've seen enough horror movies in your life to know never to close the shower curtain when you weren't using it, so with a quick glance you knew the room was empty.

Your bedroom was at the end of the hall, the door cracked open. You walked in, carefully looking around. Your closet door was open, the windows were closed, you turned and looked towards your dresser mirror and—

You saw the figure behind you before you could react. Your eyes went wide, their hand coming up to cover your mouth before you could muster a scream. Your hands flew up to the hand, legs kicking out as the intruder dragged you out of your bedroom. You screamed into the hand, thrashing as you felt a sharp prick in your neck.

"It's alright," they cooed. "Shhh, it's okay, doll. You're just gonna go to sleep for a little while, okay?"

You shook your head frantically, tears streaming down your face as you felt your body getting tired. You blinked furiously, trying to fight the sleepy feeling. Your muscles felt like dead weight, you stopped kicking your feet as your grip on the man's cold hand went slack.

"That's a good girl," he crooned. "Just relax, kitten. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. Your vision blurred, and then everything went black.

436 notes · View notes

yoondoze · 4 years ago

Text

make a wish | jjk

jeongguk doesn’t know it, but his wish came true.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 3.5k

genre: angst, best friend!au

warnings: mentions of sex, language

a/n: uhh been in a jeongguk mood recently, so i’m riding it out through writing angsty drabbles :’) this is lowkey unedited so shh

You’re sick of sharing birthdays with Jeon Jeongguk.

Yeah, your perfectly timed entrance into this world on the same date was the basis of your friendship, but every year? It made sense when you were kids and had to invite the entire class to your parties since everyone had the same friends. But now you’re sixteen, and things are different.

While the two of you have always been close friends, what with growing up around the block together and spending the dog days of summer crossing between the sandbox and the pool with one another, you also have put together your own separate friend groups at school. And now that all of them are here together, it’s an awkward intermingling of teenagers that don’t have much in common, other than that they all suddenly forget who they’re here for when they see an attractive person their same age.

The only good thing about it is that Jeongguk invited his cute guy friends. Not here for you, per se, but the attention is all the same. Especially when it’s coming from Park Jimin. The way he wished you a happy birthday earlier was the most charming thing you’ve ever seen to date.

Jeongguk, bowl cut and all, is having the time of his life. The fact that its his 16th birthday doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it’s his birthday. He doesn’t feel much different like he thought he might. Maybe it is because every cool YA protagonist he ever idolized was saving the world at 16. By now, he’s decided that all the romanticized versions of teenage lives he’s been sold on up to this very moment is a scam. Nonetheless, he’s a simple boy. He’s just enjoying the time bowling with his friends.

...Until the moment he lays eyes on you.

The alley is dark, and though it obscures your features, he knows you well enough to see you’re upset. Your friends are barely hanging out with you, seeming to have left you behind for his friends, who coincidentally left him behind for yours. He also knows you compromised for this party. You wanted painting, envisaging a lovely evening with your companions, seated behind easels and letting your creativity flow onto a canvas. You were eight hours older and therefore the one in charge of making the decisions - it was a no-brainer, in your eyes.

But Jeongguk, never one to give in, insisted on bowling. Your parents were forcing a shared party again this year, and with how you eventually accepted that Jeongguk would throw a fit if he had to paint on his birthday, you reluctantly agreed under the obligatory condition that he invited his friend Jimin.

Who he was starting to hate, by the way. You gave more attention to the kid you were crushing on from history instead of the best friend you’d grown up with your entire life. Every time he saw you stare longingly at some stupid boy that was as mature as a cucumber, he wanted to scream that the real pickle was standing right in front of you!

Give him a break. It’s the only analogy his sixteen year old mind can think of.

The caring boy he is, he walks over to where you sit solemnly by yourself. All you’ve been doing for the past five minutes is tapping your feet to the overplayed pop music flooding the joint and continuously picking at your fingers - an unquestionably fantastic time. He shoves out his hand for you to take, which you willingly do in hopes for a cure for your boredom, and he drags you over to his lane. The way you roll your eyes at his enthusiasm only makes him like you more. That’s because it’s always accompanied by a fond smile, and he loves to see your dimples.

He’d never tell you, though. He’d definitely never tell his mom, because he knows she’d get too eager and tell your mom, and then she’d tell you. His mom has been rooting for the two of you since day one. She always was saying things like, “I’m not letting you date anyone unless it’s Y/N,” or, “I can’t wait until you and Y/N go to prom!”

At one point he wondered if he actually liked you or if it was the result of his mom’s wishes manifesting into real life after such diligence. He has since then accepted his feelings as his own, but won’t deny how the ideas sometimes made his cheeks flush.

In the time since the party has started, your “friends” have disappeared to the bathroom twice. His friends are over getting snacks without him, but it doesn’t upset him anymore. He didn’t really want their company anyway. It’s just the two of you, how it’s always been, and how he wanted it from the start.

“Watch, watch, okay?” He says, excitement dripping off every syllable. He figures he can maybe lift your mood if his is high enough to share some with you.

“Okay, I’m watching!” you exclaim. Jeongguk swells as he watches your cheeks bounce.

He seats you behind the machine and hurries to pick up a fourteen-pound ball swirled with blue and purple.

Now that he actually has to do it, Jeongguk’s heart races just a little bit. He just doesn’t want to embarrass himself, that’s all. His skills have improved from practice and the bowling team at school and it would suck if he screwed up. Especially considering that the reason he was so certain about a bowling party was so he’d have the chance to show off to you. But then he thinks it might make you laugh if he embarrasses himself, so his reassurance is that it’ll be a win either way.

He takes a deep breath. He draws back skillfully and with four purposeful steps, his right foot slips behind him and his arm swings fluidly toward his target. The ball hits the waxed floor rolling. The tension in his body is stiff as it heads right toward the pins, and boom! All ten fall in a domino effect, the rough clattering echoing in the alley. A perfect strike.

His fists pump into the air as his chest fills with pride. He spins on his heels, eyes sparkling as he hopes to find a smile on your face when he gets there -

But you’re not even paying attention. His ecstatic expression falls as quickly as his spirit does. Your head is turned from him, and when he follows your gaze, it lands on none other than fucking Park Jimin. There’s a subtle smile resting on your lips as you focus on his mindless laughter as opposed to Jeongguk’s imposing strike. Jimin is standing at the controls of a claw machine, working the joystick as his friends direct him to grab some stupid inflatable basketball the size of his palm. If it were Jeongguk, he’d go for the plush bear in the machine over and get it for you in one try.

“C’mon guys!” Your mom yells, breaking you from your infatuated stare. “Cake!”

The boys give up on their escapade and the girls magically apparate back from their fifteen minute long bathroom break. Thrilled jeers and whoops sound from everyone now filtering into the party room, somehow more excited about it than the birthday boy and girl themselves.

As you get up from your seat, you meet Jeongguk’s eyes with a quick raise of your brows, oblivious to the fact you just obliterated his heart without saying a single word. Then he’s trailing behind you, brushing his hair from his face with a sigh while everyone gathers around the table and lets you take your place at the head.

Amidst the singing and the cheers from your peers, Jeongguk can’t stop himself from glancing over to you. Right away, he knows the smiles you’re tossing out to your friends are forced. He regrets having this party in the first place. He hates seeing you disappointed and upset. He’ll choose painting any day if it means you won’t be like this.

You, on the other hand, are trying to get a peek of Jimin at every second possible. You can make out his voice among the others while singing. It’s just happy birthday, but his voice is actually really pretty, so you jot it down to reference in your next day dream.

“Make a wish!”

He thinks hard, imagining everything he could want at this point in his life. The spot for team captain, to ace his next Chemistry test, for a new bike. But wishing for something like that seems silly when he already knows what he really wants.

A big breath of air - “special for your 16th!” - and the two of you are blowing out the candles. One is all it takes for each of the waving flames to flicker out.

Jeongguk wishes that you’ll like him back.

You wish that Jimin will like you back.

☆☆☆

In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to shift your relationship with Jeongguk into something more than platonic friends. At this point, he’d call it friends with benefits. You’d call it getting your heart ripped out every time he dialed your number. Even worse, it was undeniably voluntary.

It was an awkward start. Both of you got drunk one night in his apartment, sitting on the cold tile of the kitchen floor, started asking heavy, slurred questions, and maybe admitted, “yeah, I’d fuck you,” on a whim. And then maybe you did just that.

It was supposed to be a one-time event. A weird moment in your timeline of friendship that you’d agree on forgetting. Something that you both would pretend never happened so things wouldn’t change.

However, Jeongguk’s life had been a roller coaster recently. He moved to the city with the intention of freedom only for things to get more complicated. His career was struggling, his girlfriend broke up with him, his friends barely spoke to him anymore.

So it was just you and him again, like it had always been. You were the only one who still visited, who still called, who still cared. That’s what friends are for. Help when times are rough and be there when needed. That’s your part of the deal.

Sex isn’t always included in said deal, but it is this time around.

It’s not much different. You come over for a regular movie night like you used to, but sometimes it ends up in his bedroom, that’s all. To him, anyway. You’re not sure how he hasn’t caught on yet. He’s so preoccupied that he probably chalks your racing pulse up to being horny, or interprets the emotion in your kisses as neediness. The way you hold onto him or say his name as pleasure.

It’s that endless love you have for him taking its many forms. It’s dropping off extra meals to stick in the fridge and checking in to make sure he isn’t beating himself up to the point where he can’t get out of bed. It’s also letting him fuck you when he needs to feel something.

He’s just in a rut. He just needs some time to get his life together and figure shit out. And from there it’ll be peaches and cream. When his life is on the upturn, he’ll realize you’re the one who’s always been there and who always will be, and then he’ll fall in love with you too. You’re not scared, you’re just helping your best friend through a tough time. But then he’s panting, rolling off you to take a shower right after.

It stings every time. Even when you think it will be different.

At the end of the day, if it makes him feel better, you’ll endure it a thousand times over. On a bright side that’s not all that bright, for the moments you spend intertwined, you can at least pretend he’s yours. You can imagine it’s just another hot night shared in your apartment as you live out your dreamy domestic couple’s life. It sometimes seems that way with how much you take care of him, but he’d never see it as anything more than platonic.

Jeongguk knows you love him, of course, but he doesn’t know the extent it reaches. He doesn't know that your heart shatters every time he gives you a kiss on the cheek and says he loves you. He doesn’t know that when you say it back, you don’t mean just as friends. He doesn’t know you’d drop everything and run if he asked you to. You didn’t even know it for a while. Because falling in love with Jeongguk is slow and comes day by day without realizing, until suddenly you’re stuck neck deep without an inkling in your mind of trying to escape. It’s a gentle, spellbinding bloom you wouldn’t trade for the world.

From this view on his bed, you can see a glimpse of his figure behind the foggy glass of his upright shower. You tug your t-shirt back on for some modesty as if it still matters, swallowing down the tightening in your throat. If he feels your eyes lingering on him, he doesn’t show it. For whatever reason, watching him wash his face in small circles makes your stomach sink inexplicably.

Jeongguk at the fresh age of twenty-one is a lot different than Jeongguk at sixteen. Gone is the bowl cut, in comes long wavy hair that hangs in front of his face, always seeming to fall perfectly to frame his features. His shoulders broadened along with his horizons. His personality hasn’t changed, but it’s easy to think it has with the dark cloud that seems to follow him wherever he walks nowadays. You never realized how cute his dimples were until they started showing less and less.

You toy with the idea of maybe just confessing tonight. Get it off your chest once and for all. It would save you a lot of heartbreak, but you can already picture yourself sputtering it out for tense silence to fill the air, and for you to walk out and never come back. You can’t decide if it’s really worth risking when he’s the only thing you’ve got. There are a myriad of directions your life could take, but you wouldn’t want a single one without him in it, even if it crushes you.

A deep sigh escapes you. It’s your birthday today - shouldn’t you be enjoying it instead of being so morally torn?

How is it that you had him so close for so many years yet still missed your chance?

The memory of wishing for Jimin’s returned affection as a teenager resurfaces and makes you wince. While he did end up liking you back, it was a mess of a relationship that left you moping back to Jeongguk after just a few months. It should have been obvious back then that it was him all along.

He was always right in front of you, doting on you, leaving his everlasting mark on your life without even meaning to. Charming and humble and telling jokes to make you laugh rather than to make you think he was funny, being kind out of the purity of his character rather than to be rewarded. Apologizing to ants when he had to kill them and then sulking the rest of the night, learning to braid your hair while watching movies, listening to your every rant and ramble with the utmost attention as if it was the only thing that mattered to him.

Then it hits you that it’s not just about you and never was. It’s Jeongguk’s birthday today, too. You wished it to each other when you walked through the door, but that’s not a celebration, and neither is sex. You’re reminded that your job is to be a friend regardless of how you feel because you know he’d do the same, and good friends wouldn’t spend your special day wallowing in their own self-pity.

With renewed vigor, you’re pushing yourself off the bed and padding out to his sorry excuse for a kitchen. There’s barely enough space to move around comfortably and you can’t imagine how he does it on a daily basis. The view beyond the counter-top and out the balcony connected to the living room is beautiful, though. It’s miles upon miles of shining lights and skyscrapers that embrace the velvet dusk of the sky. That’s broke city living, you suppose. You flick on the light, dim but just enough to see.

His cabinets are an absolute mess. There’s no organization to it at all, no method to the madness. It’s blatant even from the unsteady view on your tippy toes. You catch sight of some peanut butter, bags of chips, packets of ramen, a box of cinnamon frosted pop tarts…

You almost lose your balance as you shift everything around, but the feeling of joy when you see that signature box is indescribable. It’s exactly what you need.

The blue and white packaging of the Hostess CupCakes has been opened, and considering it was sitting at the back of the top shelf, probably forgotten about. However, you’re sure it’ll be enough for him.

You find the lighter fairly easily, pulling open all the drawers out and rummaging through them. As expected, there’s no organization either. Measuring cups and pens in one, scissors and a single oven mitt in another. It’s the third and final drawer you tug open to find something to possibly substitute what you’re looking for.

Not that you expected him to have birthday candles lying around, but you didn’t think you’d be using an old red crayon in ones place. It’ll make do. It has to, considering that the noise of Jeongguk shutting off the shower is already reverberating off the walls. It won’t be much of a surprise if he walks out here and asks what you’re doing before you can even finish.

With delicate fingers, you press the end of the crayon into the cake just enough for it to stay upright. The lighter takes a couple tries, as does getting the wax to melt down enough to reach the paper, but eventually a small glowing flame takes shape. Flickering orange and everything you need it to be. You can’t put your finger on why your eyes start to tear up when you look at it, but then Jeongguk is calling your name.

“One sec! Just sit down,” you say loudly, ready to shout at him to stay back if you hear a creaky foot step coming your way.

“...Why?”

“Just do it!”

“Alright, alright.” He surrenders, the weariness coating his tongue one that you hope you can wash away within the next few seconds. “I am sitting.”

Hands as stable as an anchor, you slide the cupcake into your palms and walk carefully so as to not put out the dwarfed blaze. You turn your back to push open the door with and glide into the room with an atypical but much appreciated vivacity.

His eyes widen and an open mouthed smile tweaks at his lips as he perches at the edge of the bed. The flame is already halfway down the paper, but he seems impressed with your extempore candle. It’s the only source of light in the room, and his face underneath the gentle glimmer is a sight that you know you’ll lock away forever to look back on with adoration.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...” you begin to sing, not bothered with the worry of embarrassment. Your lawless, flimsy tone elicits a bubbly laugh from Jeongguk. Suddenly, the bright Gguk you grew up beside returns, the one you love more than ever.

“Happy birthday dear Jeongguk-”

His voice harmonizes with yours, but he sings your name instead of his. He doesn’t even have to try for it to rattle you to your core. Your name off his tongue is by far the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

“Happy birthday to you.”

You extend your arms out so he can take in the makeshift festivity for all it is. His damp side-swept bangs reflect the pale gleam like black gossamer, and his eyes swimming with sentimentality.

“Make a wish,” you say, suppressing the wild flutter of your heart.

Jeongguk cups his hands under yours, pushing them back until the cupcake is equidistant to the both of you.

He says it firmly, not to be argued with. “No, together.”

You pretend to wipe the sweat from your forehead, thinking of what you might want this year. A job opportunity, to win the lottery, an easier semester at school. You don’t have to ponder for long. How could you, when what you really want has been sitting patiently at the forefront of your mind for almost a year?

Jeongguk sighs. If he could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?

In unison, you suck in a deep breath and close your eyes. You blow with all your might, extinguishing the flame together in one as the room falls dark again.

You wish that Jeongguk will like you back.

Jeongguk just wishes that life will get easier.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook drabble #jungkook angst #btsguild #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader #jungkook oneshot #jungkook scenario #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts imagine #bts x reader #yoondoze

270 notes · View notes

dottie-wan-kenobi · 5 years ago

Photo

DOTTIE’S BATFAM FIC RECS

hi!! so, no one asked for this but,,, I wanted to make one anyway! I really love the batfam a lot and I see a lot of ppl in the fandom wishing it was easier to find good fics. this is by no means all of them but they are some of my faves, generally not too fanon-y! all fics are gen/family fluff with little to no ships (which are not bat/cest).

feel free to message/ask me about triggers if you’re unsure!! and lmk if I forgot to tag anyone ❤️

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Homecoming by Ionaperidot / @iowriteswords on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966704/chapters/24414906

Summary: “Your son’s grave. It’s been disturbed.” In which people actually notice when Jason breaks out of his grave, and Bruce finds him before Talia does.

My thoughts: Bruce’s voice in this is seriously perfect, plus Dick, Jason, and Tim are great as well!! This fic honestly helps inform me of my Tim characterization!

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The Wound Begins To Bleed by audreycritter / @audreycritter on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295661

Summary: Now that Tim’s moved back to the manor, he just wants a few afternoons a week without Damian around. Funny how getting that was the catalyst for him becoming a better big brother.

My Thoughts: it makes me emotional okay it GETS me right in my HEART!!! both Dami and Tim are so so so good I can’t rec this enough

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just hold a smile by RecklessWriter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22777705

Summary: That's the thing about smiles, Dick thinks. If you flash the right one, no one knows there's something more going on inside. Five times Dick faked a smile and one time someone saw through it.

My Thoughts: Dick & others, including Tim and Cass. Dick is really good at hiding his feelings from others, and I love how in this fic, a lot of times, he’s hiding them to “protect” whoever it is

(more under the cut!)

life, if well lived by CaptainOzone

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378512

Summary: Jason wakes up from a time-travel mishap to find Thomas and Martha Wayne hovering over him. Just another day in the life, right? ...Not quite.

My Thoughts: this one had me crying like a baby!!! the characterization is great and I love CO’s Thomas and Martha

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one shot, two shots in the night by discowing / @dykewing on tumblr, @/wlwdiscowing on twitter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18871864/chapters/44792710

Summary: The New York Times ✓ @nytimes · 4h

“A Shot in the Dark” remains on our bestseller list for the fourth week in a row! Read our review of @brucewayne’s tell-all memoir here: nyti.ms/3Fs9k2E

My Thoughts: TALK ABT MAKING ME CRY. this gets me every time, and it’s absolutely worth ALL of the rereads. such a great Bruce.

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The View From Jade by lowflyingfruit

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11329791/chapters/25359972

Summary: Being transported to the past is not the sort of thing one normally expects. But this having happened, and with no easy way back, Jason's determined to make the most of it. Though the Bat still stalks Gotham's streets, the city's crime is run by the mobs instead of the rogues. There's no Joker yet. There's no Robin. Maybe there shouldn't be.

My Thoughts: Jason & Dick, and also Bruce somewhere in there too. this is SO! GOOD! I absolutely love Jason’s voice, and Dick is so in character. plus Bruce and Alfred are awesome as well!!!

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The Birds Who Smile by Raberba girl / @raberbagirl on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972324/chapters/29656290

Summary: "Dark Nights: Metal" AU where Bruce adopts three of the Robins who once belonged to the Batman Who Laughs.

My Thoughts: I think this was the first fic that introduced me to Duke, actually! and while there are a LOT of characters involved, they’re all pretty great and realistic. they have their moments to shine and it’s,,, *chef’s kiss*

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The Thing about Apples and Trees by Cdelphiki / @cdelphiki on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22192747

Summary: When Jason agreed to let Bruce adopt him, he thought that meant Jason felt happy and safe in Bruce's home. But when Jason's nightmares only increased, and his panic attacks and meltdowns started happening more often, Bruce was at a complete loss for what to do. But then, Jason finally opened up to him, and he was able to quell some of Jason's worse fears. Perhaps a midnight chat and a few hugs wouldn't fix everything, but it was a step in the right direction.

My Thoughts: this is part of a series but might be okay to read on it’s own? tho really I suggest the entire series, it’s amazing. but this fic specifically has great kid Jason characterization (and also made me cry, I think!)

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Kitten by lurkinglurkerwholurks / @lurkinglurkerwholurks on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18194294

Summary: Bruce opened his mouth, prepared to give the unemotional, no-nonsense explanation he had cobbled together between his walk to the car and now. Instead, his mouth went dry and nothing came out.

“Bruce?”

Bruce was saved from answering by the thin cry that cut through the silence. He winced, then reached back with one hand to shush the dimpled, kicking legs.

“Bruce, tell me I did not just hear what I thought I heard.”

My Thoughts: so so so cute! plus the gangs all here!!!

---

Yes Ma’am by lurkinglurkerwholurks

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004695

Summary: Jason had shuffled into the bedroom and had just finished pulling his shirt over his head when he paused, arms still trapped in the fabric. A pair of eyes glowed at him from the bed, reflecting the dim light from the hall.

My Thoughts: I also have to include this one bc it was a gift to me, and it’s so cute & angsty & just dkjsfsdjkhfksjah I love it so much

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The D-Word by AutumnHobbit / @autumnhobbit on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9597686

Summary: "See, Tim?" Jason called over his shoulder sardonically. "Dad agrees with me."

He turned back to his food for a moment before the thought suddenly occurred to him that the Cave had gone near silent. He cautiously glanced back at the others. Alfred was still working away at stitching Tim up. Tim looked a little pale and sweaty, but he was glancing over at Jason with a look that was a mixture of concern and confusion. Bruce was standing stock-still, seemingly staring off into space.

My Thoughts: I constantly reread this when I want funny and then heart breaking Jason & Bruce feels. I always know what’s coming and it STILL GETS ME

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baby wonder by drakefeathers / @drakefeathers on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887807

Summary: (baby!damian AU) Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman. But the Damian that Talia leaves in his care isn’t a ten-year-old warrior, he’s a ten-month-old baby.

My Thoughts: oh my goddd this is so good, it hurts but it’s SO CUTE at the same time??? ugh dskjfhkjsadhf

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a hat fashioned from tin foil by discowing

https://archiveofourown.org/works/14356020

Summary: nightwang @karakurachou – 8 hours ago

jason todd is alive and faked his death so he could become robin: a conspiracy theory thread

Batfam conspiracy theories meet social media.

My Thoughts: !!!!!!! so good!!!! seriously one of the best social media fics I’ve ever read.

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Bet Your Bottom Dollar by jerseydevious / @jerseydevious on tumblr and twitter

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17971160/chapters/42447017

Summary: Dick's been having kind of a hard time, recently. When it boils over, Bruce is there for him.

My Thoughts: I reread this one a LOT when I need Dick & Bruce feels

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Metanoia by AlannaOfRoses / @alannaofroses on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943249

Summary: Jason's bleeding out, Dick's overtired, and a half-serious offer turns into their new normal. Sometimes you just need somebody else around.

My Thoughts: this one was also a gift to me!! it’s got amazing brotherly bonding and it made me laugh a LOT

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a hundred miles through the desert by acrobats

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18197330/chapters/43045388

Summary: Finding himself nearly three decades into the past hadn't been part of Jason's plans for the day, but he could manage. Having no idea how he got there, no clear path home and a recently orphaned Bruce Wayne determined to drag Jason into his search for his parents' killer - that might be a little more complicated.

My Thoughts: ughhh this is such good Jason content (and such amazing Jason voice, too) I adore it

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oh, where do I begin? by LazuliQuetzal / @lazuliquetzal on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21988693

Summary: “No, no, nothing’s wrong,” Jason says. “We’re a-okay. Just peachy. Good times.”

“Oh,” Duke says, lamely, working himself out of crisis mode. There’s an awkward silence for a moment before he speaks up again. “Why did you call?”

“Right, right," Jason mumbles, which seemed a little out of character to Duke. His sort-of wayward brother was generally intimidating, even when he wasn't trying to be. "Uh, Dick said that you had a guinea pig when you were younger. How do you take care of a guinea pig?”

_____

AKA, not-exactly accidental guinea pig acquisition

My Thoughts: this was ALSO a gift to me but it’s so funny and sweet and there’s amazing Duke & Jason bonding so I absolutely must rec it

---

Latchkey by goldkirk / @goldkirk on tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672928/chapters/51685639

Summary: or, How Tim Drake Found A Family, Became A Photojournalist, Learned To Love Coffee, and Grew Up, not necessarily in that order.

Tim Drake is thirteen, runs the famous BatWatch blog that has spiraled hilariously out of control, has absentee parents that suit his purposes just fine, is training himself to run the streets at night, and is doing absolutely peachy, thank you.

Alfred and Jason disagree, and get Dick and Bruce involved in figuring out their weird nextdoor neighbor kid’s life. Everything goes uphill from there.

My Thoughts: this is SO GOOOOD the Tim feels are amazing!!! the family interactions!!! everything! sdkjfhsjdfhksdhfajh

---

Blood in the Water by MishaBerry

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734052/chapters/29037474

Summary: We all do stupid things when we are lonely, and in faraway lands, we hardly expect the consequences to follow us. Bruce certainly never thought twice about an American woman in Jaipur after one night with her. He hardly expected to see her ever again.

The universe, on the other hand, had different ideas, and the tides of time and chance brought Tim Drake to Bruce's life over and over again.

My Thoughts: this one is more AU than a lot of the others on here but it’s a lot of fun!! it has Tim & Damian & Jason feels, plus the rest of the family on a smaller scale

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so these are just SOME, and honestly you should go and check out other works done by all of these authors!! also would like to suggest reading the fics of @renecdote , @caramelmachete , @redtruthed , @rredarrow , and @schweeeppess !!!

#batfam fic recs #batfam #batfamily #dc #fic rec #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #cass cain #duke thomas #steph brown #damian wayne #i do love all of these fics but im thinking there should be more w cass and duke #both in general and on the list #i'll just have to make another one w more of their fics dkjfkdjsafh

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i-like-plan-m · 4 years ago

Note

About your LWJ can hear lies AU- I can’t help but wonder how he would react to Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao since they are both known for being expert manipulators, especially since it’s hinted at that Nie Huaisang had a lot to do with the WW and MX thing. So I wondered if Huaisang would find a way around LWJ’s lie detecting or if he even knows about it? Also, I can just imagine the PAIN LWJ would be in if he had to talk to Jin Guangyao

Oops, I forgot to link this on tumblr! My bad! This is chapter 3 of the lies au

The trip to Qinghe was familiar by now.

Years of flight between the sects meant Lan Zhan could make the trip with his eyes closed. He kept them open, because the sight of the Qinghe mountain range always brought a sense of relief that was as sharp as the cold air.

The sight at the gates was becoming a familiar one, too. Nie Huiyin waited for him with all the patience she was capable of, her constant restless energy directed into a small but impeccably crafted blade that she was sharpening like it had done something to offend her.

It was just her way, Lan Zhan had learned. Nie Mingjue’s cousin was as brusque as he was, infinitely more cheerful and possibly the loudest person Lan Zhan had ever met in his life. She was also, however, the most refreshingly honest person in all five of the great sects, save for perhaps Nie Mingjue himself.

“Ah!” She said brightly as he landed before her, stepping gracefully from his sword and sweeping it back into the sheath on his back. “It’s our little Lan Zhan, back again!”

He refused to acknowledge the blush heating his ears and instead nodded in greeting. His composed response did not deter her from tossing a friendly arm around his shoulders and hauling him through the open gates, past the grinning guards and into the towering grasp of the Unclean Realm walls.

“How have you been, shidi?” She asked. The Nie Sect, Lan Zhan had quickly discovered, lived up to their imposing reputation of strength and honor. They were also the friendliest people in the world, once they’d decided you were theirs.

Once Lan Zhan's was unofficially acknowledged as a member of the sect leader’s family-- or at least someone held in high regard by Nie-zongzhu himself, the floodgates had opened. He couldn’t decide whether their open affection was embarrassing or not, but it did fill him with a warmth he was unfamiliar with, one that felt like unconditional acceptance. As though they wanted him here. As though they liked him.

He had never had friends before.

Well. He wasn’t entirely positive that he had any now. But regardless, the Nie Sect disciples treated him with regard. They smiled when they saw him. They welcomed him in their training exercise despite the differences in their sects’ fighting styles.

Some, like Nie Huiyin, treated him as though he was a part of their sect. Another of Nie Mingjue’s little brothers to look out for, to keep tabs on like he was incapable of taking care of himself.

It would be insulting if it hadn’t felt so much like acceptance.

“I have been progressing,” Lan Zhan reported dutifully. “My control has improved further since my last visit.” He didn’t react to lies like someone had stabbed him in the ear the way he once had. With age came control, and a higher pain tolerance, apparently.

Nie Huiyin made a sound of exasperation. “You Lans, I swear. I meant how have you been? Done anything fun lately?” She jostled him to punctuate her questions. He was slightly cheered by the fact that she had to reach higher than usual to rest an arm over his shoulders; he’d finally hit his growth spurt this summer and was nearing his brother’s height.

“I mastered Inquiry,” he offered.

She squinted at him suspiciously. “Is that what you do for fun?”

“I enjoy it, yes.”

“Hm. Acceptable. Though my rock climbing offer still stands if you want real fun. There’s nothing more exhilarating than free-falling from a thousand feet, shidi!” Lan Zhan gave a doubtful noise in response that made her laugh. “We catch ourselves before the bottom and take the rest of the fall on our sabers. And then!”

And then they raced through the most dangerous mountain pass in Qinghe on their sabers, chasing adrenaline with as many death-defying stunts they could manage until the pass ended in a dead-drop of a hundred feet. Most of them followed the waterfall straight into the large lake at the bottom. Most of the Nie disciples were reckless enough to try it at least once.

“Scorpion Alley,” he said, familiar with the sect’s unofficial rite of passage.

“You got it,” she agreed cheerfully. “We still haven’t gotten you out there, have we?”

“You will not,” he assured her, and bit back a smile when her laugh echoed across the training grounds. It was so different here than in his sect. There was little composure in Qinghe, no reason to stifle laughter or keep words hushed.

Composure, he’d learned, was another word for concealment. Disguising one’s truthful feelings to reflect serenity instead. A mask that hid the turmoil beneath for the sake of propriety.

It was a lie all the same.

“I hear your sect is hosting guest disciples next year,” Nie Huiyin said, steering him towards the main hall.

“Yes.” He made a halfhearted attempt to sound neutral. He must have failed, because she snorted a laugh as she shoved open the doors of the main hall where Nie Mingjue sat, sorting through a stack of reports with a cranky expression. A slender, unfamiliar man with a dimpled smile stood beside the desk, holding a massive accounting book and waiting patiently for Nie Mingjue to stop muttering under his breath.

Nie Mingjue looked up as the doors swung open. He brightened almost immediately, standing to welcome Lan Zhan with such genuine delight that Lan Zhan ducked his head, pleased.

“Welcome back,” he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder and leading him to one of the nearby tables, gesturing for a servant to bring tea. He sat across from Lan Zhan while Nie Huiyin leaned against a column behind him. “How was the trip?”

“Fine,” Lan Zhan said, and tried not to sound petulant. He was almost sixteen, perfectly capable of making the trip from Gusu to Qinghe without trouble.

“It’s the da-ge instinct, little Lan,” Nie Huiyin said with a laugh, nudging Nie Mingjue with her knee when he scowled up at her. “He can’t help himself.”

The unfamiliar man hovered in the background as though unsure what to do without Nie MIngjue’s attention. Lan Zhan blinked at him, still unclear on who this newcomer was or how he’d climbed to Nie Mingjue’s side so quickly. Lan Zhan visited often enough that he would have noticed a new person in Nie Mingjue’s inner circle before today, surely.

Nie Mingjue noticed his distraction and turned to wave the man over. “Ah. Apologies, you two have not met.” The stranger obediently crossed the room and bowed low to Lan Zhan. “This is Lan Wangji, the Second Jade of Lan. And this is Meng Yao, my new deputy.”

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Lan-er-gongzi.”

Lan Zhan nodded politely in response and wondered at the faint whisper of a slipped note that accompanied his words. Not quite a lie, but there was something underlying that sounded… off.

“Da-ge,” Nie Huisang complained, sweeping into the room with a sulking expression. “I already did my saber training today as promised, and Nie Zonghui is trying to make me do more. This is cruel and unjust and-- oh, hi Lan Wangji.”

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Zhan murmured.

“Lan Wangji,” Nie Huiasang said brightly, throwing himself down beside them. “Tell me, doesn’t your clan have a rule or twelve about keeping promises?”

“A-Sang,” Nie Mingjue said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Meng Yao hid a smile like he’d witnessed many similar discussions like this one.

Then again, so had Lan Zhan. The Nie’s bickering was as constant as stars in the sky. It had taken some getting used to, but now Lan Zhan let it pass over him as background noise. It was all born from a place of love, and even the small lies (like Nie Huaisang’s mistruth about the duration of his promised saber practice) were easily ignored.

Meng Yao, though. He was odd.

Lan Zhan kept his face carefully neutral whenever Meng Yao’s smiles rang false, which was… often. He smiled like he knew it was expected of him, not because he wanted to. Like he was playing a role, either for the sect leader’s benefit or his own.

It had been a few years since his lessons with Lan Xichen on the reasons why people lie, but most of it was… still hard to understand. So when Meng Yao responded to direction throughout the rest of Lan Zhan’s visit with a demure, “I would be honored, Sect Leader” and it rang discordant every time, Lan Zhan thought it was perhaps time to ask for help.

Only a few years ago, Lan Zhan had accidentally exposed an advisor in Qinghe who had been bought off by merchants in the city. Every bit of his advice and own influence had been manipulated to support the merchants.

Of course, when Lan Zhan was in the room and realized the advisor’s input sounded like a drunkard playing a dizi, he’d signaled to Nie Mingjue, who then rooted out the reason for his lies. Lan Zhan was not capable of doing so himself-- he only knew when people lied, never their reason for it.

Shortly after Nie Mingjue had personally tossed the advisor out of the Unclean Realm’s gates, Lan Zhan had discovered a shadow wandering around on his heels.

“How’d you know he was lying?” Nie Huaisang asked curiously. He continued when Lan Zhan stood frozen in place, unsure how to respond. “I saw your cue to da-ge. The hand signal?”

“I…” He had no idea what to do. Brush him off? Explain his mother’s gift? Deny it entirely?

No. That was dishonest.

He swallowed hard and admitted, “I can hear lies.”

“Really?” Nie Huaisang’s eyes brightened. “So you knew the advisor was corrupt?”

“No. Just that he lied.”

“Hm. Interesting. So just the lie, not the intention?” The ever-present fan fluttered as Nie Huaisang stared thoughtfully at him. He nodded once in agreement. “You hear it?”

Lan Zhan realized he’d been absently following Nie Huaisang’s meandering pace along one of the walls. They were alone, so he reluctantly shared, “It was a gift from my mother, before she died. I hear conversations like music, and lies are…”

“Horrible, mangled sounds?” Nie Huaisang asked dryly. “My music tutors tell me that’s what I sound like when I play, anyway.”

His face did not show the flicker of humor he felt. “Yes.”

“Is there anything other than the curse that tells you when they lie? Like, if their voice sounds nervous or their breathing is too fast?”

Lan Zhan paused. He’d never thought of that, of looking past the sound of the curse to identify the physiological aspects of the liars. Why would he? There was irrefutable proof from the curse.

But not looking further felt… lazy. Like willful ignorance. That he could not abide.

“I will observe from now on,” he decided.

“Me too!” Nie Huaisang caught his skeptical side-eye, because he sighed like he alone bore the weight of the universe and said, “I’m just saying, it seems like a useful skill. That advisor got past me, too, you know, and I spend a lot of time listening to their incredibly boring conversations.”

“Boring conversations about running the sect.” If the disapproval wasn’t clear on his face, it was evident in his tone.

“Exactly,” Nie Huaisang agreed. “But I learned my lesson, Lan-er-gongzi, all thanks to you! We should practice together, don’t you think? How about just before lunch every day?”

“That is the time of your saber training,” Lan Zhan, who was not an idiot, said.

“Is it?” Nie Huaisang asked, blinking innocently at him. “Ah, well, da-ge can’t complain if I’m busy making our favorite guest feel welcome!”

“We will spar together before lunch,” Lan Zhan decided, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s horrified expression. “And then study during lunch.”

“No,” Nie Huaisang wailed. “How can I learn to read people if I’ve been pummeled into the dirt by the Second Jade of Lan?”

“I would not,” Lan Zhan said, offended. “You are not capable of a legitimate spar--”

“No shit!”

“--so instead I will help with your training.”

“Somehow this turned out very badly for me,” Nie Huaisang muttered, but he was at the training grounds mostly on time later that day all the same.

That was two years ago.

After two years of shared study, they had something that was not quite a friendship. Lan Zhan had never lost the sense of awkwardness around Nie Huaisang-- he was never quite sure how to interact, wasn’t sure what his role was in this relationship.

Nie Huaisang mostly just complained to him about everything under the sun. But every time Lan Zhan visited, he showed up to the training grounds with an expression of utmost suffering. He only remembered his saber half the time, and he tripped over his own feet often enough Lan Zhan feared for his life, but he showed up.

So Lan Zhan knew his concerns would be heard if he took them to Nie Huaisang. Maybe he would have more insight into Meng Yao’s oddities-- Nie Huaisang understood people the way Lan Zhan didn’t. He couldn’t hear lies, but he could see them.

Most of the time, anyway. He’d learned to read faces where Lan Zhan heard the mistruths. It was a training method with guaranteed reliability, and Nie Huaisang’s success had surprised him. Apparently he was highly capable when he actually applied himself. Too bad he didn’t want to.

Still. He would listen to Lan Zhan, and he would help. That much was certain.

#this is late #sorry i forgot to answer the actual prompt lol #featuring my chaotic lesbian oc #nie huiyin #because i wanted more women in it #in the shadow of moonlit flowers #my fics #my writing #the untamed #mdzs #asks #anon #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan wangji #lan zhan #meng yao #prompts

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kooala · 4 years ago

Text

once you realize - chapter six

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Tags: best friend! Jungkook, idol verse, friends to lovers!

Genre: fluff, mutual pining, this one is very very very fluffy

Words: 3+k

Warnings: none, only soft, very emotional and slow though.

Parts: chapter one / chapter two / chapter three / chapter four / chapter five / chapter six / chapter seven

Summary: basically what we all came here for. sadkfjh

masterlist

A/N: IT’S HEREEEE sorry after torturing you last time! I really hope you enjoy reading this as much as my fluffy ass enjoyed writing this! Please enjoy 💖✨

As you lifted your head, all you could see was an arm right in front of your face, holding a phone. With heavy eyelids you pushed up on your elbows a little confused as to where you were, blinking from the sudden light in the room and as you turned your head, you gently touched noses with Jungkook.

With a short, nervous laugh you tried to roll off of him, embarrassed you had fallen asleep that close and cuddly with him, but as you moved you noticed his arm around your shoulders. He wasn’t holding you in but you felt it around you, heavy enough for you to not want to move. Jungkook noticed the attempt of getting up and hesitantly pulled his arm back, giving you space to leave if you felt like it.

“What time is it?”, you mumbled quietly, without moving away from him, enjoying his presence way too much. “It’s almost four in the morning. You fell asleep on the couch after they started playing mafia, so I put you to bed. Joined a couple of minutes ago.”, he smiled, looking over to you.

“You carried me over to your bedroom?”, you couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Jungkook carrying your passed out, idiot self into his bedroom to tuck you in. The fact that he had only recently joined and you had immediately turned around to be close to him, kind of embarrassed you but something about it also made your heart feel warm and fluffy.

“Should I have left you on the couch?”, he chuckled and you shrugged. Shooting a quick glance over your face, Jungkook placed his arm back around you as he noticed you didn’t seem to be backing out of the touch. With shivers running down your spine you only managed to smile, lifting an arm to put some of your hair over your shoulder, intentionally leaning a bit more into his arm as you ran your fingers through your hair slowly.

Jungkook hesitated for a long second while watching you before he put his hand up to gently push the other side of your hair behind your ear. The way he did it carefully while letting his eyes trace your features, made you blush so badly, he smiled at your reaction. With a soft movement he brushed his thumb over your cheekbone before dropping his hand on the sheets behind you and for a second you weren’t sure if you had imagined it. Something about the way you could still feel his fingertip on your skin made it seem real though.

“Did anyone get naked in the pool?”, you said surprisingly quiet now because you felt the tension in your body as you mentioned what caused you to break your little moment on the balcony earlier that night. Jungkook shook his head with a smile. “Sadly no. Waste of time.”, he mumbled back quietly and you only nodded as you felt your hands getting a little sweaty from being so insanely nervous all of a sudden.

Earlier you had been a little tipsy, the alcohol and tears making the moment outside a little more surreal and easier to handle but this time, there was just you and Jungkook. No one to interrupt, nothing to fog up your brain as you were confronted with the entire load of emotions you had been holding back for so long. The scent of him seemed to fill your head and almost made you a little dizzy. So settle, yet it was everything you noticed in that moment.

“Are you going to stay over?”, he asked after a while of both of you just pondering your thoughts. The thought made you feel all giddy and excited. You really didn’t want to leave and have this awkward break from earlier standing between the both of you. So before you had a chance to control your thoughts or your body made the decision for you, nodding towards Jungkook.

“Perfect. I’ll give you some clothes then.”, Jungkook smiled from ear to ear, stroking his hand over your arm softly as he got up off the bed. He walked to his closet, digging through it and he eventually returned with a grey shirt and some sweats, handing them over to you. You sat up, looking up to him and took the clothes he was handing to you. The moment seemed to have faded once again and you wondered if this was going to be your thing from now on. Missing all the opportunities until the moment had passed entirely and there was no point in pursuing it anymore.

Crawling off the bed you followed Jungkook to the bathroom and only now noticed you had never been inside his bathroom before. You had always used the guestroom in the hall so seeing all his personal items, perfumes and towels hanging around you had to smile for sharing that space with him all of a sudden.

Jungkook gave you a toothbrush, some towels and eventually left you alone to get ready in the bathroom. The second he left the room you couldn’t help but open the spray on the counter and smell it. It was like Jungkook bottled up into a soft, gentle warm hug and as you felt a bit creepy for smelling it, you put it back with a chuckle, wondering if that was something he would’ve done if that would’ve been your bathroom.

Taking off your clothes you got changed into his shirt and as you looked at yourself in the mirror, the big shirt fitting you like a dress, you debated the entirety of the time you needed to brush your teeth on whether or not you should make a bold move, stepping out without wearing the sweats he had given you or if that was too much for the situation you were both in.

Putting your hand on the door handle you hesitated for a second, looking at the neatly folded sweats in your hand, trying to find the courage to just walk out and lay down but the longer you waited, the more you seemed to talk yourself out of it. Taking a deep breath, you pushed down the door handle, walking out into the room only to be faced with Jungkook, who was wearing way less than you were.

In a short moment of panic he stared at you, quickly pulling up the sweats he was in the middle of putting on and for a short moment, your eyes were glued to his shirtless chest. Jungkook quickly tied up the drawstrings of his sweats and you couldn’t help but chuckle, shooting a quick glance over his bare chest as you walked over to sit down on the bed again.

“Sorry I thought you were going to take longer.”, he said with a shy look on his face, his ears bright red as he turned around to walk back to the closet to get a shirt to wear. “To be honest, I forgot.”, he chuckled as he walked back, sliding his arms into the shirt while talking to you.

“I mean if you usually don’t wear one, don’t let me stop you.”, you chuckled and Jungkook raised an eyebrow, giving you a little cocky grin. You had seen that grin endless of times before but never while he was half undressed. For obvious reasons, it seemed to hit a little different this time around.

“I’m not going to make you uncomfortable, it’s fine.”, he chuckled and put on his shirt, folding back the sheets and sat down. You felt like saying you wouldn’t be uncomfortable if he did take it off seemed a little too desperate so without saying another word you pushed the blanket back and took your place on the other side of the bed, pulling the sheets up all the way to your nose, letting his scent lull you in once more.

As Jungkook turned off the light after he finished getting ready for bed, you could hear the sheets rustling next to you as he got comfortable under the covers. He always had to have a window open when he was sleeping so the sounds of the city were slightly audible. The only light that was coming in, was the faint beam of light from the curtain moving occasionally. With a big smile on your face, you stretched under the covers, turning to your side.

For a long time there was complete silence and you already felt like you were getting tired although you had just slept, when the sheets started rustling again and as you opened your eyes, you could see Jungkook sitting up against the faint light. “Sorry but I’m boiling.”, he chuckled and you could hear the thud of his shirt, hitting the floor a few seconds later.

All of a sudden, you felt like you were boiling, too but for a different reason. The fact that you hadn’t even seen Jungkook shirtless before today and now he was inches away under the same sheets with you, made you feel all over the place and on top of it, guilty. You shouldn’t think of him that way but you couldn’t help it. Pressing your eyes closed you tried to force yourself to go to sleep only to be met with Jungkook’s fingertips, tracing over your arm gentle in the search of your hand.

The tingly feeling in your chest rising immensely, you confidentially turned your hand, stroking over his wrist in order to take it, interlocking your fingers with his. This time there was no question or room for interpretation – the two of you were holding hands intentionally.

Biting your lip nervously, you gently pulled on his hand.

You saw him turn his head to look at you in the dark room and gently tugged his hand one more time. Jungkook didn’t hesitate as he pulled his pillow closer to yours, turning to his side to face you and as he let go of your hand to pull the blanket in behind him, you tried to find his eyes in the dark. You could feel your breath going a little faster as the racing heart and nerves started kicking in.

The first thing you felt was his knee touching yours and you could feel the thick fabric of his sweats on your skin. Scooting your leg forward a bit, you intertwined your leg with his slowly and in the dimly lit room, you could see Jungkook’s dimple as he was smiling.

“I’m sorry he interrupted earlier.”, Jungkook broke the silence out of the blue. His voice seemed lower than usual and your heart seemed to skip a few beats as you heard it. Shaking your head a bit you smiled. “Not his fault, he didn’t know...”, you mumbled, leaving the end of the sentence hanging in the room.

“Just felt perfect..”, he admitted quietly, as if he was admitting something that made him feel embarrassed. With a smile on your lips you shrugged a bit. “I don’t know about you, but feels pretty perfect to me.”

There was a short moment of silence before Jungkook spoke again. “You’re right.”, he simply mumbled and in the next second, you felt his hand on your waist, hesitantly, as if asking for permission. Placing your hand on his wrist you slid your hand up his arm slowly, showing him that you really didn’t mind, in fact you wouldn’t mind if he did a lot more than that.

Without hesitation this time, Jungkook wrapped his arm around your waist completely and with a gentle motion, he pulled you in, chest to chest. For a moment you felt like all the air was being sucked out of your lungs and you couldn’t help but take a quiet, sharp breath. Having him this close all of a sudden did all sorts of things to your emotions and as your breathing felt a little heavier against his chest you could only stare at him. Your hand slid up to his shoulder and you could feel how firm and toned his body was under your touch. Tracing your fingertips over his skin, the velvety feeling seemed to lull you in and without putting too much thought into it, you simply let your fingers glide from his shoulder to this back. You could feel the goosebumps spreading on his skin and with a slight smile creeping over your lips, you lifted your hand, only tracing your fingertips over his skin softly.

You could hear him breathing in deeper, his breathing going a little heavier as the moments slowly passed. Jungkook’s hand reached for yours, lifting it to his lips and as he placed the first gentle kiss on the tip of your fingers you felt like you were melting into his touch. His lips were soft, hesitant as they touched your skin and with a smile on your lips, you closed your eyes, getting lost in the feeling.

Jungkook placed hundreds of gentle kisses on your fingers, your palm, before turning your hand around gently to kiss your wrist softly and appreciatively. He caused your heart to beat faster than you would’ve thought possible and as he placed the last kiss on your wrist, he lowered your hand to look at you.

As you opened your eyes, his eyes flickered between yours, his hand tracing your jawbone carefully. Nothing could’ve prepared you for this side of him. You would’ve never dared to dream he could be so sensual, so gentle and soft it made your head twirl.

Bending in, Jungkook placed a soft kiss on the tip of your nose, the heat rushing through your skin immediately. Bending into his touch, his nose touched yours again and as he tilted his head to the side, you parted your lips in anticipation. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you in an inch closer and just as you covered the last few inches of distance between the two of you, your lips landed on his.

He pouted a soft kiss onto your lips before leaning back, leaving you to follow after him, not ready to give up the feeling of it so soon after having waited for it for so long. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he bent in closer, his lips pressing against yours a little firmer this time, giving you a taste of just how long he really seemed to have waited for this.

Jungkook frowned into the kiss, unable to wrap his head around all the emotions that seemed to flood him all of a sudden. The fact that he had been waiting for what felt like a lifetime to have you close like this, made his chest hurt and a he clenched his jaw, he leaned his forehead against yours to sort out his thoughts. You understood why it seemed to pain him all of a sudden, why it must’ve felt so overwhelming. Without hesitating, you simply wrapped both of your arms around him, pulling him in against your chest. One thing Jungkook never admitted to, was him playing strong guy all the time. He seemed to be overwhelmed with his emotions and as you wrapped your arms around him high, Jungkook, for the first time in a long time, felt like it was okay to be small and vulnerable.

Gently curling in under your touch, burying his face on your neck he let the emotions wash over him, just resting his head on your neck and letting his thoughts roam, figuring out what it meant to truly love someone and feeling the other person reciprocate those feelings.

“It’s okay.”, you mumble so quietly, you weren’t sure if he could hear you. Jungkook’s arms wrapped around you tighter, holding you close, letting you comfort him for as long as he needed before feeling whole again.

After a couple of long moments had passed, Jungkook pushed himself up onto his elbow slowly. Looking down at you his cheeks were rosy and hot as you smiled up at him, stroking his hair out of his face gently. Letting your fingers run through his hair all the way from his temple to the back of his neck, causing him to close his eyes and smile.

“I know it’s messed up to say this, but I really thought I wouldn’t be happy in this friendship ever again. Playing a role on stage is something else, but coming home and having to play a role for the one girl that has always been there, hurt me a lot.”, Jungkook broke the silence softly. His head was resting on your chest, your fingers running through his soft hair repeatedly.

“I know what you’re talking about. Earlier, when you were mad at me, I had to cry because I realized that all of those people are my friends, but if you’re not going to be there for me, I genuinely don’t care. It was scary to see how much I rely on you..”

Something about that statement made you tear up all of a sudden and as Jungkook could hear the crack in your voice, he lifted his head to look at you worried. “Jagiya, don’t..” He bent up to face you, wiping away the single tear that had made its way over your cheek. “We don’t have to think about what would’ve happened if... There is no if. We’re here now, you and me. You hear me?” His hand wiped the skin on your cheek one more time before he bent in, placing his lips on yours gently again.

Only breaking the kiss after your lips both felt plush from all the kissing, Jungkook smiled at you. Something about the way he was holding you right now still didn’t entirely click in his brain. For some reason he still seemed worried about waking up tomorrow and all of this being a dream, but here you were. He could feel you leaning in against his chest. He felt your breath on his stomach, his arm around you to hold you in close.

The way he traced his fingertips over your back slowly, over and over again, made you close your eyes in no time and although you had so many thing you wanted to say right at the tip of your tongue, the comfort of finally falling asleep in Jungkook’s arms wrapping you in like a soft warm blanket.

If you’ve managed to read this far, I’d be more than thankful if you could like and reblog my chapter if you enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions for improvement or any drabble requests - make sure to shoot me a message!

thank you so much for reading and I hope you’ll enjoy reading the next chapter as well! 💖

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cupsofsuga · 5 years ago

Text

𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers. I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ ☕️} NOTE - this is in the order of the member’s obtained! thanks for the request, daisy! also, creds for idea goes to @bangtans-apollo!!!

{ 💐} ANON ASKED - ❝ Headcanons on how the fanclub discovered each other and reacted to each other’s obsession for YN? ❞

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

ah, the melancholic suffering of a lovelorn teenager

how he holds nothing but an eternity in the crevices of his heart

the serene sunlight, words dripped in saccharine, cloyed gestures

nothing hurts more than praying to whatever god truly exists that you’ll return the adoration but finding the fatal fate of no response

and that leaves jin now, seething with envy that could intimidate a pack of wolves

how dare the teacher not pair you up with your soulmate!? it’s just blasphemy!

someone gets to soak in the glitter of your presence, they get to bathe in the rain after a century in sunlight

all while he has to waste precious hours of his time with some plastic nobody

he has to waste time with bland, boring kim taehyung

he’s a dull star amongst a million planets, a saturated wasteland amongst an oasis of color

and how jin’s blood burns seeing that you flash that summer smile to someone who most certainly doesn’t deserve it

ditching the dinner date with his soulmate, jin is forced to work on this godforsaken project with the loner

if only you two had run away when you got the chance, relishing in each other’s warmth as he holds the privilege of looking into your eyes, which he finds resemble dewdrops held upon spider’s silk

that is the honeyed heaven he so badly craves to taste

and as he stumbles around taehyung’s adobe, the curiosity held within jin get’s the best of him as he stumbles into his bedroom

and oh god, what secrets did he uncover

your face, his lover’s face plastered all over the walls and ceiling

some even had his face punctured out of them, some taken without your consent, one’s that jin even took himself

and there’s that one sweater you once ranted to jin how you swore it vanished into thin air, and how he teased that ghost in your attic probably snatched it

if it was physically possible, there’d be steam seeping out of jin’s ears

he clutches his fists so tight, there would most likely be blood drawn; he clenches his teeth so tightly, he fears they might crack under the pressure

but, before jin turns tail, he then sees taehyung as fear swims in his irises

and then jin feels it,

a revelation, an act of generosity

❝ i think you could be useful… ❞

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

with every breath he takes, there lies humiliation

shame, a ruthless emotion he swore he’d never live to see the depths of

the summer amongst the dark clouds, all lied on a silver platter for your supposed boyfriend to see

but there is kindness in jin’s eyes, a sliver of evil dripped with every word he speaks

and therein, we have witnessed the blooming of the “writing club,” whose only members were lovelorn kids who’ve infatuation got the best of them

with some sugar-laced words, jin had managed to maintain a room for their meetings after school, taehyung quickly ditching his art club for these fleeting moments spent with the man closest to his love

no, taehyung had never been fond of jin, but, holds undying respect for him, anyways

his heaven lies in his words, his sunlight is seen in his eyes, the fate he craves so desperately is clutched in his hands

and it’s only so long before his grip weakens, and taehyung can rob jin of his pleasures in his moment of vulnerability

but, that future must wait as it frolics in the back of taehyung’s head

he must gain the trust of your childhood best friend before he catches his infinity like a firefly in a jar

but, with that being said, taehyung doesn’t mind all the hours he spent huddled in the tree outside your house, hiding behind a canopy of leaves as he admires the dream before him

he’ll sketch your face (which he can now draw from memory) in his notepad, ethereal poetry and doodles held around your sparkling face

he’ll snap a few photos, catching the fireworks and shooting stars in the purity of the fleeting moment

to simply have the privilege to love you silently holds the light of a million stars

oh, how he loves you…

how the earth bruises your cheeks, the moon litters your skin, the stars possess your eyes and the rings of saturn held in your touch

there’s pure bliss within every heartbeat lept

and there’s only so much time before he has you all to himself

he just hopes no burden will stop him from such…

━━━ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

the student’s that litter around these halls resemble parasites

all feeding off the others, annoying them with their deafening disunity, and all trailing behind others like burdens

but, there’s always been that one, that one that stands out like a sore thumb

bland, boring kim taehyung

a boy capable of summoning enough envy and rage within jungkook to crumble planets to nothing but ashes floating throughout the galaxy

how he denies his infatuation for you with red cheeks, but anyone with eyes can see those “adorable” dimples puncture his cheeks whenever he sees you in the halls

how he isn’t burdened by the overwhelming fate of unrequited love, drowning in his jealousy when you simply look at someone else

how he stalks in class you like a hawk would to prey, probably undressing you with his eyes like the freak he is!

how he simply exists, and how it makes jungkook churn with rage

and that leaves him now, dodging students as the race out of the school, hot on the tail of his rival

he must end him before he could potentially hold your heart in his hands

that single idea makes jungkook gag…

he hears taehyung’s voice, shoving a scoff back down his throat that could potentially jeopardize his identity

there’s another voice, too, but, jungkook assumes it’s another one of those art freaks who’s also pretentious with coincidences

then there’s your name, and it would’ve sounded like it was dripped in gold if it didn’t leave the mouth of his sworn enemy

and then he hears of this writing club, and jungkook seethes

these lowlifes get to breathe in the fragrance of those fleeting moments, which is a fate jungkook whose he is well-deserving of, not them

to simply touch the crevices of your soul carved in silk for just a mere second is a privilege

and letting these cretins possess that opportunity is simply unholy

despite holding a burning hatred for the rest of the memories, for you, jungkook would drag himself through the depths of hell

he just prays that the club members don’t pray too far under his skin

he doesn’t know if he can control himself.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

oh, y/n l/n…

an angel in the purest form, a humid june afternoon

they are a touch softer than autumn’s breeze, their word’s sharper than winter’s embrace, eyes starlit like the dreamy land of springtime, their presence like the bliss of summer and the melancholic longing after it’s demise

they hold within them the entire galaxy and namjoon can’t help but stare

but, there’s another pair of eyes

and they are burning bullet wounds into his soul with a craving to mutilate him swimming in their irises

as the bell rings its tumultuous song and deadbeat kids begin to litter the halls, namjoon is suddenly shoved against the locker by no other than the modern-day jeffrey dahmer

jeon jungkook, dust amongst a field of flowers

his sadistic pleasures and his lust for blood, the holy scent of iron that smoothes out all the creases

❝ if i catch you staring at my Y/N like that again, i’ll tear you apart limb from limb. ‘got it, dipshit? ❞

he is in all means terrifying, but, is nothing but a little boy to namjoon

time has passed, a damn near million tabs are held upon the screen all containing the history of namjoon and his family’s wealth

jin, who had been reported the incident by a fuming jungkook had found an opportunity in the depths of his teenage angst

he’ll feed into namjoon’s desire to touch you across hundreds of separating years

he’ll pray into his craving to kiss you as the naked moon sets for the final time

he’ll reach into his heart and use namjoon for his benefit

and how the rest of the members all fed off of his wealth like parasites

anything their little heart desired, they’d hold in their possession

as much as namjoon longs to deny them pleasure, he had been threatened to lose his place in the club and every inkling of access he has to you if he dared disobey

and namjoon would rather die than lose his love to the eternal night

the strange and enigmatic masterpiece, the ancient moon across a sea of stars

his violet lover has been sawed through by nostalgia, and his infatuation glows harder than a summer sunset

although jin’s intentions have a mile or two to run before they stab him in the back, namjoon still has a clear vision of his goal

and there shall be no burden before he meets his longed fate.

━━━ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

you, a flower itself, flood his brains like a tsunami to a pitiful city

you, a strawberry in winter, hold sly ways of slithering your way into the recesses of his heart once more

that leaves jung hoseok here, letting the teacher’s words fade to white noise as he doodles your name adorned with hearts on flowers in his notebook

there is distant gossip and whispers that echo from afar, which hoseok picks up due to his childlike curiosity

it begun with useless chitter-chatter, then dissolving to the melodic sound of your name which tumbles from their lips

he listens as the two boys curse the teacher for giving you a D on your exam, them mentioning this supposed ‘club’ that circled everything around you

hoseok was smart, he could raise your grade!

oh, how hoseok would just die to help you with your studies!

with a paradise sparkling in his eyes, he sparks up a conversation with the group, also known as kim namjoon and jeon jungkook

but, the doe-eyed teenager hisses at him, barking at him to ‘keep his fucking mouth shut’

he takes the hint, leaving the conversation with a silent ocean welling up in his eyes

but, this is the embodiment of hope that sits in this dull classroom

he’ll crawl around the corners of his soul till he’s enervate to retrieve what he has longed for

and that leads us up to now, as hoseok stalks to the two from a safe distance, watching as they disappear to the writing club

and just before the door closes, hoseok peeks through the crack of the door and finds the identity of kim seokjin, a boy he��s seen accompany you multiple times

the following day, while the students all stare in confusion for the small boy walking through the halls, hoseok finds him and confronts him

by the look of purified fear, this ‘writing club’ was a hushed secret, and him knowing of this secret was dangerous enough, as it is

after negotiating about how he’d contribute to your satisfaction, jin had no choice but to accept his offer

he doesn’t want this loud-mouthed kid to run up and down the halls preaching about their sins, anyways

the rest of the club members didn’t favor his arrival, all shooting looks of envy and hatred

but, there was no other choice

their fate is written in the stars and complimented with a wax steal upon an envelope.

━━━ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

opening his locker, jimin finds a taste of eden’s garden as he finds your face strung upon the wall

there’s irises, rivers, fairies, and peaches within the single picture cutout from the yearbook as he sighs dreamily at the sight

his daydream of honeyed days is quickly disrupted as his best friend, hoseok interrupts his thoughts with stars circling in his eyes

before he can find the words to scold him, hoseok begins rambling about this ‘club’ at a rate to fast for jimin to decipher

he hears tales of his dreams, a chance to taste your beauty

this most definitely sparked his undying interest, ushering his best friend to continue with his intentions to get the boy warped in this world

thus, we are taken to the night where the clock reads 3:38 AM in it’s bright, neon hues

the boys would never dream of staying up this late, especially on a tuesday night as the fear for the scolding of their parents’ echos, but, the adrenaline that seeps through their veins serves as a protection

because of the prophecy of this new club, they are rebelling

and as a new day rises and the sun shimmers in all of its celestial beauty, the boys have come up with a plan

every club needs a mission manager!

and who else would be perfect for this job no other than park jimin…? right?

well, let’s just say, despite his unreasonable, childish, and almost dangerous plans, the rest of the boys weren’t happy upon his arrival

the sighs of annoyance to his careless nature, the scoffs of envy when he speaks words of poetry about everything as little as when you made eye contact that one time 2 months ago

jimin’s contribution isn’t favored, but, if it’s for you, all 6 boys are willing to drag themselves through hell and back

every member holds an undying love for the god/goddess themself, all possessing a wild heart that they’d bled dry if you asked

and jimin is just one branch of the group who also holds an intense infatuation

the water to his parched heart, the flowering spring in a winter haze

he has found the sun as it shimmers against the snow

and nothing is as holy as this.

━━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

another dull day at the café, yoongi listens to his longing for spring’s voice

his hatred for this place burns bright and softly, as he dwells in the anger held within his small body

the college kids, the early morning joggers, all possessing ways of churning yoongi’s anger, one-by-one

obligated to put on a plastic smile for their sake has wars prancing through his head

but then, there’s you

oh, and those lively eyes he craves to gaze into for eternity and the soft furrow in your brow when you stare at the menu

he is mesmerized and listens to the songs of summer as he drowns in your stare

you haven’t taken notice to the hearts that swirl within his eyes as you order, unfortunately, and therefore leave a boy longing for a taste of the sun

during this fit of a daydream, 6 boys stumble in, all conversing at abnormally obnoxious levels

yoongi has to shove a scoff back down his throat and bring a halt to the urge to roll his eyes and dresses himself in the facade

as they all order and then continue their chatter elsewhere, yoongi can resume his illusions about your sparkled presence

whilst in the process of finishing a cappuccino, he hears the sugary melody of your name

he freezes, then concludes he must be hallucinating, resuming the process of the drink in his hands

after all, spending hours upon hours in this sacred place causes his mind to go hazy at times

the lilied waters of your eyes, skin like roses in the evening

you are so, so very loved by the boy at the café

starting up the hot chocolate with “extra sugar,” he hears it once more

does he need to stretch out his sleeping schedule or was this real?

were they truly speaking of you, or has he truly gone insane in the late afternoon?

peeking over his shoulder, that’s when yoongi sees it

your face was drawn upon a notepad, all fluttered hearts and empty petals around your face

the soul of the planets, the green pigment of the gardens, all held in this stranger’s arms

with determination, yoongi is required to learn more of this guest who spoke hushed tales of you

he’d do anything to know more about the star who enlightens his grey days

and now, the club is complete.

271 notes · View notes

sadaboutniall · 5 years ago

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something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Twenty One. May, 2016.

After six years of working in the music industry, Niall’s learned to be comfortable attending all kinds of events. From prestigious awards shows with the most famous people in the world to stuffy board meetings with old, white men who don’t understand a word he’s saying, Niall feels like he’s gotten a handle on this thing over the years. At this point, there’s very little he can’t bullshit his way through.

He’s walking into the The Savoy Hotel when he realizes that, for all his life experience, he’s never attended a law school graduation before.

Which is fine, really, he tells himself. He’s good at this: at making small talk with strangers, at finding his corner in a party and managing to have a good time no matter how out of place he feels. Except never before has he been desperately in love with the host of the party who, he’s pretty sure, just wants to keep being friends.

But this is fine, really. It’s a late spring day that feels like summer, he’s got the top few buttons of his dress shirt undone to show off his sprinkling of chest hair, Emilia’s introduced him to the concept of Aperol Spritz, Mully’s telling some stupid story about his most recent trip to LA for work, and Niall is going to be fine, really. He’s got this under control.

He’s fine, really. If he’s decidedly not looking at Isla, standing on the other side of the room chatting to Laura, it’s because he’s totally, one hundred percent, completely fine. It’s because he’s not even thinking about it. Mully’s story about LA is just that interesting.

‘Jesus,’ a familiar voice behind them. ‘If it isn’t the entire village of Mullingar.’

‘Hey, Erin,’ Mully flashes a charming smile, opens his arm for a hug, a kiss on the cheek. ‘Howya?’

It’s almost an unimaginable sight, Niall thinks: Isla’s older sister here in London, balancing her nearly one year old son on her hip, leaning in to Emilia now for a kiss. He tries to think of the last time he saw her and all he can remember is 2010, her wishing him luck before he left for London, left his life behind forever.

‘I definitely didn’t expect to see you here,’ Erin says, turning toward Niall. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and Niall feels himself heating up under her gaze, an itch rising on the back of his neck. ‘How are things?’

‘Well, thanks,’ Niall leans in for a kiss on the cheek, careful not to jostle the baby. ‘Lovely to see you. And to meet…?’

‘Oisín,’ Erin bounces her son, who’s munching on his own chubby little fist, shoved into his mouth.

‘Hey, mate,’ Niall reaches out and lets Oisín wrap his other tiny little hand around his pointer finger, a gummy smile around the fist in his mouth. ‘Sick little tie.’

‘Isla got it for him,’ Erin’s looking down at her boy, smiling. ‘King’s College colors.’

‘Ah, you’re right,’ Niall feels a little tug of something in his chest, thinking about Isla shopping for her baby nephew, buying him things in her uni colors. He has a sudden urge to get the kid some One Direction merch—or maybe his own, one day, if he ever gets his shit together. ‘Looks sharp.’

‘So you’re back in London now?’ Erin’s talking to Niall, but she’s still looking down at Oisín, so Niall can’t quite sus out her tone, what she’s trying to get out of him.

‘I am, yeah,’ Niall decides to tread carefully, looking up over Erin’s head to Mully for guidance. But he’s distracted by Emilia now, the two of them laughing over something Niall’s clearly missed, and he’s on his own, again. ‘For a little while, at least.’

‘Ages since you’ve been in one place,’ Erin says. ‘Even for a little while.’

‘Yeah, it’s,’ Niall glances up again, this time toward Isla, who’s still giggling with Laura, and now Eoghan too. There’s a fluttering in his belly, a desire, for the first time in a long time, not to run away. ‘It’s been really nice.’

‘You’re not getting antsy?’ Niall knows he’s not mistaken. Erin sounds accusatory. ‘Not planning to go backpacking around, I dunno, Antarctica this time?’

‘No,’ Niall’s firm enough that Erin looks up finally, her eyes, which look so much like her sister’s, locking on his. ‘I mean, eventually I’ll probably start working and touring again but, for now at least, I’m right here.’

‘Right, well,’ Erin gives Oisín another little bounce and he pulls his hand back from Niall, squealing with laughter at his mother’s sudden movement. ‘Glad you’re here, it means a lot to Isla.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it,’ says Niall, but Erin is gone before he can even finish his sentence, disappearing back into the thick of the party with Oisín. And, for what feels like the millionth time in the past two years, Niall is alone, again, in a very, very crowded room.

It’s hours later when he finds Isla on her own, leaning up against a wall in the dark hallway that leads to the bathrooms. She looks tired, eyes closed, head back, neck exposed, and he tries not to let his eyes linger too long—on the stretch of her neck, the rise and fall of her chest, the necklace, with a pearl, against her collarbone.

‘You alright?’ He asks, keeping his voice low so as not to startle her.

He does anyway, of course, and he can’t help the way he laughs when she jumps, hand coming up to cover her heart, a relieved sigh falling from her lips when she realizes that it’s just him. She rolls her eyes, brushing a hand through her hair, then, ‘oh, I’m fine. Just having a minor heart attack, but other than that.’

‘Sorry,’ Niall laughs, leaning up against the other wall across from her. ‘You hiding back here?’

‘Yeah,’ Isla sighs, an apologetic look working its way across her face. ‘It’s just… fucking exhausting out there. Everyone’s trying to talk to me all the time, ask me what’s next, it’s like—ugh, I sound so ungrateful, don’t I? I’m just knackered, I woke up so early this morning.’

‘No,’ Niall shoves his hands into his pockets, anything to quieten the urge to reach out and grab hers. ‘You don’t. People asking you about the future is fucking ehxuasting.’

Isla smiles, dimple digging into her cheek, and rests her head back against the wall again. She really does look so tired, so desperate for a moment’s peace. Niall starts speaking again without thinking, without letting himself second guess.

‘Hey,’ he says, and Isla tilts her head up to look at him. ‘You wanna get out of here?’

‘Niall, we’re in central London, there’s nowhere to go. Besides, this is my party, I can’t just—’

‘I know a place,’ Niall rushes. ‘We did a press junket here once, for the band. Louis and Zayn wanted to find somewhere to smoke and we used to fuck off and explore every time we got a few free minutes. We don’t even have to leave the hotel.’

Eyebrows raised, Isla picks her head the rest of the way up off the wall and smiles. ‘Alright,’ she says, crossing her arms over her chest, ‘show me.’

It’s easy enough, remembering the back ways through The Savoy, finding the service elevator, riding it all the way to the top floor. They wind through the hallways without a problem, muffled footsteps against the carpet matching Niall’s hammering heart, and Niall finds the utility door easily too, like it hasn’t been years since the last time he did this.

Niall leading the way, he and Isla climb the thin, rickety iron staircase, towering high above London. They don’t look down, ignoring the summer breeze pressing back against them, the sounds of sirens and horns fading as they climb. It’s not a far climb, not much taller than a standard staircase, but it feels neverending when they’re up this high, a dozen stories above the city, an infinite fall if they make one wrong step.

But they won’t, Niall knows. He doesn’t make wrong steps when he has Isla’s help.

Up on the safe, solid concrete of the hotel roof, Niall turns around and offers Isla a hand up and over the waist-high barrier, and he looks away when she hikes up her dress to make the jump, ignores the flash of inner thigh he catches, the way she squeezes his hand for more support. He’s fine, really, staring out at the skyline once she’s safely on the roof too, smoothing out her dress. He’s not looking at her.

‘Sick, isn’t it,’ he dares a glance, heart in his throat. She’s decent now, dress back in place, making her way over to stand next to him at the edge of the roof. The sun is setting over London and they can see everything from here: the Thames, boats like tiny specs on the heaving water, the Millennium Bridge, teeming with tourists and Londoners setting off for their Saturday evenings, The Eye, revolving slowly, rhythmically over the water. Niall wonders if the tourists in those little pods can see them: two people who’ve known each other as long as they’ve been alive, one falling desperately in love with the other.

Isla leans forward, arms resting on the barrier, face toward the wind. Niall watches her throat work as she swallows, watches her eyelashes flutter as her hair whisps gently around her face in the breeze, and his hands are itching to reach out, to cup her face the way he used to, to press his thumb to her lips and hear her hiss. He reaches out for the barrier instead, letting the cool metal calm his heart rate.

‘This is stunning,’ she says, voice lost to the wind a little. ‘Thank you for showing me.’

‘S’alright,’ he tells her, eyes still trailing over her profile. With the darkening city behind her, Niall thinks this might be the most precious sight he’s ever seen, that not even hundreds of thousands of strangers screaming his name in a stadium makes his heart feel tight like this. ‘Congratulations, by the way. I think I forgot to say earlier.’

‘Thanks,’ she turns her head to face him, hair whipping in the wind as she does. ‘I’m glad you came.’

‘Of course I did,’ Niall swallows a lump in his throat as he watches Isla tuck her hair behind her ear, her hand trailing down the side of her neck. He feels it all over: in his stomach, in his chest, in his fingertips, in his lips. ‘I wouldn’t miss this. I’m really proud of you.’

‘Ah, come on,’ Isla’s voice drops to a whisper. ‘Graduating law school is nothing compared to what you’ve done.’

‘You joking? Isla, you’re a fucking lawyer. You’re a genius. I didn’t even finish secondary school.’

‘Yeah, fine, but you have, like, millions of awards. And fans. And—’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he cuts her off. ‘I got lucky. I could never, ever do something like this. You should be really proud of yourself.’

‘You didn’t get lucky, you’re bloody talented.’

‘Yeah, and so are millions of other musicians in the world. I got lucky, I know that. But you worked your fucking arse off for this. I want you to be proud of yourself.’

‘I am, I am,’ Isla smiles, pressing her cheek against her shoulder shyly. ‘Thank you.’

Niall hums a response, watching as she turns back to face the wind, to look out at the skyline, at their living city. Downstairs, the party is dying and the city is quiet and it’s like there’s no one else in the world but them: just him, Isla, and the rising moon.

‘Wanna dance?’ He asks her, before he’s really aware of what he’s doing. Isla looks over, confusion in her eyes, and Niall repeats himself. ‘Dance with me?’

‘Huh?’

‘Come on,’ he holds out a hand and tries to ignore the way his heart swells when she takes it right away, no second guessing. Gently, he guides her toward the center of the roof, sliding his arms around her waist. ‘This okay?’ he whispers, holding her at a distance until she nods, eyes locked on his, and steps a little closer.

Pressing his body to hers again feels so natural, so easy, that Niall’s amazed he managed to go so long without doing it. Her arms wind around his shoulders, her fingers pressed to the nape of his neck, and they start to sway, slow and easy with the wind.

‘Are you making up for the Debs you never got to take me to?’ Isla asks, leaning her cheek against Niall’s shoulder.

‘Guess so, yeah. Bit of a better view though, than the Rec Hall at school.’

Isla hums, a little laugh, ‘No music, though. Gonna serenade me, popstar?’

‘Ah,’ Niall glances down at her, cuddled against his shoulder, and prays she can’t feel the way his heart is slamming against his chest. ‘I think I can manage that.’

And so he does. Quiet at first, something like stage fright curling in his chest despite the fact that he never gets nervous while singing in front of anyone else. Easy, he picks The Blower’s Daughter, tells himself that it’s just because it was the first song that popped into his head, that he’s not desperately hoping she’ll listen to the lyrics, that she’ll pick it up like some kind of message.

If she does, she says nothing. She shuts her eyes, turning her head a little so her nose is pressed to his chest, bare from the way his shirt is open, and hums along. She’s quiet, below his voice so he can’t hear her unless he strains, but he loves it, feels certain that this is the best his voice has ever sounded.

He feels choked up with the magnitude of it, of them: swaying together in the middle of London, across an ocean from where they met, the whole world below them, completely oblivious. He’d do this again with everyone watching, he thinks—dance with her, hold her to his chest, tell her he loves her. He wouldn’t ever want to do it with anyone else.

‘Love you,’ he whispers, dropping his lips to the top of her head, mumbling into her hair.

She doesn’t say a word.

####

taglist: @stylishmuser @thicksniall @stayclose-holdsteady @niallhoranruinsme @ajayque @flickerswinehouse @1dfangirls35 @crocodileniall @halfpinthoran @awomanindeniall @booksncoffee @edgeofmyniall @kare38 @emmathefantomes @coconutdawn

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#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #something about you #once again everyone say THANK YOU RAND #she gave me a couple ideas that pulled this chapter together!!

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prodicalmenace · 5 years ago

Note

Hi! I just saw your angst prompts, could I get Chuuya with "I had a nightmare"? Maybe he's sleeping with his partner and wakes up because he dreamt about losing control and hurting his partner while being in Corruption mode? Or losing them because of his mafioso lifestyle? I bet poor Chuuya is afraid something happens to his lover, he's a sweet man ❤️✨

chuuya? and nightmares? to quote my favorite muse song: yes please

;;

He could feel the grin on his skin; dry, blood stained skin cracks at the pressure from his dimples.

Or is it from the wounds on his face, the heavenly scars etched into his grinning cheeks, his straining neck, his outstretched arms and the front of his hand clasped around your throat.

A croak rips from his throat as he tears at yours, but it’s not that—it’s a laugh, a genuine cackle of pure glee comes in the form of his voice at your dismemberment.

Chuuya wakes up feeling as though he’s lost his voice, mouth gape but no sound coming through. His eyes are open to the ceiling of the dimly lit room, he breathes with his mouth open, and his heart races so fast he thinks he might throw up.

A cold hand on his shoulder makes everything begin to slow down; his body begins to add weight to the bed again and his mouth closes to let him breathe through his nose. His eyes close, and from his side his hand comes up to curl around yours and bring it to his lips.

When he kisses your knuckle your fingers thread themselves through his.

“You had a nightmare?” your statement lingered with the after images of his so called dream, a statement you’ve asked before sitting in the same bed as he finds himself awake under painful circumstances.

“I had a nightmare.” Chuuya feels bleak in his parroted response. He can tell you everything but he pities himself that he finally tells you this. Usually he would stay quiet, and you would rightfully assume yourself to be correct; here is where you would ask what happened, or tell him it was going to be okay; you would cradle his head in your arms, kiss his forehead, and help him fall back asleep ready to move on, but you never moved on. Every time this went practically unnoticed he felt weight added to the invisible string that kept you two connected against all odds, weight that threatened to snap the string into two as it fell into a black hole of his own design.

You took a sharp inhale, ready to speak, and he pulled his hand from yours to push himself out of bed.

“Chuuya—,”“I just need something to drink.”

You huff as you follow him to the kitchen, the short steps endless in their silence despite the way his heavy breaths echoed off the marble walls with the schlepp of your own feet.

“Water.” you remind him when his hands reach too far up in the glass cabinet, and he wants to grin at your command but the small sense of glee with the motion would feel gone from its context.

He reluctantly fills a short glass with water and takes a sip by the sink. Chuuya leaves his back to you, and though its exposure an executive shouldn’t fathom having, his lack of control in his current expressions wouldn’t prove any better.

Chuuya gulps the whole glass down.

“Are you ready now?” the question falls from your lips the same second the glass leaves his and he suddenly feels dry all over.

“I’m always ready.” he counters to the wall.

“Then why don’t you talk?”

Because… Chuuya doesn’t have an answer he can say. Being afraid sounds too easy, too bland, and generally too false to his ever present ego that you never have a problem stroking, but his fixation on the many versions of fear make his own thoughts fumble. He can’t be afraid of corruption anymore, he can’t be afraid of honesty anymore, but most of all he can’t be afraid of anything he could do to lose you.

The weight of the string increases with every passing second, threads slowly unravel.

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”“Bullshit.”

“Bullshit?” he turns, arms flailing in the air, before slamming onto the counter surface in front of you. “_______, It’s gone, its over, and we’ll go back to sleep—”“So it can happen again? And again? And again after that? So we can go on in this insufferable routine and pretend that everything is perfect?”

“When will you understand that this is my life?” he feels himself yelling but you don’t shake, he leans himself closer to you by the counter but nothing in your stance shifts the slightest. You’re in this life as much as he is, and he’s almost sure you’re going to tell him that until you look away.

“I know you told Mori to deny my army promotion.”

The string snaps.

You refuse to look at him.

“He called me to his office to ask me why an executive would work so hard to demote me when I clearly show potential. I told him I didn’t know, and the whole day I thought it was Kouyou giving me one of those stupid tests again until I realized it was you…“ nothing in the tone of your voice is angry as the furrowing of your brows share a confused look, one that wants answers but has them, one that needs details but doesn’t want to put them together. He wasn’t going to tell you that you were right, that he spent a day talking you down to Mori because god forbid you died on the front lines under his command. He wasn’t going to tell you Mori told him he was being too emotional, too attached, that this mindset wasn’t going to help his origination let alone himself. He wasn’t going to tell you these things, these details, these answers that weren’t going to make things any better.

Chuuya barely breathes in the silence you left for him to speak.

"You keep me at an arms length in so many ways, Chuuya,” your voice is softer, and if it weren’t for the precious stone on the wall making each word echo the slightest he wasn’t sure he could hear it. “You want me in Yokohama but you can’t have me do grueling work, you want me in your bed but you don’t want me following me when you leave; you want me in your life—,”

“I do!” he blurts, a bare hand reaching across the counter for you but you’re too far when you sit, enclosed in your own bubble, your body just an arms length away.

“But you don’t.” you’ve been staring at the door this entire time wondering what the world looks like on the other side by now, but you can hear the desperation in his sheer breaths filling the room.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, ______,” he whispers, and its awfully sincere, at least enough to make you turn to find his eyes shining in the slightest of moonlight like a dark blue pit in night of the city skyline.

Your eyes shift to his arm, pale skin against the white counter stone, reaching, but not far enough.

“It’s too late for that.”

#chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd #chuuya nakahara #bsd one shot #prodicalmenace requests

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rmnamjoons · 5 years ago

Text

Exposed [KNJ]

summary: You’re a cat burglar in a city overrun with crime and corruption. Your sights are set on a new jewel in the city’s museum, until a certain masked vigilante tries to stop you.

pairing: Namjoon x reader

genre: smut, vigilante AU, enemies to lovers

word count: 9.7k

tags: rough sex, face riding, dirty talk, oral (both m and f receiving), constantly switching who’s in control, face riding, spanking, slapping, biting, some acrobatic shit, namjoon has impressive upper body strength

[read on ao3]

You stood on the roof of the city’s museum. A new jewel had just arrived yesterday, “procured” from Argentina, and it now sat in the center of a whole room dedicated to the treasures stolen from that region. You’d organized a deal with a woman with connections to the Bernardino Rivadavia Natural Sciences Museum in Buenos Aires, and figured that was good enough for your conscience. Now, all you had to do was steal it.

In the distance, you could hear sirens, a noise everyone in this city knew too well. The crime rate here was among the highest in the world, and still somehow climbing every year. Something about this city, these filth-caked gray buildings, these dark streets took everything good and broke it down into something unrecognizable, corrupting and twisting even the purest of people and ideas.

More sirens joined the noise and you figured that was only good for you; let them be distracted by something actually bad while you slowly tried to set the world right your own way.

Thinking over your planned entrance into the museum, you pulled out your small metal-cutting laser, greatly improved from some of your clever engineering and only the size of a pen, from its spot on your thigh. Your all-black outfit was form fitting and let you move unobstructed, and was covered in places to hide small weapons and tools.

You used the laser to cut your entrance out of the large air conditioning vent, catching the piece of metal before it fell over into the shaft.

The plan went perfectly. Every step was executed with exact precision, and as you reached the roof again, you felt the jewel against your breast where you had tucked it and the small bag you kept it in for safety. You put the metal back over the airshaft, where it would stay until someone hit it hard enough or the wind turned gale force.

You walked to the edge of the roof and looked back the way you came. The sirens had mostly died down now, but every few moments you could still hear a distant scream or gunshot. The breeze was cold up here, away from the steam rising from the sewers, and you closed your eyes, letting the wind distract you from your surroundings.

“I can’t let you leave with that,” you heard a male voice say behind you, drawing you from your thoughts. You didn’t jump or react, though he had managed to surprise you.

You’d heard of this masked vigilante before. Some boy in cheesy cape thought this city could be saved, or that it was even worth saving. You knew his brand of optimism, and it never lasted long.

“And how did you sneak up on me? Not many people can do that,” you answered instead, your voice low and sultry as you slowly turned to face him. This always worked when dealing with the men of this city.

The man stood with his arms on his hips like some cartoon superhero. His dark cape blew in the gentle breeze, completing the caricature, and you could just barely see the outline of his body in the darkness. Hidden under his all-black suit, you saw his large chest, wide shoulders, and muscular arms. You smirked, letting him watch you admire his body.

He wore a mask that showed his dark eyes, his mouth and chin exposed beneath it. You noted with a sly smile that his big mouth looked like it would be good for more than just talking. His eyes, on the other hand, were serious and stern, but you could see a gentleness in them, even in the darkness. He’d been fighting in this city for months, maybe even longer before that, but still somehow hadn’t been broken by it. Not completely, at least.

“You’re easy to track,” he said. "I’ve known about your deal as long as you have, and I knew you’d be here tonight.” He had a slight smirk as he spoke — confident, proud, teasing — and you didn’t think it was possible, but you were drawn to his mouth even more, hearing him be cocky like that. You swore you even saw a dimple when he smiled, which felt entirely too cute for a man with this commanding a presence.

“If you knew I’d be here, then why’d you let me steal it? Why not stop me beforehand and save everybody the trouble?” you asked, speaking slowly, carefully. You leaned back against the half wall of the roof’s edge behind you, almost sitting on it and spreading your legs just slightly. You smirked right back at him and bit your lip, looking down at his body again, hoping you’d make him think you wanted to chew him up and spit him back out.

“You’re earlier than I thought you’d be. I had you pegged for a dead-of-night cat burglar, not a 10:30 common thief. More people still awake and all,” he said. He didn’t seem to be intimidated by you, but when you pushed off from the wall and stepped toward him, he took a small step back.

“Looks like you didn’t peg me right. Maybe you should try again. Or I could peg you this time,” you said, batting your eyes and smiling at him. You took another step and this time he held his ground.

You circled him slowly, like a predator circling prey, watching him as he stood on guard but tried to look relaxed. This guy was easy to read; he shifted uncomfortably at your movements, not wanting to have his back to you, and you even caught him watching your hips sway as you walked beside him.

He straightened up and shook his head a little, refocusing. “Flirt all you want. I’m not letting you leave with the jewel,” he said, to which you laughed.

“Me? Flirting? Not my style,” you said, and you stopped circling and turned to face him, directly in front of him now, and only a foot or two away. He glared at you and clenched his jaw, and you wondered how that jaw would feel against your thighs, and if you were pretending to be attracted to him the way you did your usual targets or if this man was actual affecting you.

“What exactly is your style, then? Seduce anyone you come across into letting you go?” He didn’t say it like he was insulting you; that was his honest guess, and he wasn’t far from the truth.

You dropped your smile, serious for the first time with him as you spoke quietly. “You can try to stop me, but I am going to leave here with the jewel.”

“No, you’re not,” he responded firmly, his jaw setting.

You let your smile return, tilting your head as you pursed your lips.

“Oh, I love when you talk all dark and serious like that. Self-righteousness is a huge turn on for me,” you said, stepping back slowly until you were against the roof’s half wall siding again. You knew he wanted a fight, or at least was preparing for one, so you did the same.

“I’m being serious. I’ll take you out if I have to. I know how the museum got that jewel too, but you stealing it too doesn’t make you any better. Stealing is stealing, regardless of intentions.”

“Ohh…” You threw your head back and arched your back dramatically. “Keep going. God, that’s so hot,” you moaned, trying to hold in your laughter. You glanced up at him, and he looked annoyed.

“You’re hilarious. Can we skip this part and go right to when I take the jewel back inside?” he asked, though you could see his eyes moving slowly over your body. He undid his cape, letting it fall to the ground behind him.

“Only if you promise to be rough with me,” you said, zipping the front of your suit up all the way, completely securing it and the jewel hidden inside.

You took off then, sprinting for the edge of the roof to your left so you could get a running jump to a different building’s roof. Halfway there, however, your mystery man tackled you to the ground, pulling you underneath him. You’d landed on your face, the rough material of the roof like sandpaper on your skin.

He turned you over underneath him, and you kicked your arms and legs, thrashing under him as he tried to pin down your wrists.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he growled, his breath hot on your neck.

“Aw, baby, but I want you to hurt me,” you cooed back, and before he could respond, you brought your leg up and kneed him in the crotch as hard as you could. He was wearing protection there, but it still affected him enough for you to push him off and jump to your feet.

The man stood as well, attempting to throw a punch, but you dodged easily and threw one back, connecting with the side of his face and nearly knocking him over. While he was distracted, you tried to kick him in his side, but he caught your leg and threw it back down hard.

You took a few steps back, watching him, poised to move when he did. He glared expectantly, as if waiting for you to take your turn, refusing to strike first.

Instead of continuing, you turned and took off running again. You almost made it to the other side of the roof before he tackled you again, this time against the half wall at the edge of the roof. He tried to grab at you, trapping both of your arms as you struggled against him, his chest pressed against your back as he pinned you against the half wall.

You tried to kick back at his shins, but he grabbed both your wrists, crossing your arms in front of you and trapping you in place, your hands now down near your thighs.

“You’re an excellent fighter,” he growled, his voice a low rasp as he panted against your ear. You fought the urge to tilt your head to expose more skin for him.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you said, just as exhausted.

You reached down suddenly and pulled out your small laser and used it against him, cutting through the suit covering his hip. As he felt you starting to do that, he leaned in and bit down on your neck hard, breaking skin. You both jumped away from each other in reaction, and you took your chance to run and escape.

~:~:~:~:~:~

It’d been two weeks since the incident on the rooftop. The jewel was well on its way to Buenos Aires, and you were now a few million dollars richer.

You’d had to give yourself stitches on your neck from the masked mystery man’s bite, to your deep displeasure. After fixing yourself up, you’d looked at your laser, and, just as you’d hoped, it had a little of the man’s blood on the handle. That and the photographs you took of the teeth pattern in his bite mark were more than enough for you to find him.

Kim Namjoon, son of the dead business tycoon that used to own half this city, had gone off the grid a few years ago and completely left the public’s radar. Some thought he’d moved away when things started getting bad, while more thought he’d just been killed at some point, like other public figures. It made sense to you, in a sick way, that this city’s masked hero was some rich boy who didn’t know the first thing about suffering or poverty.

You decided to find him. It wouldn’t hurt to have the masked vigilante on your side and to know he wouldn’t come after you, and if he refused to play nice you could threaten to expose him.

Finding him wasn’t hard once you knew his actual name. You figured out his story through the banks; he was spending a lot of money on his toys, and on perfecting his suit. You smirked to yourself and figured the next thing he’d be fixing it for was to make it laser-proof.

Your masked hero lived in a mansion outside the city limits. No staff on pay, no mail delivered there, the exterior dilapidated and boarded up. He even had his own electric system, completely off the city’s grid, though he generated enough power to rival the city itself. Hacking into your favorite military satellite, you watched him for a few days, tracking his movements, knowing when he was home and when he went out. He followed a strict schedule, coming and going at the same times each night. He seemed uptight like that to you, the kind of man who had to follow a strict schedule and do everything exactly his way.

You went to his house later that week, in costume. You still didn’t want him to know who you were, even though you now knew just about everything about him. It was late at night, and you’d made sure he was home by watching the satellite feed.

You entered through a window on the top floor, silently moving through his home. Most rooms were empty, not even lightbulbs in the ceiling, thin white sheets and dust covering what little furniture there was, leftovers from an era when normal human beings actually lived here. You realized too late that you were leaving footprints in the dust on the hard wood floors, letting him know your shoes size, how you moved, how you got in, and probably more if he’s clever, which you knew he was.

Namjoon was waiting for you on the second floor at the foot of the grand staircase you walked down, leaning against the wall so he could fully face you as you approached, arms crossed and a smug smile on his handsome face. You wondered if he’d posed there like that, waiting for you to make your first appearance once he’d realized you were here.

He was not wearing his costume. You could see his face, and, more than that, he was just in a t-shirt and light gray sweatpants. He had a large yellow bruise beside his left eye, a gift you’d given him during the rooftop fight. When he stepped away from the wall, you could see him grimacing slightly from the pain in his side, where you’d gotten him with your laser.

“Aw, how’d you fuck up your pretty face?” you asked, stopping at the bottom of the stairs.

“That’s funny,” he said, not breaking eye contact. His deep voice was gentle, almost calming, as opposed to the low growl he’d had when fighting. “How did you find out who I am? Because I found you with the blood from your neck, Y/N Y/L/N.”

He smirked as he saw your face pale, though you stopped yourself from otherwise reacting.

“Well?” he asked. He was still smiling wide, confident, his plush lips stretched thin. “How did you find me?”

“Blood on my laser. How’s your side feel, by the way?” you said, aware you sounded petty. “Why didn’t you come after me if you knew who I was?”

“Because once I found you, I saw your internet searches and knew you’d already found me too. By the way, hacking into military satellites and my bank? Not subtle.”

“Never said I was subtle,” you said, taking your hair down from the tight bun it was held in. May as well, you thought, now that leaving DNA didn’t matter. You kept on your mask, though; it was just a little thing that covered the skin around your eyes, but to you it was a safety net. He may know your name, but you knew your record and online information didn’t have current pictures.

“Are you going to tell me why you came here?” Namjoon turned and walked away from you before you could respond, hands now in his sweatpants pockets, apparently expecting you to follow him. You were surprised he was willing to have his back to you, though he seemed to be full of surprises.

“Just thought I’d stop in and say hello,” you said, watching him walk as you trailed behind him. He moved with less pain than before, either feeling a little better or getting better at acting.

“You didn’t think I’d know who you are and thought you could intimidate me with the power your information holds. You’d threaten to out me, maybe blackmail me, right? You never thought we’d be on an even playing field,” Namjoon said flatly, not bothering to even glance back your way as he spoke.

He led you into a large study, every spot of wall covered in bookcases, aside from the magnificent marble fireplace and a large wooden desk against a dark window. The fire was the only light source in the room, and he approached it, looking down into the warm light that danced across his clothes and honey skin.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say we’re on an even playing field.” You stood near the entrance to the room, hesitant to enter further.

“I guess that’s right,” he said, turning around to face you. His smile was gentle and warm, like the fire behind him. “You’re a much better fighter than me.”

“I was referring more to the fact that you’re a millionaire with unlimited resources,” you shot back, to which he snorted.

You took him in, looking at his body as the fire illuminated him from behind. You noticed how his light sweatpants hugged him so low on his hips, the way his shirt stretched across his broad chest. He walked toward you slowly then, and you could see him through his pants; he looked like he’d gotten a semi just from the two of them talking and kind of threatening each other.

“You’re not exactly living in squalor. How much did you get for the jewel?” he asked, stopping a few feet from you. If he saw you notice his erection, he chose not to react.

“Enough to stay comfortable and keep getting supplies, like that nice little laser you probably love so much,” you said, glancing down at his hip with a smile.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly. "Another millimeter and you would’ve gotten through to my hipbone.”

“I’ll try to go deeper next time,” you said, tilting your head as you gave him a fake smile.

“You should see how it feels first. Seriously, if you ever tried to actually weaponize that, you’d probably be able to take over the world.”

“And then what, you’d come stop me?” you said, the corner of your mouth perking.

Namjoon didn’t answer. Instead, he took another step closer to you, his eyes locked on yours. You felt like you could see the fire in his eyes, through his eyes, though the fireplace was perfectly behind him. He slowly reached for your face, but you stepped back.

“The only picture I could find of you was from five years ago, the last time you were arrested. I want to see under the mask,” he said, his voice low and almost pleading. He watched you closely, his dark brown, almost black eyes searching yours. “Please?”

You didn’t know what to say. This man was too good; you didn’t know how, but somehow the corruption and darkness in this city hadn’t gotten to him yet, and you knew he’d seen it all firsthand. You knew just from the news and your recent research how much he’d been through, how everything twisted and evil had come for him at some point, how he’d nearly been killed probably a hundred times now. You’d thought him naïve at first, but maybe he was just stupid for still being as good as he was. How could someone who’d been through so much still be sweet and kind?

But here he was, saying that, saying “please,” not saying it yet but wanting something from you that you didn’t know you could give him. You knew you were drawn to him. You knew you were perfectly capable of fucking him right now and then leaving forever, but he was asking for a lot more than that and you both knew it. A man like Namjoon wasn’t the type to just fuck once and forget about it. He wanted to save you, from whatever it was he thought you needed saving from — the enemies you’d made, this city, your lifestyle, yourself.

Against your better judgment, you reached up, took off the mask, and threw it off to the side before you could change your mind.

Namjoon looked at you for a moment without a reaction, his face unreadable. You sighed, setting your jaw and looking off vaguely in the direction you’d thrown your mask, feeling naked without it under his intense stare.

Coming here was a mistake. You should’ve just killed him on the roof, or not bothered finding out who he was after escaping. Whatever it was that led you to willingly standing before this man without your mask was a big, fat mistake, but here you were, and now you had to deal with the consequences.

You dared to look back up at him, and saw him staring at the cut on your cheekbone and small bruise above your eye, both marks he gave you during your fight on the roof when he’d tackled you. He stepped forward slowly, reaching forward to touch you, and this time you let him.

Pushing your hair back, he revealed the harsh bite mark he’d left on your neck. It was scabbed over now, well on its way to healing, but you watched his eyes studying it and saw regret play out in his dark eyes, his brow furrowing as if surprised and concerned by how bad it looked.

He moved down slowly, glancing between your eyes and the wound, waiting for you to move or react. When you didn’t, he leaned in fully and kissed right where he’d bitten you, barely touching his mouth to your skin, his soft lips perfectly over his teeth marks. You tilted your neck, giving him more room to work, and realized that you’d closed your eyes without even noticing. This close to him, you could smell him — the hints of a rich, musky cologne he wore mixing with his soap and the scent of the burning wood crackling in the fireplace behind him.

Your back arched as you felt yourself shiver, your lips parting as goosebumps covered your body from just his warm breath on your neck again, just like the rooftop. This time, instead of biting, he left slow, open-mouthed kisses around the wound, his plush lips parting as he left the slightest amount of moisture on your skin from his wet lips and tongue. You almost moaned out loud when you felt his hands move up to cup your cheeks as he shifted to your face, his lips now pressing gentle kisses to the marks there.

Part of you wanted to push him away. Namjoon seemed like the kind of cheesy guy who’d want to “make love” instead of have sex or fuck, and you were not in a place mentally where that was something you’d allow yourself to do. You didn’t want him to be tender with you, because that meant opening up to him in a way you weren’t capable of doing with anyone, let alone someone who knew your name and your secrets.

You could feel yourself giving in to him with each gentle kiss he left on your skin. He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth now, and you parted your lips further for him, your eyes still closed, your body ready to be claimed and telling him that with your posture, your face, your everything.

Namjoon picked up on it, kissing you then, firmly claiming you exactly how you’d wanted with an urgency you hadn’t felt from him before this moment. He moved his lips with yours, his tongue tracing your bottom lip as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in tighter, one hand knotting in your hair almost painfully. You held onto him by his soft cotton shirt, grasping the fabric in your fists as you clung to him. His arms and chest were firm under your touch, his body an anchor in the ocean you felt yourself drowning in, and you weren’t sure if this anchor was keeping you steady or dragging you down further.

You heard yourself moan to him, and he growled back to you as if a response in dialogue. His mouth moved faster, deeper, hungrier with each small reaction you gave him, his head tilting to allow his tongue to swirl into your mouth further. He tasted like mint and coffee, his scent and taste overwhelming you as he moved your tongue and lips with his exactly how he wanted with another quiet growl you felt in his chest.

It didn’t surprise you at all that he was vocal like this. His lips, his hands, his whole body moved like he was starving but trying to savor you, like he wanted to swallow you whole and was just barely holding himself back. He moaned against your mouth, and it went straight to your throbbing core, nearly knocking you over from the intensity of your need for him. You were dripping for him, your pussy uncomfortably tight, desperate to be stretched out and filled by him and only him.

You reached up between your bodies and unzipped your suit, and he helped peel it off, touching your skin as much as he could as it was revealed to him, unwilling to part his lips from yours for even a moment. Your breasts were the first things freed and he took both of them in his hands, squeezing so hard you almost gasped.

Your suit was off down to your thighs, leaving you completely naked from the crotch up. He wrapped one of his arms low around your waist, his other hand on your breast, still massaging firmly. He used his body and his arm around your waist to bend you back slightly as he crouched, bringing his mouth to one of your nipples, his tongue swirling. You felt his teeth there and moaned, feeling him grinding his erection against your thigh and moaning back to you in response around your skin. You’d never been this wet in your life, and he’d only just started touching you. You were desperate for his touch, his fingers, his tongue, anything he was willing to give.

You stopped him then, pushing him back hard, making him stumble back a few steps with a dazed look on his handsome face. You pulled up your suit as he looked at you, confused, like a sad little kicked puppy.

“What’s wrong?” Namjoon said, trying to read your face. His eyes were panicked, afraid he’d done something wrong or hurt you. You could see the shine of his saliva on his chin, and you even weren’t aware you’d touched him there, but the hair on one side of his head stuck out as if you’d been pulling on it.

“This. Whatever you’re trying to do. It’s not happening,” you said, sliding your arms back inside the skin-tight suit.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” he asked, still not moving.

“You’re going to fuck me, and then you’re gonna expect me to be ‘good’ or your sidekick or your trophy slut. You want to ‘tame’ me, or whatever this is,” you said, motioning at the space between you.

“No, I don’t,” he said, shaking his head and still looking at only your eyes. “That’s the last thing I want. I’ve done my research the past few days. All you’ve done… you go about things differently than I do, but your work is good. I don’t like your methods, but you get your work done effectively and this city needs both of us doing exactly what we’re doing.”

“So what is it you’re trying to do right now?” you said, still defensive.

“I just wanted to feel how you move when you’re a little gentler and not trying to kill me.” He smiled at you, kindness in his eyes, and he took one step forward, going no further.

“I don’t do ‘gentle,’” you said, reaching up and unzipping your suit again, watching his eyes light up as he let his gaze fall back down to your body slowly being revealed to him.

“I can work with that,” he said, and he stepped forward again, returning to you.

He helped you out of the suit as you pulled his shirt off of him, your mouths crashing back together. His arm wrapped around your lower waist and pulled you against him, your bare chest pressed to his, his other hand tightening in your hair and pulling you to the exact angle he wanted you at. You pulled on his hair too, jerking him so hard he growled and bit down on your lip, while your other hand held onto his shoulder and dug your fingernails in, aiming to break skin.

You let go of his hair and reached down into his sweatpants, grabbing his length and squeezing roughly.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped against your neck, breathing hard. He pulled your hair, jerking your head back so that your neck was completely exposed to him. He bit down on the flesh of your neck at the same spot but opposite side from where he’d bitten you last time, making you cry out for him in pain and pleasure as he suctioned his mouth hard. You could feel his tongue on your skin, soothing where he’d just hurt you, and you grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up to look at you.

“Too gentle,” you said, and you shoved him hard, making him stagger back again, this time with a dark smile on his lips.

You slid your bodysuit completely off, now bare before him. His eyes immediately fell to your thighs, seeing your wetness already dripping down, and you watched his eyes darken and jaw set, his chest rising and falling deeply as he breathed through his mouth, already worked up just from the idea of getting to touch you.

You walked to him, now both standing much closer to the fire, nearly chest to chest again. He was much taller than you, so you tilted your head back, looking up at him like you were considering what you should do next. Namjoon watched you with an amused smile, though you could see how his pupils were blown out with lust and the way his sweatpants tented from his painful erection.

You put your hands on his shoulders and pushed down, and Namjoon got the message, dropping to his knees and looking up at you, waiting for whatever you wanted to do to him. He was obedient, but you could tell he usually liked being in control.

You hooked one of your legs over his shoulder and grabbed him by his hair, pushing his mouth flush against your pussy and grinding forward.

He responded enthusiastically, his hands moving to your ass to support and steady you as he opened his mouth wide, nuzzling his face in roughly and licking a wide strip from entrance to clitoris. He groaned and closed his eyes when you moved your hips forward, grinding against him again, and you felt him hold his tongue firmly in place to give you that texture to move against.

“So wet,” he tried to moan, but it was muffled as you rolled your hips, his hands moving with you on your ass. You could hear him licking and sucking, his lips moving to drink you up as you pulled his hair tighter and harder. He tried to spank you once, the harsh slap echoing off the walls, and you’d responded by jerking his hair even harder and grinding forcefully.

Namjoon sat back on his legs to work at a better angle, pulling you forward as his tongue moved in your pussy as deep as he could. He was obscene, slurping and moaning as his tongue fucked you and lips moved on you, his eyes closed as he enjoyed himself. You were so wet, you knew you were dripping down his face, and he didn’t seemed to mind at all. If anything, he enjoyed it; you felt the vibrations of his moans in your clitoris, which he tried to move the tip of his nose against as he worked your entrance so well.

His head tilted back, as if supporting part of your weight with just his face and neck, your body now over him completely as he held you up with his hands. You felt like you were burning in front of the fireplace, but every inch of your body was covered in goosebumps as you shook and moaned with each new movement of his tongue and lips. You threw your head back, your eyes squeezed closed as you rolled your hips and cried out for him in ecstasy; you’d chosen this position because it gave you full control, and yet here he was, reducing you to this, somehow taking over when you were the one who was supposed to be using him.

Namjoon slid one hand up your back, his long fingers spread wide, while his other hand went to the back of your knee on the leg you were standing on. He jerked you then, forcing that leg to bend, supporting your leg with his strong arm. Your leg was now caught and bent by his bicep, both feet off the ground as he leaned back just slightly, his center of gravity and upper body supporting both of you in this new impossible position. You looked down at him, not really believing what he was doing, holding you up like this and still moving his mouth and tongue like nothing had changed.

It felt so precarious, being held up like this by only his large hands, completely at his mercy, but the excitement of it thrilled you. You wanted to hit him when you felt his smug smile against your pussy, knowing he felt how much you liked this. He moved up and sucked your clit into his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he suctioned his lips and flicked it rapidly with his tongue, and you moaned and pulled his hair hard enough to make him open his eyes and look up at you.

Without stopping his mouth’s movements, he suddenly bent forward as if bowing, bringing your body down to the ground in one swift motion. You tensed and gasped, and it took everything not to smack your head off the ground, though the floor was covered in a plush carpet and Namjoon’s hand on your back kept you from falling too hard or fast. Well, you figured, he was definitely trying his best to fulfill your request for roughness.

Namjoon tried to move his tongue even deeper inside you now, his hands slipping down to hold your ass as he pressed you against his face harder, nearly lifting your entire lower body off the ground as he sucked and slurped and fucked you with his tongue. You swore his tongue somehow touched your cervix, and you looked down at him, only the top of his head visible as he worked so diligently.

Enough was enough. You pushed yourself up and to the side, rolling both Namjoon and yourself, sitting up to straddle his head once he was laying fully on his back. You were even closer to the fire now, the heat radiating into your already flushed skin, and you rolled your hips and pressed down hard, riding his mouth as he smiled and groaned in delight. You pulled his hair roughly, not missing the way his eyes rolled back in his head with each sharp tug.

You rode him like this, your thighs burning from the effort, feeling his tongue stiffen as he held it in place for you to fuck yourself on. You looked down at him and saw him watching you, his dark pupils blown in lust, both his hands now resting on your ass but letting you set the tempo. You felt his upper lip rubbing against your clit with each hard roll of your hips, and that combined with his eyes watching you so intently was enough to push you over the edge.

Your first orgasm hit you so hard you saw stars, your whole body shuddering as you stopped breathing, feeling only him moaning in delight as you spilled into his open mouth. He drank you up, using his hands on your ass to hold you perfectly in place as he sucked up everything you gave him.

As you came down from your high, you felt him still moving his mouth, gentler now, as if attempting to help you get every bit of pleasure you could from this. You jerked his hair once, your attempt at telling him to stop, but he just groaned and kept going.

You got off of him and moved down his body, seeing he was still painfully hard in his sweatpants. From what you knew of him so far, you’d half expected him to have gotten off to what you’d just done to him. He hadn’t, though, and though you hated to admit it, you were still so turned on despite the downright magnificent orgasm he’d just given you.

He was watching you, a lazy, satisfied smile on his smug face. You straddled his waist and his hands fell to your hips. The light of the fire made the wetness on his mouth and chin almost sparkle, and he smiled at you cutely, like he was proud of his work.

“Did you have fun, baby?” he asked, amusement dancing in his eyes with the light of the fire.

You slapped him then, hard across the face, taking him fully by surprise. He looked back at you with wide, shocked eyes, before a dark, almost sinister smile curled on his glistening lips. His fingers on your hips tightened, but other than that he did nothing violent in retaliation. Instead, he reached for one of your hands, and you let him take it, just to see what he’d do.

Bringing the hand you’d just slapped him with up to his mouth, he kissed your palm gently, chastely, closing his eyes and smiling softly in the stillness of the moment as he pressed his lips to your skin. Your fingertips could feel his cheek where you’d hit him, the way it was slightly red and warm to the touch.

You humored him for a moment, letting it happen, but when he let your hand slip from his, you moved down and wrapped that hand tight around his throat, squeezing so hard you felt his heartbeat thudding against your palm.

“What’d I tell you about being gentle?” you cooed, leaning over him and adding your other hand around his neck. Your bare breasts skimmed against his chest as you bent over and choked him with both hands, hard enough his whole face began turning red, and seeing him like this felt better than you wanted it to.

Namjoon tried to suck in a breath instinctively, his face turning even darker red, almost purple, when he couldn’t. He was drenched in sweat — from his exertion, lack of oxygen, and the fire beside you — and you wanted to lick every inch of him clean. You felt him trying to grind his erection up into you, so you moved forward to straddle his lower stomach instead, denying him even that. His Adam’s apple moved as he tried to suck in air, pressed hard against your palm as you squeezed his throat tighter still.

He brought one of his hands up and you thought he was going to choke you right back, maybe fight back or push you off when his survival instincts kicked in. Instead, he simply tucked some of your hair back behind your ear. Your hands tightened around his neck so hard, you started to pull his upper body up off the ground. Still, he did nothing — if anything, it looked like he was hornier than ever, closing his eyes and tilting his head back, giving you more room for your hands to hold him there.

“Fuck,” you hissed, releasing your grip on his throat and letting him fall back to the ground. He breathed hard, chest heaving and sweat rolling down his skin as he tried to catch his breath again, his breathing sounding almost painful for him. While you let the oxygen return to him, you looked down at his chest and stomach, seeing dozens of scars of varying size and age. You recognized this; your own body looked like this too, from years in your profession.

When you looked back up at his face, you wanted to roll your eyes. He was looking up at you with damn hearts in his eyes, tilting his head and smiling up at you.

“I told you I don’t want this to be gentle,” you said, snarling at him.

“You said that you don’t do gentle. I can still be gentle if I want,” he said, his deep voice rasping in his throat. You did roll your eyes now, because, just as you suspected, Namjoon was cheesy.

He seemed to sense your mood shift, raising an eyebrow at you as he spoke.

“You really want me to be rough with you too?”

You looked at him pointedly, and that was all he needed.

He stood up then, making you fall back on your ass. Before you could react or move, Namjoon grabbed a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back dramatically to force you to look up at him. He towered over you, his still clothed cock only a few inches from your mouth. You licked your lips as you looked up at him, hoping he’d take the hint. From this angle, his eyes were dark, devoid of the care and adoration you’d seen there just moments earlier. The almost evil glint in his eyes spread to his lips, where he smirked down at you, almost out of character for what you’d thought of him before now.

This was exactly what you wanted. You wanted him to treat you like an object, so that when you left here tonight, you wouldn’t feel any attachment or affection for him. You weren’t sure that was possible at this point, but it was certainly worth a try.

You leaned in, trying to put your mouth on him, but Namjoon jerked you back by your hair. Almost to your disappointment, he pulled you to your feet, one hand on your arm and the other still tight in your hair.

“What is it going to take to get you to be good for me, hmm?” he said, moving his hand from your arm to your cheeks, squeezing painfully. He tightened his grip on your hair when you didn’t answer, shaking you once, so hard you felt like your brain rattled in your head.

“I thought I was being good,” you said, blinking up at him with a fake innocence that made his eyes darken and jaw set. You could tell he was enjoying this, even if it wasn’t usually what he liked.

He jerked you again, this time pulling you with him as he walked, his hand still knotted in your hair as he dragged you along. He stopped in front of the large wooden desk in front of the window, shoving you forward roughly and making you stumble forward into the desk, bending slightly where its edge hit your stomach. You couldn’t even react before he pushed you again, this time forcing you to bend completely forward against the cool wooden surface. Your arms sprawled in reaction to his shove, knocking pens and a paperweight to the floor. He took your hands, holding them both behind your back by your wrists with one hand.

“Give me a safeword,” he growled, grinding hard against your ass, drawing a small moan from your lips.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to answer like this, but you croaked out your response to him, the first random word that popped into your head. “Cinderella.”

Namjoon snorted. “That’s cute,” he said, his voice taunting, his grip on your wrists tightening as you heard him pulling down his sweatpants with his free hand. “Does that make me the prince?”

He let go of your wrists, and you knew to keep them where he’d left them. You braced yourself, feeling him take his cock in his hand and rub the head around your dripping entrance. God, he felt big. You wanted to see him so badly, to have that visual confirmation, and you tried to, twisting your head as you attempted to look back at him.

Instead, you looked up and made eye contact with him, and he cocked his head, raising an eyebrow at you.

“And what do you want, princess?” he said, letting go of his cock, which you couldn’t see behind yourself, anyway. You whimpered at the loss of contact, wiggling your hips in your attempt to entice him into finally just fucking you.

“Fuck, you’re needy. And so, so bad,” he said, gripping your ass with both hands firmly, pulling your cheeks apart so he could look down at you dripping for him. “God, I wanna fill you up, split you in half. Do you think you can be good for me?”

Instead of answering, you tried to hook one of your legs back around him, making him stumble forward against you.

“I guess that’s a no,” Namjoon said, his deep voice sounding almost amused.

You heard him spit in his hand, and you smiled, expecting him to finally put his hands on you. You were wet enough you knew you wouldn’t need his spit too, but extra lubrication never hurt.

You gasped when, instead of feeling his fingers where you wanted him so badly, he brought down his hand in a harsh spank that made your whole body tense, your eyes falling closed as your mouth fell open as the loud sound echoed off the bookcases. The wetness on his palm made the sting so much worse, and he massaged you there with that hand now, his fingers digging into your flesh as he soothed away the pain he’d just inflicted.

“Count for me, baby. Out loud. If you mess up I’ll have to start over.”

You could barely process what he’d said before he took that hand and brought it between your legs, cupping your slick wet heat and rubbing his palm around sloppily, not doing enough to actually give you any pleasure from it, though you moaned anyway from being manhandled like this. He then pulled that hand away, making you whimper and bite your lip, and then you realized too late what he’d just done.

Namjoon brought his now soaking hand down on your ass so hard, you swore the desk shook. You legs twitched as you cried out from the sharp pain that spread through your entire body and made your back arch, presenting your ass to him perfectly, as if begging for more.

“I swore I told you to count,” he said, his voice steady and normal, as if talking about the weather. He spanked you again, your body shaking from the force of it.

“Two,” you moaned out, your body covered in sweat now, your breathing fast and hard.

He rubbed his cock against your ass roughly as he worked, letting you feel how big he was. You knew it was going to hurt, especially in this position, but god you wanted to feel him. You’d wanted this since the rooftop, and now he was finally here, bending you over a desk, and all you had to do was take his punishment and you’d finally get what you wanted.

Namjoon spanked you again, somehow even harder, and you moaned, what you were sure was the loudest sound you’d made in years.

“Three.” You tried to rub your legs together, desperate for some kind of friction, but he caught you and kicked your legs back apart.

“Such a naughty girl. I’m already punishing you, and yet you keep being bad.” He reached down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you upright so your back pressed against his firm, sweaty chest, his arm wrapped around you tight as he held you up.

“Do I need to try a different way of punishing you? Is spanking your ass raw not good enough? Do I need to get even more rough?” Namjoon growled in your ear, bringing his hand up to your throat, squeezing gently. He spanked the side of your thigh with his free hand, making you moan and close your eyes, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I asked you a question, princess.”

You reached back and grabbed onto his hair, pulling so harshly he moaned from it, moving his head in the direction you yanked him.

“Fuck me, now,” you said, hoping it didn’t sound like begging. You moved your hips back against his cock hard, and he moaned again, the noise broken and agonized.

Namjoon pushed you back down against the desk, your body almost bouncing from the force of it. He grabbed your hips, pulling you up on your tiptoes as he angled himself against your entrance before sliding into you hard. He was so obedient, even when you let him think he was in charge. You suspected he knew who was in control here, too.

You braced yourself on the desk and pressed your forehead against the cool wood as you adjusted to his size; you could feel his cock twitch as he stretched you, his hands squeezing your hips hard as he stayed in place, not moving. He felt decently long, but Jesus, he was thick. You eyes watered from the stretch, a moan catching in the back of your throat as you felt the way he throbbed inside you.

“You feel so fucking good,“ he groaned. He pulled out almost all the way before slamming back into you, the heavy desk moving a few inches forward from the rough movement. "So fucking wet for me, dripping all over my floor.” He thrust again, this time moaning as his hips smacked against your ass.

You could hear his voice in his strained breathing, as if he was just barely stopping himself from moaning with each harsh exhale. His thrusts were hard and purposeful, picking up speed until it almost matched the throbbing in your pussy. His hands squeezed on your hips so hard, you could feel your skin and the bones underneath bruising.

“You this turned on just from me spanking you?” he gasped, the sound of skin smacking against wet skin matched perfectly with the desk hitting the wall with each thrust. He spanked you again, as if to illustrate his words. “I bet you got off after I smacked you around on the museum’s roof, naughty girl.”

“As if you weren’t hard the entire time,” you said back, but you could barely breathe or think as he pounded into you, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with each rough stroke.

“You could tell?” he said between breaths, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. God, he was so arrogant. He had every right to be, you figured, if his cock was this good; every stroke filled you so perfectly, you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning and clinging to the desk as he hit the exact right spot inside you over and over.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you groaned, and at that Namjoon let go of your hips, one hand reaching around to wrap around your throat. He pulled you up by your neck, your back against his chest again, his other hand moving down to stroke your clit as he kept fucking into you at his same brutal pace. As he pulled you up against him, your legs moved closer together as you tried to stand taller.

“Keep your legs spread,” he growled in your ear, squeezing his hand tighter around your throat.

“How ‘bout you make me?” you choked out, grinning wildly.

Namjoon stepped back then, his cock pulling out of you. You almost moaned at the loss, but he spun you around to face him, and his expression made you sober. He looked nearly delirious in pleasure; furious, violent, primitive, like a monster coming to eat you whole. He was seething, his large chest rising and falling as he looked down at your body, the corners of his mouth perking.

He pushed you back hard, making you fall back onto the desk, sitting on it and falling back on your elbows from the force of his shove. He grabbed you by your thighs and pulled you forward by them, now standing between your spread legs and sliding into you again in one fluid motion. One of his thumbs reached down and pressed your clitoris hard, not even moving, just pressing down so hard it hurt, and you threw your head back in pleasure, nearly smacking it back against the window.

Namjoon started up again, his hips smacking against yours so hard your body vibrated from it. He rubbed your clit furiously, your legs twitching as you gasped from the assault on your senses, the pleasure inside you bent like a bow and ready to snap. He was beautiful above you, his body dripping in sweat from his efforts, his hair wet from it. He was glowing in lust and delirium, the fire behind him casting a harsh warmth on his skin that almost made his eyes glow.

When you came, you reached out for something to hold on to, but just ended up knocking things over and off the desk. Your eyes were open but you couldn’t see, your mouth open but no air or sound passing through it. You made a faint choking sound, despite him not touching your throat, your whole body tensing as Namjoon kept moving, riding out your orgasm, only going harder as you took more and more from him.

After you came, your body went limp and he stepped back, letting you start to slide off the desk. He caught you by your shoulders, easing you onto the ground and keeping you sitting upright as you breathed hard, your lungs almost burning from the exertion of cumming that hard.

Namjoon held you exactly at eye level with his cock and you knew what he wanted to do, but he hesitated. His hand cupped your cheek, stroking your skin with his thumb as he looked down at you with sympathy and something else.

You growled up at him and he nodded, understanding what you wanted. He took his cock in one hand, now almost purple from how hard and desperate he was, and grasped the hair on the back of your head with his other hand. Bringing you forward, he rubbed the head of his cock against your lips, smearing your own wetness and his precum around on you. You tried to open your mouth and take him, but he held back, smiling as he just rubbed himself on your lips.

He finally gave in when you flicked your tongue out against him, and with a loud moan, he entered you, the velvety underside of his cock moving against your tongue as he slid into you. Your jaw hurt from how wide you had to open for him, and he wasn’t even halfway in when you felt him hitting the back of your throat.

Namjoon groaned, holding your head in place with both hands. He looked like he was almost in tears, and when you swallowed around him, he threw his head back and thrust his hips forward, making you choke around him.

Your eyes welled up as he held himself in place there, your throat spasming around him as you tried to breathe. You instinctively brought your hands up to his thighs, digging in your fingernails there, but Namjoon only pulled back enough to slam in again, your throat still tight and raw.

“Swallow, princess,” he growled down at you, and you listened, making him close his eyes and groan again, his hips moving forward and hitting the back of your throat as you teared up and gagged around him.

Namjoon fucked your mouth like this, hitting the back of your throat with each hard thrust. He set a brutal pace, almost making your head smack back against the front of the desk from the force of it. Saliva, pre-cum, and your wetness on your lips and running down your chin, you hummed around him, and that was all he needed to send him flying over the edge. He gasped, making a sound like he was in agony, and pulled out and finished himself off with his hand, letting his cum land in hot spurts on your mouth, chin, neck, and chest as he groaned loudly.

As Namjoon finished, he pulled your hair so hard your head tilted up, forcing you to look up at him. You watched as he looked down at you, and you imagined what you must look like to him: covered in slobber and his cum, lips red and swollen, hair wild, bruises and cuts covering you from your fight the other week, his bite mark and hickeys on your neck. He was just as beautiful, gasping above you, a dark bruise already on his throat, his body drenched in sweat and eyes glazed over in pleasure.

With his free hand, he took his still half-hard cock and rubbed your lips with the head again, moaning from how sensitive he was but apparently pushing through it. He spread his cum around your lips, and you let him, moaning to give him that extra stimulation from the vibrations.

“How was that for rough?” he asked, looking down at you with the same heart eyes he’d had before.

“Perfect,” you replied, returning his warm smile. “Next time, though, I want to be the one to bend you over the desk.”

#bts smut #namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #kim namjoon smut #rm smut #rap monster smut #bts scenario #bts fanfic #my writing #i wanted this to be the opposite of my first fic #ta da

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starfirette · 5 years ago

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Every Which Way: Chapter Seven

The Wayward Souls

⇢a/n:aksfjghdlfjknv i’M SO SORRY. pls forgive me for this being late, and also for how potentially painful it is

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⇢ Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | impregnation kink (smut) | mild violence | angsty ending | word count: 9, 287more or less idk anymore

🏷 @woterezwhet @talesfromtheguild @poupoupoupoupou @multifandom-fiasco @fandomqueen74 @fifiyau105 @shayna-winchester @mserynlarsen

>>NEXT CHAPTER AVAILABLE NOW!<<

The gathering hall is filled with Mandalorians and their children, all eager to bid Din and his new bride goodbye. You felt dizzy as you thanked and hugged person after person. Din had given every child (who had formed a line) a warm hug. Your heart fluttered to see him hug younglings while still decked out in his armor. He had a fine way of holding them gently against the plates over his chest.

You watched from the sidelines; you didn’t mind that you weren’t being swarmed the way Din was. You liked to see this side of his life--the one side that could be his and his alone. How it truly warmed your heart to see Din give and receive such affections. You could see him tilting his head in to no doubt say his goodbyes to the younglings.

Wendi appeared at your side. She leaned up against the stone walls. “He’s always been a natural with them,” Wendi said in her melodic voice. Spinning a sheathed dagger between her fingers, she sent you a sideways glance, her helmet reflecting the light of the hall. “I’m surprised he hasn’t wrangled in a foundling by now. Even more surprised you’re not juggling babes by the dozens by now.”

You felt a furious blush loom across your cheeks. “What makes you say that?”

“Well,” she said in a purr, “you have been a rare sight aroudn these halls since your wedding. I can only assume that you’ve been ‘busy.’”

You graoaned. “This isn’t a conversation I want to have, with you of all people.”

“Aw, why not?” Wendi laughed. “You know lots of girls are jealous of you. Din is what we know to be a resident heartbreaker. I’m sure everyone is dying to know just how well endowed he is.”

“What does that mean?” you asked.

“You know what it means. The size, of course,” she says then.

“The size? Of what?”

“Oh sweet stars. Annie Aniri, I of course mean the size of his penis.”

“Ohhh,” you say as you realize. “I would say it’s normal sized. How big are they usually?”

Wendi let out a pained sound. She hesitated as she audibly tried to think of how she might word this. “It’s not often that they are decently large. In fact you could even say it’s hard to tell when it’s in. It’s what makes most marriages feel more like a punishment.”

You grimace. “I didn’t know that,” you groaned. “I think all I can really tell you without being too innapropriate is that he’s certainly on the larger side. I guess it really depends on the average size range.”

Wendi hummed as she thought. She held her fingers out, creating an invisible model that went about four inches wide. “Too big or too small?” she asked.

You winced. “Much too small,” you tell her. She went up a bit, but it still didn’t do Din justice. You finally adjusted her hands for her, and she let out a small gasp. “Annie, how are you still able to walk?” she cried out.

You stifle a laugh that wheezed way back in your chest. “You’re too embarrassing,” you told her when you could breathe. Wendi knocked her shoulder into your own. “I hope you two will have fun,” she says finally. “It’s not often we have a happy couple around here. Everyone is very happy for him. Despite all the trouble I give you two, I’m also happy for him. I don’t think there’s a better match for him in all the galaxy. You’re both terribly annoying, either way.”

“Much appreciated,” you tell her, meaning the words with all of your heart..

She held her hand out without really facing you. The dagger had become still in her open palm. “This is a going away present,” she says.”For some reason I have a feeling you’ll be getting into trouble out there.”

You could hear the vague amusement in her voice. You took the dagger and pocketed it after a brief examination. It’s dark silver with paracord wrapped tightly around the handle. “Thank you,” you say with a small incline of your head.

“Have fun in the world, Annie,” Wendi tells you. “But be wary of it. You never truly know what will happen.”

The Razor Crest lifted off the ground with a rumble you could feel under your feet. Leaning forward in your seat, you could see the figures of Gold and Paz preparing to depart back to the tunnels, waving the ship goodbye. Waving you goodbye. You waved back, half knowing they couldn't see you. They’d been kind enough to escort you and Din out of the city. Imagine the surprise in the trooper’s voices when they saw four Mandalorian’s leaving.

The sky cast around you like an endless sea; clouds wandered the sides of the ship as Din rose into higher altitude. The fog parted into the dark sky of what you knew had to be space.

You were completely enamoured with the sights that you hadn't realized time was ticking by. The stars weren't like you'd imagined. From the ground, the stars looked like close neighbors, but as you are among them you can see now that they are spread out farther than you would have ever thought possible.

When Din spoke, it snapped you out of your trance. His voice tethered you to your reality within the ship.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"That I should have paid attention the first time I was in space," you say. "I guess I had other things on my mind."

"It's very beautiful," Din comments.

You made a small sound of agreement. It really is.

Din pressed a few buttons on his dashboard. The engine hummed in the back of your mind as Din slowly took his hands away from the steers.

"Are you sure you don't have the force?" You tease him.

He gives you a look and you know it is exasperation that is behind his helmet. "Auto pilot," he ammends you.

"Ah, I suppose I should have thought that first,” you chuckle.

"My thoughts exactly," Din snickered back. He unbuckled the straps of his pilot's chair, rising to his feet and pulling off his helmet. He runs a gloved hand through the unruly waves of his hair. "Would you like a tour, Mrs. Djarren?" he asks with a crooked grin quirking his soft lips.

You slowly removed your seatbelts. "I've been on the Crest before, you know," you tell him pointedly. He helps you navigate out of the narrow cockpit with his hands gently on your waist.

"Not as my bride," he pointed out. "The ship should be your home away from the covert. Our home."

His words rang in your ears. You are grateful for the dim lights that hid your eyes which falter under the embarrassment. It's amazing that you could still feel embarrassed with your husband, even after everything you two had been through.

Perhaps it's the utter lack of people that has you feeling this way. You'd never really been "alone" before. The first trip, towards Nevarro, you were alone with Din but in a much different way. You'd been a much different person!

Now, you're alone with your husband. The man that you've grown to love so dearly. The man that warmed your bed!

You suppose you're not sure what you should expect from this trip.

Din guided you first towards the engineering bay. It sat directly beneath the cockpit. On the walls were the electric panels, as Din called them. He briefly explained how inside the panels were switches, or "breakers", that controlled the flow of electricity and power to the smaller utilities of the ship, like the lights and the stovetop. In a strange jar to the left is the storage bay. There’s enough food and clothes there to last for at least a month.

The hallway straight ahead were the cells that Din used for storage. He had lots of weapons in there. You were stunned at just how many weapons a single bounty hunter needs. It seemed on par with the entire armory at the covert, but condensed into four of the six cells. You recognized one as the cell you'd taken refuge in. Lined with pistols and spears, you had hidden inside and stayed there, sweating as the ship turned in violent spins to evade the Aniri ships.

It seems like long ago; practically a distant memory. And yet it's been a matter of months, hardly even three.

You asked Din what occupied the final two cells. He pulled back the doors to reveal a strange machine. You couldn't guess it's purpose after a few tries (and laughs from Din). When you gave up, he explained that he wouldn't have it if he didn't need it.

"What is it?" You asked, now unsure if you wanted to know at all.

"A carbonite freezer. It can freeze and keep lifeforms in perfect hibernation."

You looked at Din with incredulity in your wide eyes. "Are there convicts on this ship?" You asked in a low whisper.

"Not currently," Din said. "My mother told me it's impolite to keep frozen criminals so close to a lover."

You couldn't really laugh as you stared at the strange contraption.

"So it freezes people?" You asked as you ran a palm over the smooth, dark surface of the metal.

"It does. I can use it to transport bounties without worrying they'll cause trouble." Din sounded too calm to be saying such things. But you guess it's something all bounty hunters have to worry about. You cringed away from the freezer as you imagined the process.

"Does it hurt?"

Din shook his head. "No. It could be dangerous, though. It takes calculation."

You sank into his arms, which folded around your back to keep you tucked against him. "Mmm, my amazing husband is dangerous and calculating,"you grinned.

Din tipped your chin up with his forefinger. "Would you want it any other way?"

He pressed a warm kiss against the corner of your mouth, just below the crevice of your dimples.

He turned you around, to look at the freezer once more. “I’ve heard,” he muttered as he nestled his chin onto your neck, “that those coming out of hibernation feel ill. Feverish, shaky, even blind.”

“I’d hate to be frozen,” you said as you imagined the process. An endless sleep only to be followed by days of severe sickness.

“You won’t be,” Din promises you. “Not unless you’re a prisoner.” His hands rested over your stomach She.

"Wendi told me marriage is a lot like being a prisoner," you point out.

“Then you’re my prisoner, and mine alone,” Din whispered into your ear. “Shall I lock you up in a cell? Freeze you? Or should I let you attempt to negotiate?”

“Do you often negotiate with prisoners?” You ask.

“Only the beautiful ones,” Din says. “And you’re much more than beautiful.”

“You’re a scoundrel,” you giggled as Din nipped your ear. With his arm around your shoulder, he pushed you along towards the kitchen. It’s small, but it’s enough, with a cooler and a stovetop. Past the kitchen are the living quarters.

The lumpy bunk that was once propped into the corner has been replaced with a wider mattress, one that is surely capable of fitting both of you.

“You’re a sneak,” you sigh as you push onto the mattress with your hands. It’s so lusciously soft that you’re looking forward to falling asleep.

Din leaned up against the door jamb. “I couldn’t force you to endure that old excuse for a bed. Is the ship up to Mrs. Djarren’s standards?”

You felt pinned to the wall by his smile. His damn smile. The warmth of his eyes that crinkled under his smile seeped into you like warm cacao and cinnamon on a cold day. You could feel his gaze rush through your blood as he took a step closer towards you.

“Would you like to wash up?” He asked, his words a suggestive murmur. You nodded more eagerly than you would have initially liked to, but it earned a laugh from your husband.

You helped him out of his beskar, the ship still rolling softly throughthe cosmos in autopilot. The beskar is discared oto the bed, followed by your clothes. His hand slid into yours, and while you giggled, he led you into the refresher.

You’d remembered bathing in here for the first time when Din had saved you all that time ago. You recall being ecstatic by the warm water.

Steam rose between the walls as Din pulled into his hold. You sighed under the feeling of the everlasting heat. The water and his body could keep you comfortable for an infinite age of time.

The crown of your hair knocked against Din’s chest as the warm water streamed down your neck.

Din’s open palms curved around your breasts, thumbs tweaking your nipples while his lips sucked bruises over your neck.

Words of affection floated between the stream of hot water and the steam. His hands slithered down to your hips. He held you tightly, making you whimper in sheer anticipation. Even under the streams of water, you could feel your thighs becoming slick with arousal and excitement.

“Turn around,” Din murmurs in your ear.

You slowly turned, his hands never leaving your body. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him until he forced you to do so. His finger tapped the underside of your chin. “Are you my prisoner?” He asks, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down.

His dark eyes are filled with focus.

His looks are intoxicating. The brown scruff coming in along his jaw is scratchy, but you find yourself fond of the feeling it leaves between your thighs.

"I could be," you gasp.

You pull him down by his hair, forcing him into a rough kiss that made your heart pound.

Parting your lips to let his tongue sweep over yours, you moaned his name. You earned a low growl in response. The growl resonated way back to your throat.

Din’s hands raked down your back. He held you tightly, like he feared you’d be torn away with him at any second. All of his strength poured into his hold onto you.

You lifted your leg to grip it around his thigh. “Din,” you rasped against his mouth. “Please. It hurts.”

Your cunt ached roundt its own emptiness. You’d become swollen and your heartbeat pounded all the way to your clit. Something within you screamed to be filled and ravaged by Din. The thought of his cock slipping its way inside of you practically did the job itself.

Din’s eyes hardened as he grabbed you by the waist. You are pushed into the shower wall, then lifted with remarkable ease. He fixed your legs around him.

“I need you,” you gasped. The weight of his eyes on your body had become unbearable.

“You want to take me alraedy?” Din said in your ear. His voice is hoarse and thick and low, striking a pleasurable chord deep in your stomach. “You want my cock now?”

You nodded, sinking your face into the crook of his neck.

Keeping you hoisted with one arm, Din slid a hand between your two torsos. He gripped his thick cock in his large hand.

Looking down, you watched with strained eyes as he rubbed the tip of his cock into your clit. A strangled gasp pushed out of your mouth as he whispered more intimate words to you.

“You’re going to be a good girl and take it all?” Din asked. His rough voice wavered as he guided his cock into your cunt. You cried loudly at the feeling. The velvety walls of your cunt eagerly accepted Din’s cock, hugging around him tightly to feel as much as you could.

“My seed,” he grunted, “will stay inside of you all night. Will you give me children?”

His strong thrust knocked your hips back against the walls of the shower. You sank your teeth into the flesh of his neck as he rocked into you unrelentlessly.

“Will you bear all of Clan Djarren with your pretty hips?” he snarled into your ear. “Will you take my cock without question?” Your brain felt like it would short circuit at any minute. You could hardly stammer out the “Yes” you so desperately wanted to scream. The idea of it all made it all the more unbearable. You could feel him reaching for the stars of climax deep inside of you, hips snapping into yours loudly under the water. You whimpered his name as his arms kept you upright. His strong, smooth biceps flexed widely as he grunted against your skin.

“Ah, fuck, my meshla,” he swore loudly. As if he wasn’t moving fast enough already, his hips quickened their pace, snapping against yours with the loud slaps of wet skin to echo around you in the steam.

You couldn’t even process a coherent thought as you felt lost in the pleasure you’d been plunged into.

“Taking me so fucking well,” Din hissed to you, nipping at the lobe of your ear. “You want it?”

“Yes,” you stammered. You clutched against him as tightly as you could, your thighs and torso shaking violently as you lost control of your senses. The spasming climax burst in your stomach like an explosion of fire. You jerked in his arms, but he pressed you flat against the cold tiled wall with his smooth, broad test.

“Din, I want it,” you sobbed.

He groaned so loudly you felt the reverberations in your chest. His hips rocked so hard you thought he was going to split you completely in half.

As quickly as it had started, he spilled his seed into you, making you shudder and spasm closer into your hug.

Din buried his face into your neck, his laugh muffled by your skin. You both panted for breath for a solid minute. His cock remained hard inside of you, but any movement made you flinch and clench around him.

Din licked the sweet drops of water up your jaw before whispering into your ear, “Can you take it again?”

Laying in the bed, tucked into Din’s chest, you asked him, “What is the bounty we’re going after?”

His hand that played with your hair paused for a brief second before resuming the little swirls. “A man that’s wanted for evading debt.”

You nodded. “I see. That means he owes another man money, right?”

“Correct,” Din said. “We’re going to a planet called Bespin. The manciple of Cloud City, Lando Calrissian, has reported this man to be roughly a million credits in debt. I’ve heard the bounty’s name come up before. He’s most likely in deep debt with multiple people.”

“Frightening,” you murmured.

You kissed over the heart of your husband. Laying your ear over it, you could count the beats without even thinking. The rhythm sank into you so that your own heart eventually beat in perfect synchronization with your husband’s.

“Did you mean what you said about children?” you asked suddenly.

The rumbling of Din’s ship is all you heard for some time.

“Yes,” Din replied softly. “Since we married, I have been consumed with the image of you with my child.”

You chuckled, though feeling bashful. “I’m honored.”

“Meshla,” Din breathed. His fingers combed through your hair in the darkness. “I am honored. Honored to be your husband. Honored to be the one you’ve chosen to bear warriors with.”

You nuzzled closer into his arms. “I love you very much,” you say quietly.

“And I love you more than you’ll ever, ever now,” Din replied. “For now, let’s sleep. We can devise to make children tomorrow.”

With that being said, you were lulled to sleep by the humming of the engine and the beating heart of your one and only husband.

After two days, you and Din reached Bespin. You learned that ‘Cloud City’ is a literal name. Tucked in the fluffy clouds is an actual city, which Din explained prospers through mining.

Din explained that he suspected the city is being used by the Empire to operate trading posts. Because the city is known for its peace, Din said, their governor would likely cooperate with Lord Vader to keep his people out of danger.

The ship rumbled as landed on its cleared pad.

For a long moment, Din sat behind his steers. You watched him carefully; you wonder what he is thinking.

“Din?” you finally say. “What are you thinking?”

Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, Din cast you a glance. “I’m thinking you should stay on the ship and wear your armor. I can’t say for sure that the city is under Imperial authority. It’s only a hunch. But I can’t risk your safety.”

You sent him a soft smile. “My doting husband,” you sighed. You unbuckled your self from the copilot’s chair. “I’ll be changing into armor. Will you be alright?”

Din nodded. “I’m going to meet with a few officers. They’ll give me their puck and then we can go after the bounty.”

You took his hand in yours before you left the cockpit. You pressed a small kiss over his glove. “I’ll be here.”

It is a struggle to dress in your plates quickly. Din showed you how to do it many, many times, but you’d never been able to do it as fast as he could, especially on your own.

Your small arsenal of weapons fits snugly around your waist. Your flute, your blade, and your pistol have been your constant companions since you’d been gifted them from Gold. It felt strange to be without her. Strange, but exhilarating.

You knew you would eventually find your way back to the covert when Din decided to take a break from bounty hunting. You looked forward to the moment you could see your newfound friends and tell them all of your adventures.

You left the bedroom in you beskar, the rosegold sheen blinding you in any sort of light.

You found Din in the engine bay, fiddling with what you presumed to be his puck.

You are both in your armor and helmets now; with your visor down, you felt like a proper woman. It made you feel safe somehow, like you could truly protect yourself.

“Where is he?”

“Off the city,” Din said. His voice is rougher through the modulator, much like yours. “It won’t take long to find him. Before that, I have something for you.”

You tilted your head. “Oh? I am sorry to say I don’t have a gift for you.”

Din chuckled. “It’s more for myself than it is for you, actually,” he admitted. He fastened something small to the tunic behind the breast plate. “A tracker. If anything happens, I can find you.”

You repressed a sigh. You wished you could ease his fears. You hadn’t realized how he felt until he had mentioned it before. He didn’t like the thought of you mingling with Imperials.

“It’s going to be alright,” you promised him. “It’s just a normal bounty. Only you have a supporter with you.”

He couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. “Wear it for me,” he said after catching his breath. “It will make me feel truly at ease.”

You couldn’t say no to that.

With the tracking beacon hidden behind your breast plate, you and your husband returned to the cockpit. Din let you hold the puck on the way off Cloud City. You hadn’t realized just how intense bounty hunting was until you fiddled with the puck’s features. You learned from Din that some pucks can be synced with the target’s genetic signature. This can allow any bounty hunter to track them throughout the galaxy.

When you’d noted just how intense that is, Din explained that is usually used for the higher rewards: murderers, serial thieves, other similar criminals. “Our guy,” he said, “isn’t that serious. He was just sighted a matter of hours ago. I doubt he’s ran off anywhere, especially if he has no money. I think we’ll find him just fine.”

You had started to hope that would be true.

The Crest took its landing ten minutes later, on a lower city thick with fog.

You had prepared to follow your husband, but he set his hands on your shoulders and warned you to stay put.

You sighed. “What if you need help? You may be able to track me, but I can’t track you. What if––?”

“Meshla,” Din sighed. “If I need help, I’ll call the ship’s comm. You can come find me then. Just stay put to guard the ship. I’ll need my loyal, supportive wife to stay here so I can bring the bounty back without any obstacles.”

It’s clear he knew what he was saying, as well what his words would mean to you.

You mimicked his sigh of annoyance. “I do not like that you’ve used my own supportive creed against me,” you told him sternly. “But I will stay. How long should you be gone before I get truly worried?”

Din thought about that for a moment. “At least,” he finally replied, “an hour. I give you full permission to come after me after two hours.”

You warned him you would come looking for him after two hour’s time. You would have liked to kiss him goodbye as he left the Crest, his hunting cape flying in the cool breeze as he did.

You proceeded to sit in the cockpit for your mandatory two hours. You tried to read a book you’d found in Din’s bedroom while you waited. You felt impatient, and you thus could not focus on the first paragraph, as your eyes continued to wander to the comm embedded in the steer’s dashboard.

It took almost the full two hours for Din’s voice to come through.

“I’m coming back. Be ready for us.”

You sighed loudly with relief. By Prince Melv’s kind, resting soul, you’d been very close to leaving the ship to go after your husband.

You waited at the ramp for him, your hand resting steady on your pistol sheathed at your thigh.

His voice finally called through the mist. You squinted, using the focus feature of your helmet to scan through the fog. Two figures were dragging through the thick clouds towards the ramp.

You ran after them, eager to help Din.

His bounty is being dragged in unconcious. As you hooked one of the limp arms around your shoulders, you debated asking him what he had done to the poor fellow.

You’d seen Din in action before; you wouldn’t ever want to be one of his bounties. You somehow feel he wouldn’t be as kind to them as he is to you.

You helped Din drag the bounty into the cockpit. The poor fellow’s body got slumped in a side chair. “Close the ramp,” Din asked you. “Leave your helmet on. If he wakes up, don’t even speak a word to him.”

You lifted a brow behind your visor. He didn’t look that vicious. “Is he so dangerous?” you asked in a low voice.

“No,” Din answered. “But I don’t trust him around my woman either way.”

You shook you head as you went to shut the ramp.

Rentering the cockpit with a glass of water from the kitchen, you found that Din had already tied the bounty up in the seat. “That was quick,” you noted as you offered it to him.

Din lifted the helmet up just enough to gulp the water down. He thanked you for it. Before you could leave to put the glass away, he grabbed your wrist. He rested his forehead against yours, the metal of either helmet clinking together like bells. “I am lucky to have such a supporter with me,” he murmured.

“Oh, Mando,” you sighed. You hadn’t used the nickname in a long time. It felt nice to say it now. “How romantic it is to hear you speak sweet things as we coddle one another in front of a criminal.”

Din howled out a loud laugh. “Just buckle yourself in. We’re returning to Cloud City.”

With the bounty still unconcious, the Razor Crest lifted up through the fog. You thought about many things on the ride back.

“Could I ask an unintelligent question?” you finally asked.

“Of course, though I seriously doubt it will be so bad,” Din assured you without looking away from his screen.

“Well, why is debt such a serious crime? I understand that it’s wrong, and of course why someone would want their money back. I’ve only thought that people should know the potential consequences.Wouldn’t that alone be enough to prevent such crimes?”

Din did not ridicule you for asking. In fact, he answered you perfectly. "Debt isn't often overlooked," Din says. "Many times, people are in debt due to high interest rates or deep end gambling."

"Why gamble if they know they can't pay what they'll owe?" You asked.

"It can be addicting for some people," Din explained. "They will give themselves the benefit of the doubt, thinking they have a good chance at winning a sum. Eventually, they owe more than they had originally hoped to win."

You cast a glance over your shoulder, looking to the bonded man in the spare seat. He hasn't come to, not yet, and you're half dreading the moment he does.

Din could take him easily enough; though you still feel unnerved to be in such a small space with a wanted criminal.

The rational voice in your mind knows nothing bad will happen. The hard part is done, at least.

The landing pad is cleared for Din's use over the Razor Crest's commlink. You watch the clouds out the window as Din descends through them, lowering the ship slowly onto the pad.

The ship rumbled as Din shut down the engines. You looked back at the bounty.

"Should I come with you?" You asked as Din unbuckled.

He stayed silent as he leaned forward, examining the surroundings of the Crest.

"It's not very crowded," he noticed. "I'd feel better if you stayed aboard the ship," he finally says. "Be careful."

"Shouldn't I be telling you that?" you asked him with a small smile. He seemed to hear the affection as he leaned over your seat. He pressed the forehead of his helmet against your own, resting like that for an easy moment.

"I'll be back soon," he assured you.

He approached the bounty calmly, bending down to use his hand to carefully slap the man awake.

The man awoke with a great start, jerking back into his bindings in a panic to get away from Din.

“Knock that off,” Din warned him. “Get on your feet. Meshla, stay here,” he called to you.

You nodded, not saying a word as you recalled Din’s earlier instruction. You listened to the bounty attempt to negotiate with him all the way out.

You followed behind them to close the ramp.

That had gone smoother than you’d really been expecting. It’s half a let down, half a relief. Part of you had been expecting somehting exciting. You pulled off your helmet as you settled in your chair in the cockpit. You used the inside of your wrist to dab away the sweat that had formed along your hairline.

Now, you could rest easy; you even looked forward to the next place Din would take you. Perhaps you’d actually be able to go exploring that time. Though you wouldn’t be surprised if Din would coax you into staying on the Razor Crest.

You settled into the copilot’s chair, shutting your eyes to rest them. It took some time for the commlink to ring with static.

You peered closely, expecting Din to ring in to tell you he’s on his way back.

What actually came through sent fear shooting through you.

“Get off the ship and run. You’ve got to find me, Y/n, but go now. Someone’s coming for you.”

You had almost misunderstood his words. You had almost thought them to be a joke.

They weren’t.

You grabbed your helmet and shoved it over her hair, not bothering to keep it neat.

You raced out of the cockpit on shakey legs. You darted into the weapons cell. You grabbed what you knew you’d be able to carry. Din had a large amban riffel that you could keep strapped on your back. You also grabbed his vambrace. You weren’t sure how it worked, but you figured it would be good for him to have.

You sprinted off the ship, unable to look back and give it one last goodbye.

You ran across the landing pad, keeping the riffel steadied in your arms.

You’re not fucking sure where to go, or what to do, but you know that Din’s hunch must have been right. That’s all you can assume. Imperialites must be swarming this place. But how could you know who from who?

As you darted through the large building, you saw many people who simply gave you puzzled glances.

Not many seemed threatening until you reached the intersection at the hallway. On one path is a swarm of officers with their weapons drawn and aimed at you.

You fired the amban. It had very little recoil,or at least from what you’re used to. You hadn’t expected a bolt of electricity to spear down one of the officers. You truthfully didn’t know what an amban riffel did. You just knew it had the basic workings of any other riffel. You’d expected plain old plasma. You darted around a wall, holding your breath as you fiddled with the dial that hid right beside the trigger. You spun it to the next setting, before you darted back out to the open, the riffel aimed outright.

You shot at an officer that promptly fell to the ground, his shoulder a cloud of ash that scattered to the floor.

Oh.

Alright.

You recalled everything you’ve learned today as you sprinted down the halls, pointing and shooting everyone who tried to shoot you first.

Gambling is an addiction.

Amban rifles have several settings.

Curiouser, and curiouser.

You weren’t sure where to go from then on. Din had told you to find him, but where could he be? You’re the only one with a tracker, and the opposite link is still on the ship. As far as you know, there’s not a way to hunt Din down besides using pure luck.

Your boots stomped down the hallways as you ran around. It became easy to seperate the enemies from the bystanders. The bystanders, for the most part, hid and ran away from you. The enemies just ran towards you. Little did they know, you have an amban rifle. You assume they don’t know what it can do, like you had just a matter of minutes ago. Unfortunate for them.

You cleared a hall, switching between the settings to do a better take down of officers with more durable suits.

You approached a large room. It looked a lot like an engine bay. Hissing tanks that let off steam stand everywhere. It’s like a maze of boilers and dials that you darted through.

“Mando!” you yelled. “Mando, where are you?!”

Your heart faltered as you realized Din might not be here; you’re not sure where else he could be.

You went through another series of corners and turns. Cast along the wall in front of you is a tall shadow, a very visible weapon in hand. You armed your riffel up, your finger sweeping just by the trigger as you bolted forward to catch the by surprise.

“Oh, Mando!” you cried when you found your husband turning, his own weapons drawn up like you. “What’s going on?!” you exclaimed as you are drawn into a tight hug.

“Thank the stars,” Din breathed in a heavy sigh of relief.

“No, no, no thanking anything yet,” you snapped. “What’s going on?”

You shoved the vambrace into his arms. As he fastened it onto his right arm, his voice, tight and taught, echoed around the metal floors and walls. “I think we’ve been setup,” he said. “I delievered the bounty to Calrissian, and he took me to a room where I was ambushed by someone else. There are many sorts of Mandalorians in the galaxy, but a small handful of them branched off to work with the Empire.”

You are quick to remember the lesson you’d been given by Gold:

And meanwhile, the cruel descendant of Tarr Vizsla began to attack the Creed more and more.

The Way has been deserted on Mandalore, but it has lived on through coverts, such as this. There are others like us. Others are waiting to seize our place as protectors as they hide on distant planets like lakebats.

“There are mandalorians here?” you asked in a trembling voice.

“I think so. I saw one. Listen, it’s going to be alright,” Din promised. “Do not ever take off your tracker. Don’t even mention it. If you have to, swallow it. If we get separated, you can’t come after me.”

Stirring with shock, you stammered, “That’s crazy. I’m not going to leave you.”

“You will if I tell you too,” Din demanded from you. “If it comes to that, then we’re going to have to split up.”

The words felt like a slap in the face. You couldn’t imagine splitting up. You couldn’t imagine how you would sruvive without him. You’re not as skilled as he is; by now, you’ve been getting along from sheer luck and an nasty build up of lifelong rage issues. You’re not a Mandalorian, not really, and you aren’t able to take down giant crowds like your husband.

In the distance, beyond the boilers, came gunfire. You and Din seized up by each other, trying to gauge where it had come from.

“I’m not looking to hurt anyone, today,” a voice echoed around. It had the familiar static of the modulators found in any Mandalorian helmet. That must be him. That must be the terrorist Mandalorian that Gold had mentioned so long ago.

Din caught you by the wrist and forced you to run alongside him.

“I hear you, little mice,” the voice called. His footsteps came from everywhere, but nowehere, all at once. Despite the clammoring of the Mandalorian’s boots, you couldn’t pinpoint which directino he’d been coming from.

Din dragged you into a small gap of a room, just off the main path of the boilers. You both huddled close together in the darkness. You tried to steady your breath out, so that it would not give you away.

Din pried his helmet off, to your surprise. You felt frantic as he tugged yours off as well.

Shut in the darkness, Din could only run his hands through your hair.

“Never stop fighting,” Din says into your ear. “Do you understand that? I will find you. You can never stop fighting.”

You managed to nod. “Alright,” you shuddered. “Never.”

Din’s hands grasped the sides of your face feverishly, tipping your head back so he could press a hard kiss to your mouth. You felt his lips tremble as you tried to grip onto his chest. You clawed against his chest plate.

Your mind turned over the possibilities of what might happen the moment you and your husband ducked out of the small hiding place.

The fighters that raged beyond the little walls are searching for you both, and searching quite loudly at that. They call out to one another while you beg the galaxy for more time in Din’s arms.

He held you in a tight hug for a moment longer, his breath shuddering as he hid his face in your neck. You wished to know what he was thinking; but you had an idea. He is likely thinking the same as you—that he must memorize all the finer details of your scent and skin, because there’s a good chance one of you will die.

You hope it’s you.

There isn’t any way you could live without Din; it’s too late for that.

Din places a kiss on your eyelids, his lips wiping your tears away. “I love you,” you rasped.

“I love you, too,” Din said. His hoarse voice didn’t sit well in your stomach. It felt painful to be unable to comfort the man who had always comforted you. You wouldn’t get the chance ever again. You know that in your heart as Din pulls his helmet back on.

He slapped his blaster in your hand, forcing you to curl your fingers around it tightly. “If you see a way out, take it,” he instructed. “I don’t care if that means leaving me.”

Your bottom lip quivered at the thought. You couldn’t do that, but you refused to tell him, knowing it would only pain him more. You forced yourself to nod in understanding.

Din steadied himself. His face became pinched with focus as he fit your helmet back over your face; he followed in suit.

You two waited in silence. You listened for the footsteps of the Mandalorian that lurked the maze like a ghost.

Your stomach wrenched painfully when you heard the strange clicking of boot buckles round the corner. You could tell that this was the end. He would find you both, and you couldn’t fathom what he would do.

The footsteps paused for the longest handful of seconds you’d ever felt. You felt the same fear you’d felt when you were caught by the court guardians during your attempted escape. Your heart seemed to clog up in your throat, leaving you unable to breathe as you waited in anxious anticipation.

Din held you tightly as the Mandalorian found you. He cackled behind his modulator. He loomed over you and your husband as he sheathed his pistol. “I found you.”

You and your husband became tied up on two unsavory chairs. The Mandalorian led you both at gunpoint to a new room at the other end of the building. He tied you both one by one, knowing neither of you would take the risk of running when he had stationed officers everywhere. You knew you couldn’t risk Din’s life that way.

That must be the very same thing Din thought about you.

Sitting feet away felt more like miles. You could strain your head back to look at your husband. The strange sight of Din being bound is one you’d never forget.

The Mandalorian that had caught you both stood tall as he paced back and forth. His armor is a dull, forest green, faded as though he’d seen many years of battle.

He had the telltale marks of a Mandalorian, even down to the jetpack strapped on his back Those were rare enough, even at the covert, reserved for the most elite of the warriors. You know deep down he can’t be a true Mandalorian––you couldn’t imagine Din greeting another Mandalorian with such malice.

As the green Mando paced back and forth, the odd buckles on his heavy boots clicked, like an ominous bell counting down to your demise.

“I suppose neither of you know what I want?” he finally asked.

Neither of the Djarrens answered this question. You knew better than to speak when Din hadn’t.

The green Mandalorian sighed in disbelief. “Imagine my surprise when not one, but two Mandalorians show up here. It must be my lucky day. I’ve been waiting for you both for such a long time. It’s been a while since I’ve been with my own kind. You both can imagine the feeling, right? We Mandos are quite misunderstood in the cruel world.”

“What do you want?” Din finally asked.

The Mandalorian paused, his helmet focused on Din’s chair. “You really can’t guess?” he asked. His voice is heavy through his modulator. “I’d like to know where the rest of us are.”

You didn’t know what the really meant. You assume Din could, for he remained silent. The Mandalorian sighed, sounding rather crestfallen. “I mean, of course, that I’d like the locations of the other coverts.”

Your heart fell like a stone into the pit of your stomach.

“And is that why we stay hidden?” You asked. “Because of the Jedi?”

Gold weighed stones of steel in her hands. They scrape over the edges of the newly bred sword, sparks flying as the edges build a razor tip.

“There are more threats than the Jedi,” she mutters, voice pitched darker than you’d ever heard. “War rages throughout the galaxy as we speak. Mandalorians have abandoned their dignity and fall in league with the Imperial scum.”

You shudder. Imperial scum. You know of such people. You’d unknowingly worked for many.

Clearing your scratchy throat, your blurt out, “Why? Why would the “pacifist” Mandalorians work for such horrible people?”

“Not all Mandalorians or black and white,” Gold explains. “This has happened in the past. The descendant of Tarr Vizsla had worked with an Imperial Sith Lord. He had intentionally waged territorism on his planet, even abandoning his child. It is more common that you might expect, Y/n.”

The Mandalorian held his hands out patiently. “Well? Wouldn't you rather tell me where your covert is than face what I could put you through?"

You kept your head down, staring at your thighs through the focus of your visor. You're breathing so hard that the Mandalorian no doubt hears you.

His boots clicked as he approached your chair. He knelt before you, tucking his hand under your chin to force your gaze upward.

Din jerked in his bindings; an unfamiliar sort of snarl tore from his mask. He spat threats to the Mandalorian who donned the forest green armor.

“Calm yourself,” the Mandalorian said coolly. “Your lover is in tender hands. Isn’t that right?” he asked you. Tears dripped down your face behind your helmet. You didn’t feel as scared as you did angry. Fury had bellowed in your belly, as it had Din’s when he saw the Mandalorian lay hands on you. You became filled with the urge to unleash as much pain on the Mandalorian as possible; it drove you mad to feel such a rage that you’d never felt before.

It felt similar to the anger that had driven you to kill the men on Nevarro. At least there you had a valid reason. Those men were Anirians, your greatest threat. But this man is a stranger––you fear that you are being driven to such anger too quickly, and for bad reason.

“I only want to know where the coverts are,” he assures you. His tone is almost believable; he sounds so troubled to be inflicting the mental torture onto you and your husband. You easily know that it’s a lie. It isn’t hard to fight that off. “Could you at least tell me your name?” he tried.

Your jaw ached from the everlasting flex it had been locked in.

“Tell me your name,” the Mandalorian urges, “or I’ll kill your lover.”

“Vidia,” you spit out. “Vidia Thorpe.”

You felt guilty for using your late best friend’s name this way, but it was the only possible thing you could say to avoid inflicting harm onto Din.

“Interesting,” the Mandalorian mulls. “I’ve never heard of Clan Thorpe. You must be a foundling.”

You couldn’t calculate what to say to that. Recalling every single rule and tradition you’d been taught, you did your very best to withstand the Mandalorian’s interrogation.

“Who took you in?”

“Shut up,” Din shouted.

“I asked you a question, Vidia,” the Mandalorian repeated. “Which clan rescued you? Can’t you see that I mean you no harm? We both have sworn the same creed, as you can clearly see. We share the same armor. I guess I’ve been a bit rude, however. My apologies. I am Boba Fett, the first and only heir of Jango. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“I will not tell you anything,” you said again, trying to sound firm. You know that your voice betrays you as it wavers out of your helmet.

The Mandalorian stared at you in silence for a long two or so minutes. Sweat dripped down your back, even in the folds of your wrist that have become chaffed by the bindings.

With a soft sigh, the Mandalorian sheathed his heavy pistol on his hip. He lifted off his helmet with no resolve or guilt. He dropped it to the metal floor, the helmet clattering loudly. You couldn’t begin to express your shock.

His dark skin and hair and eyes are too cold and unfamiliar for you to feel anything but nauseous. You swore that his eyes seeped into yours, seeing straight past your helmet and heart and into your insecurities.

“You still don’t trust me do you?” he asked after a second of silence. “I’m not sure what else I can do to encourage it...I do, though, think that you and I are the same.”

“I’m nothing like you,” you say in a tremble. “You’re a traitor to your own kind.”

His eyebrows quirked at your words. “My kind? Why not ‘our’ kind? Vidia, would you like to know what I think of you?” he asked. “I think,” he says slowly, “that you’re not a Mandalorian at all.”

“And you are?” you say through your clenched teeth. “You broke your creed.”

“And what is that creed?” the Mandalorian asked; his lips puckered as his words wrapped up in a coo. “I don’t think that you really know it because you’re not really a Mandalorian.”

He took a step closer to you, kicking his helmet away. “Let’s do us all the pleasure of seeing your face.”

You struggled against him as his hands gripped the undersides of the helmet. He tore it off, leaving your hair in disarray. The Mandalorian whistled a low tune. “You’re very beautiful, Vidia, but I always knew that you were a liar. Do yourself a favor. Tell me where the covert is.”

“Why do you want to know?” you gasped. You jerked your chin out of his hands. He frowned down at you. “Because they’re my people,” he says kindly. “Do you doubt it?”

“You broke the creed,” you seethed at him; you feel that you’re practically foaming at the mouth with anger. “You removed your helmet.”

“But not my armor,” he amends. “You should do your research before playing the role.”

His boots click as he paces towards Din’s chair. Your husband had been silent all this time.

“So are you a Mandalorian?” he asks your husband. “Or should I reveal your face, too?”

“No,” you exclaimed as he grabbed the edge of the helmet. Din jerked his head back, fighting the Mandalorian as best as he could.

The Mandalorian stepped back, hands raised defensively. “Forgive me,” he said, touching his chest. “I truly assumed. Well, this is an interesting match. I’ve heard of inter-marriages, but never of dressing an outsider in our garb. He must be trying to protect you. Am I right?” His thick brow lifted in questioning, his eyes flickering to you both for an answer. “I think,” he says slowly, “that I am right. I’m on a roll, right? Let me ask you both one more time. Before you answer me with your determination, allow me to explain the terms. Behind me you see a carbon freezer. I intend on using it today. It’s by far my favorite contraption. Usually, I’d freeze you both, one by one to encourage some talking. Unfortunately for all of us I only have enough material to freeze one of you. Meaning I’ll go home with one trophy, and one of you will be losing a spouse. If neither of you answer me, I’ll freeze Mr. Stoic and I’ll keep Vidia for my own use. She’ll make a fine gift to the Hutt clan. I’m sure she’d look gorgeous in one of those skimpy bikinis.”

“Like fuck you will,” Din roared. “You’re not touching her.”

The Mandalorian held his hand out again, trying to ease Din’s rage. “I won’t touch her if you tell me what I want to know. I’m only asking for some planets. What’s the worst I could do with that?”

Your heart thumped in your chest.

Din’s loyalty to the creed forbids him from betraying his people; your loyalty to Din forbids the same.

You can’t hold back the sob that shakes your body when you finally realize that you’ll be losing this fight. You’ll be left without Din, in the hands of the strange Mandalorian who has openly expressed his plans for you. You have to fight back. You promised Din that you would.

The Mandalorian sighed. He pulled out his dagger and approached the back of Din’s chair. “There’s still time to get talking, lovebirds,” he warns you both.

Din shook his chair, even in his bonds. He thrashed and bucked like a wild animal in a trap. “You’re a fucking disgrace,” Din bellowed. “You’re an insult to man and to your father. You’re not a Mandalorian. He would never be proud to call you his own.”

Boba Fett paused his sawing past the ropes. His handsome face contorted into a mask of anger; his eyes filled with more hatred than you’ve ever felt before. You never imagined someone could express such emotion.

Without a word, Boba tipped Din’s chair down. Your husband landed on his side with a groan, the clash of his beskar to the floor loud enough to hurt your ears.

You flinched when Boba walked towards you.

You hear his blade cut through your ropes with remarkable ease; the splitting of the threads sent icy fear through your veins.

“Disgrace?” Boba repeated. His teeth ground together loudly as he grabbed you roughly by the shoulders. Even through the arm bands you could feel his grip bruise your skin. “Insult? I can accept those,” he hissed. “I don’t think I can begin to tell you how hurt I am that you’d bring dear old dad into this.”

Manhandling is all you could describe as Boba Fett pushed you towards the freezer. Your eyes widened as you realized what he had intended.

“I figured that freezing her man would be enough to scare Vidia into sharing some information with me,” Boba laughed. “But I see, now, that you’re not willing to play nice.”

Boba roughly tossed you into the chamber of the freezer. You watched Din thrash violently on the floor, still bound in his ropes. His voice echoed around the room as he shouted. He shouted your name more than anything. You could only hear your own name in his voice, which has never been pitched with such despair. It frightened you.

The anger you’d felt before had disspeared. All you could think of now was the shade of Din’s eyes.

His lovely brown eyes, the exact shade of hot cacao. Your mind raced through all the images you’d collected over these months; his eyes, his messy hair in the morning, his damn smile.

Boba shut the chamber before you could begin to scream at yourself to fight back.

There wasn’t a way out of this.

You collapsed against the metal, a high scream ripping out of your throat. You screamed your husband’s name, hardly able to understand that he was pleading with your captor.

The chamber hissed loudly, the sound bursting your ear drums. You clutched onto the blank pendant that swung around your neck as you cried.

The pendant was meant to one day be stamped with Din’s signet. He had told you himself he was looking forward to the day your belly swelled with his child, so that he may officially have the symbol of Clan Djarren stamped into the back of his armor.

It would never happen.

You would never lay with him again, let alone bear his child.

You couldn’t register that pain as the icy freeze blasted over your face, leaving you frozen in time, forever.

>>stay tuned<<

Comment your thoughts!!!!!!!

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guksauce · 5 years ago

Text

~TickledPink!~

Part Four

Pairing: Jjk x Reader Pregnant AU

Word Count: 3,028K

Rated: M

Book Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mild Smut, Adult Language, Fluff City.

Author: @guksauce

Notes: Thank you to those who show this story and myself love 💖 PM me if you would like to be added to the Tag List 😊

Tag List: @jamkookies @jk97luv @1-in-abillion

Sweaters, t-shirts, rain jackets, coats. Chanel, Saint Laurent, Gucci, Giorgio Armani. You could have climbed the mountain of expensive clothes on Jimin’s bed to the God’s right now. “Let’s raid my closet!” He said. “It’ll be so fun!” He promised. And it was. Of course, it was! How could it not be when you were practically swimming in a sea of brands you’d never even seen with your own eyes before? As a single adult living in a run-down apartment in Sangdo-dong and making low wages at a crappy diner, just LOOKING at the clothes strung around Jimin’s bedroom was a dream.

“Here try this one. It’s too short for me now.” Honestly, you’re afraid you’ll ruin the high dollar fabric if you even so much as breath on it as he hands it to you. For a moment you just let it rest in your hands and stare at it, imagining it melting between your fingers before he notices you thinking too hard about trying it on. “Y/n. Its just a shirt.” He says, giggles accenting every syllable.

“This is NOT just a shirt Jimin. It’s a Gucci shirt. It probably costs more than my rent. I-I’m not even sure how to hold on to this, let alone wear it.” It’s so pretty, you try to persuade yourself, and you can imagine how the cotton would feel as it caresses your skin, but it’s entirely too much.

“Well I could help you if you want me to.” Winking, Jimin struts over to you, the jokingly seductive tone under his words making you both erupt into a fit of laughter before he even makes it all the way to you. Taking the shirt away, he replaces the home it claimed in your hands with his own and squeezes. “Forgive me if I’m overwhelming you. I just thought you would like some of the things I had.”

“No way! Don’t be sorry. I’m the one that should apologize, I’m being a brat. I do love these things. I’ve just never had anything so nice so I’m just wrapping my head around how…well…blessed I am.” You start, rolling the fabric between your thumb and forefinger. “It isn’t like I’ve never had anything nice but you’re just throwing nice things at me without asking for anything in return after I’ve made a rift in your family home. I’m beyond grateful to you and the others. But I’m also feeling wildly…undeserving.” Really you should probably stop while your head. You want to stop, not wanting to fill up Jimin’s time with your fears, but you can’t stop yourself. The glitter dancing in his eyes certainly doesn’t help how already approachable he is. “I know I probably sound like a broken record talking about how much trouble I’ve caused already and how guilty I feel but it truly makes me feel terrible for you and the others.” It doesn’t come as a surprise to Jimin that this is how you’re feeling. From the moment you stepped foot into the living room last night, he could see the guilt oozing out of you. He’s struck with a sharp desire to squeeze it out of you before it swallows you whole.

“I admire how honest you are.” He says, rubbing the backs of your hands with his thumbs. The action paired with his words finds you falling into his chest by how comforting he’s being. Chuckling, he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his cheek into the top of your head. “Namjoon brought you to us because he thought you deserved to be taken care of. I don’t know why you’re here or how long you will be but I just…we just want to take care of you. That’s just who we are. You may not think you belong here, that you don’t have a place here, that you’ve ruined things but, none of that matters because…how would Joonie put it? You-You’ve planted a seed in all of us. Even Yoongi who may look like he doesn’t care but I can promise you he does.” He pauses as if trying to convince himself with his own statement. “There. Was that poetic enough?” He asks, making you huff out a soft laugh and nuzzle your face into his chest a little further.

“It was perfect.” You say, pulling back to look at him and he’s just as you imagined he would be, smiling like the angel he is, sparkling eyes and all.

“Wait until I show you my jewelry collection.” The atmosphere changes in an instant for the better and all over again you’re reminded of just how rich these boys are when Jimin, without skipping a beat, gallops over to a small wardrobe and swings the doors open. “And you thought the CLOTHES were expensive.”

Inside hangs rows and rows of silver, gold, and gem encrusted necklaces. Some are obviously Gucci and Chanel, their emblems clear as they glint in the light. Others you guess as being true Swarovski Crystal and handcrafted gems as they glitter beautifully. Beneath them lay tray after tray of rings both frosted with diamonds and engraved with initials and quotes. Jimin drenches himself in your reaction; mouth ajar and eyes twinkling. It makes him smile a smile you’d never seen him wear before as he drinks it all in and it makes you squeal at just how pretty his is. Who needs all this when you’ve got Park Jimin?

Seriously, forget the crystals.

Its quiet in the house now as you wander the halls, glancing proudly at plaques and awards hung in frames on the walls. In the minutes you’ve avoided sleep you’ve thought about having a bowl of cereal, running a bubble bath, and escaping back to Jimin’s room to force yourself to do something that resembles rest. Instead, your mind keeps picking out details of Jungkook’s affections from your new purple room; his fond smiles, the way he wiped the paint from your face, and the ever so pleasant way your name slides off his tongue.

“Y/n?” You turn to the voice growing from the other end of the hall and smile to try and contain the blush the thought of Jungkook had caused.

“Namjoon.” You sigh out, finding a comfort in his presence you didn’t know you needed. You hadn’t spoken to him since before the argument yesterday and quite frankly, you were uncertain of what to say to him. “Can’t sleep?” You asked, the question more of a statement as well as an answer.

“Nope. You know how I get when I start writing stuff. I can’t seem to stop until I’m absolutely drained.” Its dark in the long hallway, the only source of light bleeding out of an open closet at the end. It’s a flickering, dull, and harsh and it threatens to blind you the closer you get to it. But from here it illuminates half of Joon’s frame as if he were cast in moonlight. You think about telling him how pretty it makes his freshly dyed silver hair look but you are content watching it glitter as he stumbles down the hall to you.

“Ah yes. The ever-poetic workaholic. I’ll never let you live down falling asleep on my bed.” The memory brings a smile to both of your faces that shatters the tense air that surrounds you.

“I worked hard that day. Wouldn’t have been able to if it weren’t for you though.” He’s right.

That night the rain fell for the first time in months. The two of you had spent the entire day sheltered by the shade of the tallest tree in the neighborhood, trying desperately to escape the Sangdo-dong heat. Two sets of hands were sticky with popsicle juice, t-shirts dampened by beads of sweat as you lay flat on your backs searching for animal shapes between the leaves. By the time the breeze started to pick up, you’d found a whole heard of elephants, but Namjoon…was distant and silent.

“Jeez Namjoon. Can you shut the hell up for like three seconds?! Damn!” Finally, after an hour of lying there, his stoic features cracked into a smile that deepened his dimples.

“Shut up.” He teased and jabbed an elbow into your side, to which you feigned serious pain with dramatic ‘Ouch’s’.

“I can’t see them.” Namjoon’s dimples disappeared again, leaving behind a distressed expression.

“Can’t see what Joon?” At the time, the frown that settled on his lips didn’t break you as much as you think it should have.

“The shapes. The animals.” You don’t say anything, afraid you’ll break his carefully controlled emotions. “I feel like I’m losing my creativity Y/n. I see the leaves clear as day but the longer I look, the less they say.” It had been funny to hear him say that seeing as how poetic he had been. A giggle you don’t mean to let free, dribbles from your lips and he closes his eyes.

“And why, exactly, are you laughing at me?” He asks, defeat swimming in his deep voice.

“Because you’re an idiot.” You reply, lifting to face him on one of your elbows as he cracks open one of his eyes. The annoyance is written on his face in the form of heat flushed cheeks and a subtle grinding of teeth as he challenges you to say another word. You simply smile, looking away from him to the grass.

“I always love listening to your hardships most because its where you become the most cadenced.” You say matter-of-factly. His gaze softens, admiring how long your eyelashes are as they bat at your sun kissed cheeks every time you blink. Romance had never really been a part of your friendship, but sometimes when he knew you weren’t looking, he would indulge in your presence. The way you looked, the way your voice rose when you were excited, the way your lips only puckered when you were sad. You were precious to him. You ARE precious to him. But he always left things exactly as they were; respectfully just friends.

He turned his gaze back to the high terraces of foliage and repeated the word ‘cadenced’ in his mind. One by one, the ability he feared he’d lost bloomed all over again as the view above him began to shift and morph.

“I see it now.” As soon as the words left his lips, a single drop of rain fell between the leaves and splashed right on the tip of his nose. Rolls of thunder sounded from above, warning you both to leave.

“I think I’ve got two cups of coffee with our names on them waiting at my place if you want to come over?” Asking him to come over had become second nature. At this point in your lives as Seniors in high school, the reality of having to attend different universities made hanging out all but every day a priority.

“I don’t even know why you ask anymore. I’m coming over whether you want me to or not.” He teased, holding out a hand to you as he stood, helping you up. You only lived at the end of the street, but as the wind picked up and the rain came down harder, you could hear it sizzle on your skin as it drenched you both. Together, hand in hand, you ran as fast as you could to the porch of your childhood home. The heat died and the humidity rose but the laughter you shared made being soaked to the bone worth it. After changing into old pajamas and Namjoon into some of your dads lounge clothes, you both curled up on your bed. The power had since gone out, a couple candles on your nightside table being the only source of light in the room. The rain was loud and filled the silence as you watched Namjoon write viciously in his journal that had somehow survived in his backpack on your run home. Through the steam of your coffee you would steal glances at what he wrote, trying your best to give any input you deemed appropriate. But for the most part you just let him work, and work, and work until the lightning had subsided, leaving behind distant rolls of thunder and light rain that tapped gently at your bedroom window. When you’d returned from disposing of your mugs in the sink, you found Namjoon with his journal in his lap and his head tilted to the side, asleep. You’d thought about waking him to move him to a better position, but you were suddenly afraid that he would leave if you did. You wanted him to stay while it thundered, while his mind crawled with creativity. This was the way you enjoyed being with him most, so you’d crawled under the blankets beside him and laid your head on his stomach. And slept.

“I don’t think it had anything to do with me. You’ve always been talented, and it shows.” He shakes his head at your response and stands next to you with an arm wrapped around your shoulder as you both stare at the award framed on the wall.

“You never could just take a compliment.” The teasing easiness in his voice makes the muscles in your body relax and you lean into his side. “How are you holding up?” He asks as softly as he possibly can.

“As much as I want to leave so that I don’t come between you and your family anymore-.”

“Stop. You are my family as much as the rest of them.” Joon clutches both of your shoulders in his hands and turns you to face him, the crease between his eyebrows deep with reassurance as he speaks. The tiny mole right at the edge of his hairline highlights his features; so familiar and endearing as they glow still in the harsh light at the end of the hallway. As though he might shatter into a million pieces, you reach out and cup his cheeks to keep him held together.

“Joonie. Everything about being here makes me want to stay. The whole time I’ve been here I haven’t once thought about my apartment or my job or all my old stuff. Instead I’ve stood in a dark hallway with my best friend reminiscing about the day it rained, and he saw the shapes, talked endlessly with Jungkook, painted with Taehyung, and had a whole friggin montage with Jimin. Which, by the way, that boy has more clothes than I’ve ever had in my whole life. It’s alarming, but amazing.” Both of you erupt into small giggles, breathing a new life to the quiet hallway.

Carefully Namjoon reaches up and wraps his hand around your wrist, running through his words as quickly as he can. “And what about Yoongi? I know he said some hateful things, but I know for a fact he doesn’t mean them. I’m so sorry for the way he treated you.”

“Don’t. You’re the third person who’s told me that and I believe you. But Namjoon…what im trying to say is finally, after some time talking with the guys and just hanging out with them…I want to stay.” His palm warms your skin and his features soften, the worry he’d been feeling since bringing you home dissipating. He leans into your hand before pulling you into a hug, burying his face in your hair as he squeezes you. It’s a happy place he’s missed more than words can say, but he tries anyway.

“Good, because I wasn’t going to let you leave anyway. Call me selfish but I’ve really missed you and the thought of being able to hang out with you again like we used to, makes me feel feelings I thought I’d never remember.” You nuzzle your nose into his shoulder, reveling in the feeling of being close to your best friend again.

“Yeah well, you went and got all famous on me before I could get out of there.” Under you, Joon’s body stiffens. A lifetime of friendship made leaving you one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. He remembered the morning of his drive to Seoul, a meeting with his new manager already arranged and set in stone before he even had time to think about it. The night before, he’d dolefully informed you of the situation and promised you countless times that he would come to visit as often as he could. But little did he know that being a part of BTS would take up all his time for the next 10 years of his life. Phone calls and video chats made up little for the way he had left you crying in your bedroom.

But you understood.

You always understood.

“If I could have taken you with me, I would have. I’m sorry for never coming to visit. I…I’m sorry for not being there for you.” His tone drops low as he rests his chin on top of your head. You know by the way he says it, what he means. How he feels. And you just shake your head and pull away from him far enough to lock eyes with him.

“There you go with that cadence again.” The sadness in his eyes turns to the taunt reflected in yours and he chuckles lightly with a pinch to your side.

“Shut up.” Though the years have passed and the two of you have been away from each other, the amount of love he feels for you has never faltered. Standing here with you curled up in his arms, a giant smirk peppering your lips, it alights a spark in him. You study his face for a moment, noticing a change in his demeanor that feels more like the past than the present. Though when he speaks again, the words come out like the lyrics he writes, genuine and prudent. And you realize…it’s a little bit of both.

“I see them again Y/n.” He says, gaze fixated on you and the way you gaze back as though he’s seeing you for the first time all over again, and smiles.

“The shapes.”

Part Three

Master List

Part Five

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