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syndxlla · 3 years ago

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Part Fourteen of the More to Love Series

Summary: The wedding is in a week, and you’re suddenly very aware of how little time you have left to figure out what to do. You decide to take matters into your own hands, and formulate a plan. Din invites you to a night of experience, and you admit a simple truth to him.

Word Count: 11.8k words, NO USE OF ‘y/n’

Warnings: SMUT (PiV, a little degradation, praise, creampie, cockwarming, dirty talk), use of alcohol, drunkness, mentions of scars, sexual harassment

Author’s note: HELLOOOO! this is a fun chapter, and i just wanna let y’all know that we are in the endgame now 😭. don’t worry, i still have so many plans for both the princess and din and just the whole world that MTL is set in. thank you for all the support on this story! it never ends and i will forever be thankful for your love!

Part thirteen

You were a fool for thinking the castle would start to settle down after the ball passed. Alternatively, the planning did not lessen, but instead shifted from masquerade prep to wedding prep. The decorations were taken out, and new samples were brought in. It was made very clear to you that this was really Korkie’s wedding and not your own, because every decision and plan that was made was done without your input.

It had been a few days since Din told you everything, and he truly told you everything. You had plenty of time to reflect on it, and process everything. You worked so hard to gain perspective on it, to try and give your future family the benefit of the doubt, and to understand the full situation. However, you ultimately sided with Din, your heart aching for the situation he was placed in. It had been apparent that he would not have told you any of that if he did not hold immense trust in his heart for you, and the word Ka’rta over grew into your thoughts for all these days. The both of you had agreed to tone things down, deciding it would be a fair middle ground. Less nightly endeavors would keep you two apart, and therefore less suspicious, but it especially made the reunions of passion more sweet.

Your mother was long gone, she left three days ago, and finally you felt that you had the palace to yourself again without Hugo and various other guests breathing down your neck. Your time as Corellian Princess was in it’s endgame now as your imminent marriage to Korkie was just on the horizon, and you still had no idea how to escape from it. Most of your days, you spent making up excuses for missing afternoon tea, and trying extra bites of potential wedding cake flavors in the kitchen. Regardless of what you did, however, Din was always there with you, three paces behind. You were also given the opportunity to dismiss him more often now. The eager infatuation with him has slowly become a steady understanding of feelings, and the two of you were able to fall into a groove without the anxiety of wondering how the other felt, and how long it would be until you reunited. Tradition and duty had lightened up as well, and there were less eyes on how Din was treating you, which gave you the liberty to give him back an ounce of his life.

This was one of the best things to ever happen to Din. You would retire to your room early every night, hoping no one would wonder if you were ill, and because you were away from the eye of Kryze, you could allow Din to leave the castle early. At seven, sometimes even six, he would go home to his son. It made everyone happy, and that is why it was important to happen. This was much preferred over a midnight dismissal. You also noticed a change in Din’s presence after this change was made. He was springier, chuckling more, even sitting down when the two of you were alone. He had finally relaxed around you, and you accredit to the pure fact that he was finally getting more rest.

Those were your favorite parts of the day: when you and Din would find a quiet corner in the library, or maybe an empty sitting room, and he would just tell you about the world. He had been everywhere, you were convinced. He went into detail of cities in Coruscant, explaining how they have extravagant silk markets and countless taverns with exotic drinks. He described the heat of the desert, and how he once had to search for a merchant’s missing camel in return for clean water, a story that led to one of the scars on his back and a very rational fear of the desert at night. His favorite place to tell you about, however, was his home. The Nevarro Frontier clearly had a special place in his heart, and he spoke fondly of it’s tall mountains and tight-knit communities.

“Nothing like the Mandalore you know.” He would sigh. A kingdom that may have been fantastic on the outside, but was riddled with war and political division and heartache on the inside. “Maybe I can take you there someday.”

It was those words that sparked your imagination, and the plan began to formulate.

The real dilemma you had been in all this time was trying to figure out how to live happily with a man you truly loved, but also protect your kingdom, home and family. It was a delicate situation, one with many sighs and frustrated nights. However, after Din explained his battle with Bo to you, it’s resolution was slowly becoming more clear. There had to be a way you could win in this story. You would not give hope on that truth.

When Din mentioned taking you to his home, you realized that there was very little keeping you from up and leaving Mandalore in the night. It would be a scandal, it would probably cause an all-out war, but it was worth a try, or at least a dream.

Now, when you had afternoon conversations with Din in the library, you were studying maps of the world. You familiarize yourself with the terrain of Mandalore, how long it might take to get to the Sundari Front, and drawing out escape routes on the backs. Din assumed you had thrown yourself into cartography so you could grasp his stories and adventures fully, which wasn’t altogether false, but it went deeper than that. You tried to keep it under control, but you were slowly becoming more and more consumed by your studies: a recurring issue in your life.

Din hadn’t realized you were becoming obsessed with the geography of the world until about a week after the ball, when you fell asleep by candlelight at a table in the library, your face smushed into the parchment of a map depicting some old blueprints that he had paid no attention to, and your hair falling over your eyes. It was almost dawn, and he had come back from his time with his son already, distressed to see no one had the courtesy to wake you up and take you to your room. He didn’t really expect much else from Mandalore, however.

Din blows out the candle, and gently picks you up, being extra careful not to wake you, and carries you bridal-style out of the library and to your suite. It was these moments that Din looked forward to the most. When he did not have to put on a face, when he did not have a million rules to follow. When your sleepy head rests into his chest, and he can look upon your face with his own eyes, no helmet to obstruct it.

As Din looked upon your resting face, there was much he realized. He first noticed that scar on your body that he hadn’t seen before, and swiped his thumb over it. He also studied the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, how you were perfectly still, and yet completely full of life and beauty and pure goodness as you slept. Din deeply admired how much you cared, how much you cared about everything. The wellbeing of the staff, the customs of Mandalore, him. You threw yourself into your passions, and you had a deep love for the hobbies and aspects of your life that no one else he knew possessed. You were a dedicated person, and he found both attraction and respect ino that.

Din also realized a fundamental truth at the very moment the sky began to lighten up, your cracked balcony doors letting the curtains blow into the suite dreamily. Din felt at peace. It had been so long since he felt peaceful. Too long. He felt the same type of peace here with you that he would normally feel sleeping under the stars with his son nestled to his side. Or the same feeling of peace that he felt when he held his son for the first time. It was a rare feeling, and it was pure. It was so rare that it was only saved for the people most important to him in his life.

You woke up a few hours later, changed out of the pale yellow gown you fell asleep in. Din had not only put you in your nightgown, but had taken the time to pull your hair so it was out of your face. He was more thoughtful than you could have ever imagined. The Knight sits with his back against your door, helmet tilted up at the ceiling, and you wonder if he slept, and why he was not in bed with you. You had invited him several times, and wished he would fulfill the request.

As soon as you sit up in bed, his head lifts, and he stands at attention.

You yawn before speaking, “Were you resting?” You ask, stretching your arms over your head. He shakes his head in response. “What were you doing?” You ask, your arms coming down to rest on your mattress.

“Listening?”

“For?”

He shrugs, “The birds at first, but then it was footsteps. I didn’t want to get caught waiting for you to wake up.” He sighs.

“Well… I wish you would have listened in bed with me.” You glance over at the empty spot next to you. He doesn’t respond, and you are reminded that in many ways, he is still the silent knight you first met from three weeks ago. Din walks over to you, and you smile as he does.

“Did I wake you last night?” He asks, and you were honestly confused about what he was asking. He sensed the confusion, he was always so good at reading you, “When I carried you from the library here?”

“What?” And then you remembered, your eyes blowing wide. “Shit!” You jump out of bed. “What time is it?”

“Uh…”

“Is the rest of the staff awake?” You let your hair down, and slide on the pink satin slippers on the floor of your bed.

“What?”

“Did you bring the map I was studying?” You look up at his emotionless helmet.

“…No?” To be truthful, he didn’t even take the time to glance at the map you studied, he was far too distracted by you.

“Fuck.” You muttered. Din liked it when you swore.

You thought of nothing, and hurried to the door of your suite, swinging it open and marching down the corridor. Din follows you in confusion, trying to catch up to you and bring you back to your room. You’re weary, and just woke up, so you pay no attention to Soniee who passes you in the hallway with your tea, looking at you in confusion, or the maids who were trying to sweep the floor that you scurried over. Din tried to halt you, but was never one to speak unless spoken to, especially not in public and in the presence of others, and felt unable to stop you and ask what was going on. Everyone turned heads to see the future consort in a panic, and were left with questions. Most of them shrugged and ignored it, a few began the rumors.

You practically ran down the stairs, feeling a little out of breath when you finally made it to the doors of the library. The fact that they were closed was still a good sign, and you swing the heavy door open, entering the library with haste. Your heart drops when you see the last person you wanted to this morning: Prince Korkie.

He turns to see the commotion, his eyes are shocked to not only see you out and about this early in the day, but also in your nightgown. He sputters on a ‘Good Morning’, and you don’t even hear it because you’re too panicked to see that he has the map you were reading last night in his hands. You swear in your mind, and your heart falls out of your feet. Din comes hurrying behind you.

“Princess? What is the meaning of this?” He asks, an eyebrow raised, trying to sound chipper as he greeted his fiance. You swallow thickly. Din bows for the prince, and then bends down to whisper in your ear so Korkie can’t hear it.

“Highness, please come back to your room.”

“What? Why?” You say a little too loudly, and before he can reply, the door is opening again with General Vizsla and a group of knights entering.

“Y-your gown.” Din whispers, and you look down to see that it is very sheer, far too sheer to be in the presence of your fiance… and half of the Mandalorian government. You want to shrink from the embarrassment, and notice that Korkie’s eyes are fixed on your chest. What a creep. You fold your arms over your breasts.

“What map do you have there, Prince Korkie?” You ask, trying not to make it seem too obvious that you were clearly in distress, but shaken up by your exposure and the perverted ness of the prince before you. Din wondered what in the world could be so important about that specific map. He stands behind you to cover your back side.

“What is this commotion?” Vizsla asks, interrupting your conversation.

“Nothing, General.” Korkie clears his throat. He turns to you, “Vizsla and I were just about to discuss the plans we have for… the southern border of Corellia.” Korkie awkwardly smiles. You raise an eyebrow.

“Plans?” You ask.

“Yes, you will hear in time.” Vizsla’s obnoxiously nasally voice busts in again. He was always one to unwelcomely invite himself.

You try not to roll your eyes, “And the map, Your Highness?” You repeat yourself, trying not to sound too demanding. You were still a princess, after all.

Korkie nervously chuckles, eyeing the multiple men in the room and shocked by your ambition. He takes a step forward, rolling the map up in his hands as he advances in you and Din’s direction. Din placed a discreet hand on the small of your back, hoping to reassure you. His touch was barely noticeable, but it was enough.

“Princess,” He says, sort of hushed. “You can call me Korkie in front of other people.” It was clear that he had an expectation to fill, and it would be bad on him if his fiance was still addressing him with a title a week before the wedding.

You scoff, “No, I don’t think I will.”

You hold your hand out for the map in defiance, but the prince doesn't hand it to you. He has a dark look in his eyes, one you have never seen before. Din tries to pull back on your bicep, trying to alleviate the situation, but you stay steadfast. “I will take that map now, Your highness.” You bite through the title, wanting it to cut. Korkie lifts his chin with an authoritative look, putting the rolled up map behind his back.

“Get this woman out of my meeting!” He calls out, and turns away. Your face drops, thinking you had the upper-hand, but realize that is taken away from you as two muscular guards pick you up, pulling you away from Din, and walking you out of the library. Korkie always does this, he’s madly in love with you until he’s not. It makes you remember that all of this is probably a ruse for power. Your heart and spirit drop, and you feel nothing but pure disrespect and rage. Din quickly follows. You try to writhe out of the guard’s grasp, not wanting to give up without a fight, but failing miserably. They were both very strong, probably because they had to compensate for how scrawny the Prince is.

“I can take it from here, gentlemen.” Din says, loudly, louder than you usually hear him speak. “I said I can take her!” Din yells when they don’t respond. Then, you hear the indefinite sound of a punch. These guards were still fully armored, but there was no withstanding the strength and brute force of your Knight when you were endangered. The guard Din had punched lets you go as a reaction, and you use it as an opportunity to take your now free hand and twist the wrist of the other guard off of you. All of the self-defense Din had previously taught you paid off in that moment as he yelled out in pain, not expecting your strength or skill. You were taught by the best, after all.

Now that you were free from the clutches of Korkie’s personal guards, you felt Din grab your hand and pull you. The two of you ran through the corridors, down another flight of stairs, and passed the throne room, making sure not to look back in the direction of the library. You ran parallel to the ballroom, and then finally down a final flight of stairs to the foyer of the castle. Din tugs you into a narrow hall, and down a spiral staircase. It was the way to the staff quarters, you remember from the day you went to the ocean. You were shocked and confused about what happened, and truthfully kind of exhausted. You were relieved when Din finally slowed down, and pulled you into Koska’s sister’s room. It was empty, thank the Stars.

“Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them!” Din says and it startles you, but you do it. He pulls his helmet off with haste, tossing it to the floor with a clang. Din places both of his strong hands on either side of your face, pulling you towards him and then kisses you with so much force and hunger that you stumble back in surprise, your eyes cracking open for just a split second. You didn’t see much, because his face was so squished into yours. All you caught a glimpse of was his eyelashes for a millisecond, but that was enough. Din is pushing you against the wall, pinning you to it, and kissing you so hard that you have to pull away to get some air. “I don’t think I have ever been as attracted to you as I was when you stood up to that prick.” He chuckles, and you hum back. Din takes a deep breath before speaking up again, “What was on that map?” He asks, out of breath, too.

You sigh, sort of embarrassed, eyes still shut tightly, “It was the tunnel plans of the castle.”

“What, you mean the blueprints?”

“Yes.” Your eyes stay closed.

“The blueprints that are at least three-hundred years old?”

“Mhm.”

“How did you get your royal hands on those?” Din asks, baffled.

“It doesn’t matter! What does matter is that I made notes on the back of the map!” You blurt, feeling shame, “I wrote the estimated times it would take and which halls to take from my room!” You groan, so badly wanting to open your eyes. You remembered what you said to yourself all those weeks ago, however, reminding yourself that it should be his choice to show you his face and no one else’s. You sigh, “The Prince isn’t stupid! I’m sure he thinks I’m plotting something now!” You hope you don’t sound too panicked, but if you were being honest, you were. Din sighs, clearly frustrated, although you weren’t sure if he was sexually or emotionally… or a little bit of both. “I’m sorry.” You sigh, your hands coming up and searching for his shoulders. “I should not have been so careless.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You weren’t expecting him to agree with you, he usually doesn’t. He takes a calming breath, “…Are you plotting something?” He asks, his eyes moving between your closed eyelids in search of a non-verbal answer that he’ll never receive.

You don’t want to answer, but know you don’t have a choice. “Yes.” You feel guilty after saying it, although you aren’t sure why. Din exhales deeply this time. “But listen! We could run! I don’t have to stay here! We can fix this! We can get into Coruscant and they’ll never come looking for us, and then we can go to Nevarro, go to your home! We’ll take your son-“

“Rue.”

“What?”

“My son, his name is Rue.”

Rue. It was simple, to the point, just like Din’s. You liked it. “We’ll take Rue! Please, Din, we need to! It will be the only way we will ever be happy!” Your thumbs rub into the thick skin of his neck. You didn’t mean to vomit so much information on him at once, but he didn’t really give you an option.

He exhales deeply, and you know he’s processing everything you just told him. “We can’t”

“Why not?”

“Because!” He yells and it scares you. You drop your hands, your heart rate rising. A lump grows in your throat and you silently curse your emotions for betraying you. You swallow back a tear. He walks away from you and you hear the helmet pick up from off the floor. He puts it back on his head, and you know from practice and instinct when to open your eyes. When you do, he’s sitting on the chest at the end of the bed, his head dropped and hands pressed to the edge of the wood by his sides. You frown, and walk over to him. Din pushes his head into your abdomen, and you hold him there, just existing in not-so-comfortable silence. It’s tense, and not the type of tension that you usually like to experience with I’m.

He’s surprisingly the one to speak up, however. “We can’t… because Bo will hunt me and kill me and Rue and you… she’ll kill everything I love.” His voice cracks at the same time your heart does. Did he actually…

“Not to mention the war between our kingdoms it will start. Corellia can’t support itself in a war. We both know that.” Din sighs, maybe he was telling himself this just as much as he was telling you.

You sigh. He was right and you knew it, but it didn’t keep you from wanting to run away with him any less. “Din…” He looks up at you. “We have to get that map from Korkie.” You say, more stern but still comforting this time. His head tilts in question. You sigh, feeling guilty. “I wrote something else on it.” You look away from him, your eyes trailing. His hand reaches up to grab your chin, pulling your head to look right at him. Your eyebrows furrow. “Directions to your home.” The atmosphere in the room changes. You can feel it. “I know I shouldn’t have, I know it puts Rue in danger, but it gives us all the more reason to get that map back from Korkie as soon as possible.” His hand drops from your chin. You felt terrible.

“Okay, okay. We can check the library again and… if it’s not there we’ll go confront him. We’ll get it tonight.” He nods.

“Are you sure? What if he reads it?” You were surprised how lax he was, but something told you that he was controlling himself from his true emotions.

“As far as I’m concerned, the Prince has no reason to cause me or my family any harm.” He nods.

“Not yet.”

—

You swallow, your face inches away from the door of the Prince’s bedroom. Din was around the corner of the corridor, both of you knew this was something you would have to do on your own, without his support. You had never been here before, and after ample search in the library for the map all afternoon, there was no other option. It was late, but not inappropriately late. You wore that same dress you wore weeks ago, the soft blue one that was off the shoulder one that adorned your figure elegantly. It was one of the most sophisticated gowns in your closet. More mature than most of the flowy princess ballgowns. It was a diplomatic but still ethereal fashion choice, which you desperately needed after a humiliating encounter this morning. The scar on your shoulder from the endeavor in Keldabe had mostly healed, and only had a pale pink to it. You looked back at Din, who was peering around the corner, for some reassurance. He nodded, and you took a deep breath. Two knocks would be enough. The door swings open, and you are suddenly very aware that you would have to brave this encounter without the support of your trusted Knight. Korkie is who answers the door, and he looks mildly unamused to see you.

“Princess?” He tilts his head.

“Evening, I hope it is not too late?” You suggest, keeping your voice as monotone and unwelcoming as possible. You wanted him to know that you were here for a serious matter.. You noticed he was covering the door with his body, perhaps he was hiding something from you too.

“For my fiance? Never.” You hated being called that, but if it was what it took for him to invite you into the room,you could deal with it. Korkie’s room was large, it was far more spacious than yours. It had a billowing fireplace and sitting area, the ceilings twice the height of your suite’s, and a private library pushed into the northeast corner. You familiarize yourself with your surroundings, and the heir closes the door behind you. You silently scanned the room for the map, you would have to snatch it up without it being suspicious, and you could not explicitly ask for it again. “What do I owe this honor?” He says from behind, charming as usual, although his words did seem a bit slurred. You see that an opened book sat on the seat of a chair in the sitting area. He must have been reading before you interrupted him. You turn around, and lift your chin, trying to look and sound as put together and unsuspecting as possible.

You clear your throat, “I wanted to apologize for this morning.” You nod. It wasn’t true, but you had rehearsed with Din several times the best way to stall time as you looked for the map, and this was the best way of going about. “It was inappropriate behavior, especially in front of the General.” You disagreed with your own words, and felt bad lying, but it came so naturally when done to the Prince.

Korkie sighs, and crosses over the room, looking up at a portrait above the fireplace. Your eyes still searched for your map, but had no clue where it might be. This was your first time here, after all. “Worry not, Highness.” Korkie downs a bit of brandy that was sitting for him. You didn’t like him when he was drunk.

“You’re sure?” You figured that would have made conversation more natural, but he clearly was not in the mood for propriety. He pours another drink, and even pours one for you, offering it. You shake your head and mutter a ‘no thank you’, not really wanting to get drunk tonight. Din wouldn’t touch you if you were drunk. You admired that he respected you that much, but it also deprived you of the one thing worth all the pomp and circumstance. Korkie shrugs and drinks both, and you’re frankly appalled by this conduct.

“Indeed.” He hiccups. “Everyone loves a little show.” He chuckles, and you frown. Was that all your humiliation was to him? A show? “Now, Princess,” He takes a step towards you, and you feel so unprotected. Din would have stepped in by now, you knew that. You didn’t have the same sense of security you usually had when he wasn’t at your side. “Why did you really come here?” He asks, running his hand through his hair.

“Excuse me?” You nervously laugh. How did he figure any of this out? You take steps back that mirror his, trying to keep the same amount of distance between him and you but struggling to when you hit the post of his bed, your back flush against it. Your hands wrap around the wood working, and you look up at him nervously. You felt the same as you didn’t when you were cornered and harassed in the slum of Keldabe. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You clear your throat, trying to solve something, anything. Where could that cursed map be?

“Don’t-“ He says through gritted teeth, he catches himself from lashing out, and collects his composure before speaking again. “Don’t assume I am blind.”

“I would never-“

“Liar!” He spits out and you flinch back. He laughs a few times, it’s that evil, frustrated laugh. It was the type of laugh that people do when they’re trying to calm themselves down, but in turn they simply seem more angry. You were genuinely scared, unsure of what to do in this situation. “What were the directions you wrote on the back of the map?” He asks, and you furrow your brows.

“I don’t know what you mean?” This was partially true. How did he not understand the very neat and clear directions on the back of the blueprints to the secret passages? And in all curiosity, why did he care?

Korkie grunts again. “You are foolish.” He was dangerously close to you, and you wanted to get out of that room as soon as possible. You wanted Din to come protect you, you needed him to. “Are you forgetting who you belong to?” His hand sets on your hip, and you flinch again.

“I belong to no one.” You defy.

“You belong to me.” He grits his jaw again. You closed your eyes out of instinct due to the sheer anger and tension in his tone. His breath smelled of alcohol, and you wished you had the authority to slap him. He laughs his chuckle of malice again, and then before you can blink, he leans in for a kiss. How could he? How could he take advantage of your vulnerable state like this? Your blood boiled, and just in time, you dodge his lips. You swoop under his arm, away from the bedpost and back to the security of a full room you can avoid him in. He looks at you, clearly appalled. You were dizzy, probably from adrenaline. You wished this was surprising, but it was the exact thing you expected The Prince to do. This is when you noticed the map was rolled up and on the floor beside the fireplace. The new perspective of the room is what made you see it. Had he intended to burn it?

“You know,” You say as you take a step towards the map, “You should have another drink.” You offer. “You’re clearly tense,” You stepped between each phrase, “And it would be better for everyone.” Somewhere deep down you wanted to believe that Korkie was only acting this way because he was drunk. But you knew it wasn’t true. You realized that everything inside of you was looking for a redeemable quality in him, a reason to stay perhaps. You wanted to believe he was worth staying for, but you knew that he wasn’t, not when everything you’ve ever wanted was just outside the door.

Before Korkie can take another step towards you, you’re bolting towards the map, snatching it up in your hands and then running towards the door. The adrenaline shoots through your veins, and it only grows when you hear him growl again and his heavy footsteps run after you. You have to physically hold yourself back from squealing in stress, your hand slapping over your mouth. You rip the door open, and try slamming it behind you, but Korkie’s arm is caught in the door, and you smash it. He cries out, and the commotion makes Din run down the hall towards you to check what was going on. Korkie was able to get a hand on the collar of your dress, and he tries to pull you back in, but your strength is enough to get away. You ran to Din, who looked concerned, you could tell by his stance alone. He was tense and his hands balled in fists at his side.

Korkie pulls open the door, holding his arm to his chest, and you look back, your heart racing. You are so relieved when you make it to Din, and you grab his hand, threading your fingers into his and pulling him down the hall in the same fashion he did early that day. Several guards who heard the heir’s yell were running in all directions, but none of them paid any attention to you, thank the stars.

You think you are crying, but you aren’t sure. You felt raw fear being alone with the Prince. You never wanted to be alone with him again, never.

You keep running nonsense in the castle, not really sure where you’re going but wanting to be anywhere other than there. Din is the one to stop you after the mindless escape, pulling you into a branching hallway and against an unsightly window. He grabs both of your arms, and pulls you flush against his chest. He holds you there for a long time, and you both get a chance to catch your breath. You cry into the beskar chestplate, and feel rather foolish for reacting as such. Din was silent, and just held you, his strong arms wrapped around you as tightly as they could be.

“What did he do to you?” He asks, and you sigh out pathetically. Din repeats his question, still calm and gentle, but more urgent.

“I-I was so scared.” You stutter. Din somehow squeezes you tighter after you say this. After you collect yourself a little more, you can speak again, “he was drink-“

“Did he… touch you?”

You weren’t sure why you felt like you were in trouble, but aggressively reminded yourself that Din would never be upset with you, at least not for something like this. “Yes… But not very much, he just touched my hip and leaned in to kiss me.”

“Did he?”

“No!” You say almost defensively, “I got away just in time.” You pull away and look up at him with teary eyes. His hand comes up, and he pulls the glove off. His bar hand caresses your flushed face, swiping a tear off your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry-“

“Why?”

“I don’t know!” You breathe out shakily. “For crying I guess? For letting the map get away? For letting him touch me-“ You try to look away but his fingers catch your chin again, pulling your gaze back onto his helmet.

“Stop that. It’s not your fault. He is disgusting for doing that.” Din nods, and you swallow a sob. “Do you understand?” He asks, and you slowly nod once. “And promise me, that you’ll never ever blame yourself for anything like that ever again, okay?” You nod again. “Promise me!” He wasn’t angry or forceful, just steadfast with his words. He meant what he was saying.

“I promise.” You mutter. After you reply you hear his exhale in his armor. He pulls you against his chest again, and you can feel it move with each breath. You wished you could hear his heartbeat again like you could when you wake up next to him. You’re able to finally relax, and his embrace was the most calming thing you had ever experienced.

“I was worried sick about you.” He says, far more soft spoken than his remarks before. You didn’t verbally reply, but he was able to read how you felt. “I don’t like you being alone with him.”

“Me neither.” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and letting the final few tears fall out of your lashes. “All the more reason to leave.” He tenses after you say it, and his arms loosen a bit around your shoulders.

“You really want to?” He asks, you nod against his chest. “You know the possible consequences? This could mean the destruction of Corellia.”

“I know. That’s why it’s so hard. I don’t know what to do. I know what I want, and that is to leave here with you, but I don’t want my own selfishness to risk the lives of thousands who I vowed to protect.” You pull your head away from his chest.

“You… really want to live a life with me?” He asks, almost oblivious to your prior remark. You nod nod, or even say yes, but you just look up at him in all seriousness, hoping it would be enough.

It was.

“You don’t even know what I look like.” His arms drop. Did he think you a fool for that?

“We…” You debate your words, “We can change that.” You close your eyes, hoping that it would mean something to him, and maybe it did, but just as always, he didn’t show it. He just takes his cursed, gloveless hand and tilts your chin up to see him.

“In time we will, but only when it is right.” He nods.

It wasn’t the answer you wanted, but it was enough. It was more than anything he had ever given you before.

“Come on,” Din says gently, “There’s something I want to show you.” He beckons with his head down the hall, and you follow, interlocking your fingers with his again, the map in your other hand. You weren’t really sure how he was able to be so calm and reassuring, especially without showing an ounce of emotion through all of it, but it was a Godsend. You weren’t sure if Din loved you, at least not in the same way you loved him, but you were sure that he cared about you, and he wanted you to be safe and happy. And that was all you needed, for now.

“Had he read the map?” Din asks as you walk down a flight of stairs, descending the various levels of the palace and undoubtedly heading for the staff quarters again.

“I believe so.” You sigh, “Although he seemed confused about it. I think he was a little too drunk to fully comprehend, or he was giving me the benefit of the doubt.” You shrug.

“Well, at least we have it now, right?” Din asks, his head slightly turning back to look at you as he says it, and you give a nervous but relieved smile in response. The two of you loop through halls, and you’re very aware of how much the castle is winding down. Staff have retired for the night, doors were closed, even the usual laughter coming from parlors or the ballroom was silenced. Was it really that late? You didn’t really have much of a perception of time anymore after everything that had just happened.

The one part of the castle that was full of life, however, was the staff quarters. As you got closer, you could hear the usual laughter, and warm, welcoming light poured from the low corridor. Music played, it was loud, and your eyes searched for the spectacle that was just awaiting you.

“You said you wanted to get to know the staff better…”

“I did?” You ask.

“A few nights ago, you were really tired, you might not remember.” He shrugged. You didn’t really care whether or not you really said those things, what stuck out to you, however was that Din remembered that. He was observant enough to remember specific phrases you said, and not any phrases, the ones that were sleepy and probably full of nonsense. You would lie if you said you didn’t gush over that a little.

Din takes you into the staff common room, and it’s all clear. The warm smells, the enticing light, the infectious laughter, it all came from the whole castle staff crammed into this one room. There was food, and everyone laughed and danced to the music that a handful of staff members played. Their instruments were humble, probably retired from the royal orchestra years ago, but you could tell there were fond memories and stories linked with every single one. It was hot, and there were a lot of people crammed into the room. The doors were wide open, and the tables were pushed back against the walls so that the floor could be opened to a large and intricate group dance. It was nothing like the pompous dances that the nobility did at the ball, however. This dance was filled with joy, and mistakes were not only welcomed, but celebrated. Expression was the center of the party, and all types of people were involved. Children who were up far past their bedtime joined in the festivities, dancing and laughing and chasing one another, elderly staff sat at the tables, clapping along to the folk music, and the servants who usually give you sour tea and hot bread had their shoes off, jumping on the stone floor of the common area. Some of the knights and guards had their helmets on like Din usually did, and others did not. You realized it really probably boiled down to personal preference, or duty.

You smiled at the spectacle, and it gave you a deep and undeniable sense of community and love. You quickly learned that the livelihood of the castle did not rest in the parties and rules that an uptight Queen set in place, but the very people who made the castle work smoothly.

The laughter and joy was contagious, and you couldn’t stop yourself from joining the fun. You jump into the dance, not sure of the steps, but picking up your ridiculous skirt and starting anyways. You hoped it wasn’t obvious that you had been crying a half hour before, but no one paid any attention if it was. The women in the circle linked their arms with yours, and you spun in a circle. The one to your right couldn’t have been older than fifteen, and she yelled over the noise how to do the footsteps. You couldn’t really hear her, but looked down at her feet and tried to mimic it. You had the cheesiest smile on your face, and the room spun as you danced. Din crosses over to a wall, leaning against it and crossing his arms, watching you.

After that dance finished, another song started, and the moves were rather different. However, a girl pulled you out of the circle, and tugged on your dress. “It’s too big!” She shouts over the music, “You’ll never make it through the next song!” You nod and then walk over to a table. You stand on top of the table after a few jumbled ‘excuse me’s’. You were sure everyone recognized you, but they didn’t treat you differently for one moment. It was… refreshing. You kicked your shoes off, and several people turned to look at you, some cheered, others laughed. You then bite your bottom lip and pull the strings of the corset you wore, loosening it enough to slip out of your crinoline and ruffled-slip, leaving you in nothing but your undergarment petticoat and the top layer of the gown you were wearing. There was laughter, and you didn’t hear or see Din chuckle. You swayed your hips, and after a playful “huzzah!” from the crowd, a few knights helped you off the table. You immediately return to the dance circle, and you’re able to move much easier. You’re thrown back into the stimulating dance. The woman was right, this was much more physical, jumping and kicking was done and it was far more exciting than any of the proper waltzes you had spent your life dedicating time to.

You step out after two more songs, trying to catch your breath and wiping the sweat off your brow. There was alcohol, just hooch, but a bearded man gave you a big mug and you happily chugged it down. Din was impressed with your ability to consume so much so quickly. The men all cheered and hollered as you downed the drink, also impressed with the skill. You didn’t know you could do it, either.

A game of cards is being played, and you’re roped into that, too. You bet some money (money you didn’t have) and helped a tired, old man who usually worked in the stables play, after a few tough rounds, and struggling to learn the rules as you played, you won the pot for the old man. Three other much younger boys who usually worked at the front gate looked in shock as you pulled the money towards you and the man. He laughed and thanked you for your help.

Some little girls examined your crinoline and corset, a few older women all pinched your cheeks, and a fat man gave you a huge helping of mashed potatoes and greens. You got to overeat shamelessly, and it felt so rewarding after weeks of eating like a bird in fear of being judged by your in-laws. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world to be treated normally. You caught a glimpse of Soniee, who braided a boy’s hair. You even noticed that Koska was there, the center of one of the dance circles, swaying her skirt to the beat with another girl, the two dancing together in a vibrant duet of culture and community. Your feet only began to hurt when you were pulled to dance again, and your cheeks ached from smiling so wide. It was the most alive and accepted you had ever felt in Mandalore.

At one point, you found yourself just a few feet away from Din in the dance. You hold your hands out for him, beckoning him to join. “Dance with me!” You shout out. Before you get an answer, however, you're pulled back into the center of the group. It isn’t for a few more cycles and bars of the song that you’re back out by him. “Please?” You try to be as enticing as possible. He shakes his head, his hand coming up to decline. You raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t dance!” He yells back. You roll your eyes and step out of the group momentarily. You grab both of his hands, your face with the cheesiest smile ever, and pull him onto the floor. He tries to fight back, but ultimately loses.

“Yes you do!” You reply, yelling as loud as possible so he might be able to hear you. “You proved it to me last week!” You say and in perfect time, your arms go up together with the beat of the song. He hadn’t done this dance before, but has watched it enough times to know what’s going on, although he looked rather awkward and foolish doing so. You grab his hand, your hips turning left to right in time, and you look down at your bodies, trying to show him as best as you can.

“I have no idea what’s going on!” Din yells at one point, the two of you now in the heart of the party.

“Me neither!” You laugh, “That’s what’s so wonderful about it!” Then came the part of the dance to clap your hands, the two of you clapping up by your face, and mirroring one another. “Now you’re getting the hang of it!” You nod. He rolls his eyes, and is thankful you can’t see it. It would be horrible for his reputation if anyone knew that he was having even a little fun, especially because it was with you. Din doesn’t usually come to these parties. They happen most Saturday nights, but he runs home to his son. Tonight, however, it was important to him that you got to experience it, especially after everything that happened earlier today.

You both start getting the hang of it, and Din mentally thanks his helmet for hiding the smile on his face. Your feet grapevine, and then you both jump. Everyone hoots and hollers, it’s part of the dance. Suddenly, the both of you are in the middle of the dance circle in the same way that Koska was with her partner a few songs ago, and you’re leading the spiral. You can’t wipe the darkish smile off your face and genuinely can’t believe you got him out here.

“Atta boy, Djarin!” Koska yells from a table, standing up and toasting a Ming of hooch. The music picked up in preparation for the big finish. Din and you spun around one another, your bodies coming flush until your palms press flat, your faces only inches apart. You always thought playing off of one another in a dance was important for the emotion during a waltz, but a fancy three-step had nothing on the emotion and passion put into a dance such as this. Somehow, you could still play off of him, and the performance was one of shared respect and assurance. Despite never having seen his face, you got the Knight, you understood him in a way no one ever did. The song ends, the two of you real close to one another, and out of breath. The entire room roared in joy as they cheered for the both of you, and you looked up at the visor of his helmet.

“I want to kiss you!” He yells, and although his request is very clear, no one can hear it over the volume of the room.

“Then kiss me!” You reply. You didn’t give a damn if every servant of the Mandalorian royal family saw it. He laughs, you feel it, and then he’s pulling his helmet up.

He just reveals his lips, but you look upon them with no shame, admiring the way his Cupid’s bow dipped, and the scruff on his jawline. You smiled wide, and he smiled back. You feel honored to share this moment with him. Everyone around you was so loud, and they were cheering for both you and Din. You couldn’t believe how many of them knew his name as they called it out in encouragement.

Din’s free hand wraps around your waist, and pulls it in tight to him forcefully, you blush at the gesture, and the crowd “ooh’s” flirtily at it. Din Djarin then kisses you. He pulls your body into his soft lips and you sigh into it and it;s too quiet for him to hear but as soon as your lips meet, the crowd of staff disappears. Their cheers blur together, and fade out. Your lips move together passionately, and you do so with no shame. He groans against you, and you can feel it more than you can hear it, and it’s all you ever wanted.

For weeks now you just wanted to share your love with him publicly, and now that you have, you’re aware of how personal your love with him really is.

The crowd fades back in, everyone laughing in support and amusement. Your lips softly party and you grin from ear to ear. Din does too, shameless for once. His teeth are nice and straight. Oh God, you loved his smile.

Oh Stars, you loved him.

“Din!” You yell out. “I love you!” It was time to say it, because it was true. You meant it and as you say it, giggle.

“What?”

“I love you!” It’s so loud that you’re even sure if he can’t hear it, you can barely hear it yourself. But, in classic Din Djarin fashion, he doesn’t answer. He was never good with words, and was much better at showing you what was on his mind. He kisses you again, just as passionately, but this time it’s a series of short, quick pecks on your lips that get progressively more sloppy. He smiles into each kiss and you feel those magic butterflies again.

The rest of the night is a dreamy blur, Din dances the whole time with you, the music eventually slows, you notice that there are less and less kids in the common room. It winds down, and your feet ache in the best way. An ache that would be associated with happy memories. It was long past midnight when you decided to stop dancing, and a lone fiddler is all who was left in the band, playing a ballad to end the night. There was still soft laughter, and a few stragglers who slowly danced to the music. Din was one of the few who were still playing cards, one of his fellow knights challenging him to a game. Din was always up for a challenge, and both he and the man he played against looked deep in thought. You realized you were finally able to read him through all that beskar, and he was far more reactive than you ever would have known if you weren’t looking for it. Your cheek sits in your palm, and your eyes are heavy, but you watch him fondly from across the room. Koska sits next to you, handing you a cup of water.

“You had fun.” She hums, taking a sip out of her own cup.

You nervously laugh in response, she wasn’t wrong. “I didn’t realize how connected you all were.” You say with a sigh before taking a sip of the water and being so relieved to finally get some hydration after all of the energy you exerted.

“Yeah…” Koska was in her typical undisturbed mood, relaxed and observant. “These are the people of Mandalore.” She sighs, “They are what we really represent. We aren’t all about war and decoration, there’s so much more to us that the world doesn’t see.” You were touched by that remark, because you had seen it too. “The truth that’s hard for all of us to believe is that the rest of the world only respects us to stay on our good side.” Her voice drops a little. She looks at you, her eyes heavy as always. You aren’t sure how to respond, because it was true. Koska takes another sip before changing the subject, “I’ve never seen him dance before.” She nods towards Din. “At least not like that.” She laughs into her cup.

You smile, “I didn’t think he had it in him.” You tease.

“He wouldn’t have if you weren’t there.” Koska shrugs. “He’s like a whole different person around you. It’s refreshing.”

“He told me about everything that happened.” You reply. “With him and Bo.”

“He did? I don’t think he’s really talked to anyone about it.”

“He just told me last week, after the ball.” You nod. “I had no idea… but it all makes sense in the end.” You finish off the last of your water as his card game finishes, the few people watching cheering as Din lays down his cards and wins. The other knight, whose face was also covered by a heavy, beskar helmet slammed his fist down on the table in defeat. Din took the money that was on the bet.

“He’s better because of you.” Koska says, smiling as he wins. “I’ve had to look out for him in a way for a long time, he’s one of my oldest friends.” She speaks of him fondly. “But I feel like he doesn’t need me as much anymore, now that you can keep an eye out for him.” Koska turns to look a t you, but you don’t notice it. “You love him?”

“I do.” You nod. “Well… I think I do.” You sigh, “I don’t really know what love is I suppose, but I believe how I feel about him is the closest thing to it.” You shrug. “And I’m totally fucked because of it.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Koska explains, “I’ve never been in love either.”

“Really?” You ask, mildly shocked in all honesty. Koska nods. “There’s no one special in your life?”

“Well, there’s one girl.” Koska begins, “But my feelings towards her are more of an… obligation, I suppose.”

“I used to worry that’s how Din felt about me.” You admit.

“Oh trust me,” She chuckles once, “It isn’t like that for him at all.” She hums and you sigh in response, you sit in comfortable silence for a moment after that before Koska speaks up again, “What are you gonna do?” She asks.

“I don’t know.” You admit, turning to look at her, “But now that the majority of the castle staff has seen us kiss, I need to think of something.”

“That was pretty stupid, by the way.” Koska rolls her eyes.

You chuckle, “I suppose it was…” Din starts walking back to you, “But I can’t seem to care. I’m sick of hiding from everyone.” Din makes it to the two of you, and you smile as you look up at him.

“It’s not much,” He holds out the money before pocketing it, “But Rue will be happy.” He laughs and holds a hand out for you to take. “How drunk is she?” He asks Koska.

“She’s fine-“

“I only had one drink!” You roll your eyes, knowing that your night with Din will end very quickly if you were drunk. You take his hand and he hoists you up with him.

“Hm… that’s what you said the other night.”

“She’s okay, maybe a little tipsy but nothing keeping her from holding a perfectly normal conversation.” Koska says to Din, knowing full well why he even asked, a smirk plasters on her face.

“Come on.” Din hums, and pulls you down one of the various halls that branch from the common room, but not the one that both of you were familiar with because of your aid from Koska.

Din leads you through the candle-lit halls, and into a small bedroom. It was cramped, and there was barely enough room for the both of you, but it was cozy. He lit an oil lamp, and it illuminated the room just enough. Din slowly pulls off his helmet, and it’s so dim that you can’t really see anything like normal, but you can make out faint features and the light in his eyes. It was enough. He started to take off his armor too, and you patiently waited with your back against the outerwall that the window was in. He sets the chestplate and pauldrons in a neat pile on the foot of the bed, and kicks his boots off. His arm comes up to rub his neck, and he stretches a few times. He pulls the chainmail up over his head, leaving him in the same peasant blouse and trousers that he wore at the beach all those days ago. You would never get used to how trim his waist was, and how broad his shoulders were. He turns around, and has a smile on his face. You wished you could see him in the light. Din runs his hands through his thick curls and then steps towards you. You close the gap and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for an innocent kiss.

“Thank you.” You mutter.

“What for?”

“For bringing me here tonight… for being with me.” You sigh, and look up at him lovingly. He sighs, and kisses you again. Din starts to deepen the kiss, and you moan into his lips. He was a good kisser, that was for sure.

[SMUT BEGINS HERE]

Din wastes no time, he picks you up by the thighs, lifting you on his waist so you’re kissing down into him, and before you know it, he’s kissing your jaw. Din had learned your body, he knew the sweet spot on your jaw, and always knew just how long he could suck on it before it became a hickey. He never crossed that line, he knew when to stop, but how badly you wanted him to mark you up so Korkie could see, you wanted everyone to see who you loved and why. His strong hands bunch up your skirt, and lift it up so your ass could be uncovered. His arms hold you, and he stumbles back until he falls on the bed in the room. You straddle the knight and get comfortable on his lap. You can feel his hard-on growing, and you’ll never get over the confidence boost that gives you. You start to tentatively rub your hips so that you grinned down into him. You get a sting of pleasure through your spine, and you’re already getting wet. Because you were down in the lower level of the palace, and was totally isolated from most people with thick, stone walls, you take advantage of the opportunity to make noise. You moan into Din’s mouth, and he holds his lips apart for you. His breath against your face was enough alone to drive you crazy, and your fingers twist around the strands of curly, brown hair that sit at the nape of his neck.

Din’s thick, calloused fingers find their way between your legs from the back, and he starts to gently run his fingertips through your slick folds. You gasp at the feeling, he was so gentle with every move. He starts to moan as well as your hips grind further into him in search for more friction and pleasure, and the sound of his voice unobstructed by the beskar is your favorite sound in the whole world. Din settles into his seat, and he pulls you forward onto him. This allows your hips to lift up just enough that he can insert a finger through your cunt. He starts pumping his wrist immediately, fingering you. You pulled your lips away from him, and sat up straight. You throw your head back with a moan, and then bring your hands to the tucked in portion of your shirt. You pull it up over your head, and wriggle out of the slip that kept you clothed. You were finally naked, and you took your free hands and squeezed each nipple. Between the feeling of Din’s fingers deep inside of you, his growing-bulge rutting against your clit, and the added pinch of your nipples, you were already in a euphoric bliss that didn’t take long to reach.

“Din-“ you moan his name, which he loved. He’s eager, and isn’t afraid to show it. Din pulls his cock out from his trousers, and he lets you grind against the tip. You keep it from going in, trying to tease him in the same way that he did the morning after the ball. It was really just driving you over the edge, really, and so before you let his swollen tip prod at your slickness anymore, you steady yourself on his broad shoulders, and take a deep breath before sinking down onto him. Both of you moan out when you do, and he throws his head back, exposing a thick cord of muscle in his neck. You bend down to nip at his adam’s apple before suckling into his tan skin, making sure to leave a massive, purple bruise on the middle of his neck. You bottom out as you do this, and the sensation shoots up your body. You liked being on top for the sheer fact that it gave you a different angle. Din’s length was pressing up into you now, and he filled you up delightfully. Your favorite feeling in the world was being stuffed by him like this.

You could feel every inch of him as you lifted your hips up, you were so wet and it was already such a loud, obscene noise. You kept sucking hickeys into him, and your hands moved from his neck down to the hem of his blouse. You grab the sheer fabric, and pull it up over his head so that Din is finally as shirtless as you. His huge hands stay on your ass, squeezing the fat there and using his own strength to lift you up and down on his cock. It’s slow at first, but it allows the both of you to really savor the feeling of one another. You scratch your fingernails down his pecs, scratching at his abdomen, and then finally trailing in between your legs to circle at your clit as the pace picked up. You lean forward to rest your glistening forehead on his bare shoulder, and your bare chests press into one another.

Din begins to thrust his hips up, and before you know it, you’re bounding on his cock. It’s fast and hard and your weight is slamming you down on to him over and over again with no end in sight. It’s painful in a good way, the same type of ache that would have good memories and passion attached to it. You knew your core would be sore tomorrow, but it was worth it as Din’s huge cock runs against your g-spot over and over again inside of you. Your fingers speed up on your clit, and you bite down on Din’s shoulder muscle to keep from being too loud. He’s grunting and growling and is absolutely feral and the noises eliciting off of his kiss-swollen lips are needy yet dominate at the same time. You could get drunk on his breathy-sighs, his voice as dark and husky as always.

“That’s it,” He groans into your ear, you moan in response to his words. You loved when he was vocal because it was so rare that he actually was. “Are you gonna cum on my fucking cock, Princess?” He asks.

“Mhm.” You pathetically moan.

“Fuck-“ he groans, and then shifts his position. Suddenly, the two of you are standing up, and the way his length moves and twitches inside of you as he stands up pulls an involuntary moan from your lips. Din lifts you up with his arms, arching his torso back so that you can lean on him. He then gets right back at the task at hand: chasing your orgasm. It was close, you could feel it, and somehow Din seemed to have more energy and strength in this position. He lifted you up and down on his cock, and your arms found their place wrapped back around his neck, desperately trying to hold yourself up as he absolutely tears into you. He was so big, you keep forgetting how thick he is until his swollen and hard cock is filling you up like you were only made for this exact thing.

He must have gotten tired, you could tell not only by the sheen layer of sweat on his chest, but he pulled you off of himself, and threw you onto the bed. You giggle at the forceful contact, and like being tossed around in bed. It made you feel small, and it really showed his strength. Din pumps his leaking cock a few times, kneeling in front of you and pulling your legs apart. You bite your lip out of lust before he slaps the head of his length on your cunt a few times. The sound is so dirty, and it makes you even wetter.

“Stars, you’re so fucking wet for me.” He bites his lip, slapping his cock harder against you. “Can you hear that? Can you hear how fucking wet that pussy is?” He asks you. Stars, he was good at this.

“Yes… so wet for you.” You sigh, your hand coming down to play with your clit again. Din mutters a ‘that’s right’ before he slides himself through your folds a few times again before pushing into you one more, and he doesn’t hold back. His hands find their way to your hips, and he presses them down into the bed as hard as he can, pinning you in place. He starts to pound into you, and it knocks the wind out of you because of how abrupt and forceful it is. You can’t even really make noise to show how good it was, and instead a few strangled and helpless cries pull from your throat.

“Do you fantasize about my cock when you’re with your fiance? Hm? Does it turn you on knowing that you’re cheating on him?” He asks, and you can finally moan out. He was right, he knew you would say yes.

“Yes!” You say, “I can’t stop thinking about your cock!” You reply, your voice high-pitched and so needy.

“Do you think about me fucking this pussy like a bitch on my cock when you’re in important meetings?” He asks again. There was something about the disrespect that you loved, it only made things better.

“Yes sir!” You cry. Din chuckles and then smacks your ass cheek. His slamming into you so hard that you can’t believe he hasn’t gotten tired yet. You can see how his muscles flex against the moonlight and your core is aching from the knight but it’s all worth it. “I’m gonna cum!” You warm, arching your back in pleasure. Din then spits on your cut, adding to the hot wetness and dirty sounds, and he pulls your fingers away from your clit and replaces them with his.

“Cum with me,” He groans, and almost immediately, you’re cumming on his leaking cock at the same time that he does. He cums so much, and you’re always surprised by it. His load drips down your folds, and he fucks you through it. It’s filthy and you want to keep doing it for the rest of your life. Your arms come up to grasp his biceps, trying to steady yourself on anything. Din moans loud when he cums, and it isn’t until he starts softening inside of you that he quits thrusting. He doesn’t pull out, however, and he stays stuffed inside of you as he catches your breath. You’re fucked-out, your eyes heavy and breasts heaving with each deep breath that tries to calm your heart rate. “I love cumming in you.” He sighs. You already knew that, but you loved how he told you. He goes to pull out, but your thighs squeeze together, holding him in place.

“Stay inside.” You whine. Din tilts his head.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” He bends down to kiss your forehead, and then very carefully and slowly turns the two of you so that he is spooning you, his cock still buried inside your dripping and swollen cunt. “You did good, you did so good.” He kisses your neck as he says these, breathing in deep your scent. “S’good… so good.” He catches his breath, and is just as exhausted as you are, if not more. His chest heaves against your back, and his arms pull you against him. You fight against sleep, but ultimately fail, submitting to rest almost immediately after Din pulls the blanket over the both of you. Just before you fall asleep, you hear him mumble something against your neck, although you aren’t sure what it is.

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part fifteen

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sequinsmile-x · 3 years ago

Text

Day-to-Day

Emily is the glue that holds the family together, aka five times the Hotchner family needed Emily.

A story in the “5 times + 1″ format.

Part of the Whatever Tomorrow Brings universe.

Chapter 1 - Amelia.

Read on AO3 via this link, or below the cut

March 2010

Aaron wakes to his bed being empty. He rubs his eyes, trying to remove the last remnants of sleep, and he turns to check the alarm clock, groaning when he sees it’s 3am. He touches the other side of the bed and feels that the sheets are cold, indicating that his wife had been gone for some time. Amelia had been off the evening before, their usually happy baby grouchy and sleepy. Which was always the first sign that she was coming down with something. Theo had been ill the week before, a bug he’d picked up from school, and Aaron had naively hoped they’d managed to avoid it being passed on to the youngest Hotchner.

He sits on the side of the bed and spots light filtering out from under the ensuite door. He walks over, opening the door to find his wife laying back in the bath, Amelia dozing on her chest. Emily looks tired, a small smile on her face when she spots him. “Hey.” She rasps out, staying quiet so she doesn't wake their daughter.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Aaron walks in and kneels on the floor next to the bath. “Everything ok?”

“She woke up about an hour ago, she had a fever. I thought a lukewarm bath might bring it down, but she started to cry every time I tried to put her in here herself.” Emily says gently, placing a hand on Amelia’s forehead. “It’s come down a bit.”

“You should have woken me up.” He says, placing a hand on their daughter's back. “I’d have helped.”

“It’s ok, honey.” She says placing her hand over his. “You need your sleep, work has been rough on you lately.”

“Right.” He says, with a raised eyebrow. “Because your job is a piece of cake.” Aaron links their fingers and runs a thumb over her knuckles. “You don’t have to do it all on your own anymore, Em. I’m here now. We’re all here.”

She purses her lips together and nods at him. It was still her instinct sometimes to try and do it all by herself, especially anything to do with the kids. Memories of those months spent alone waiting for Foyet to be stopped were sharp, and sometimes it still took her breath away. How close they had come to losing everything.

“Can you take her?” She asks softly. “She should be fine for now.”

“Of course.” He lifts the toddler off of his wife's chest and wraps her in a towel. Amelia wakes almost immediately, grumbling at being removed from her mother. “Let’s go get you dressed sweetie.”

He takes Amelia to the nursery and puts a fresh diaper on her, and a thin sleepsuit. He frowns at the warmth still on her skin, and soothes her when she starts to cry again. “I know what you want, you want Mommy.” He lifts Amelia into his arms and kisses her forehead. “I don’t blame you, I always want her when I feel sick too.”

Emily is already in bed dressed in one of his shirts when he walks back into their bedroom. Amelia immediately reaches out for Emily, the little girl's face already scrunched up as she cries. He passes Amelia over, lets his wife take him into her arms. “Mama.”

“You’re ok, sweet girl.” Emily says, running a hand over the back of her daughter’s head. She kisses her forehead and frowns. “It’s gone down, but she’s still warm.”

“We’ll call the doctor if she’s still got a temperature in the morning.” He says. Emily nods, settling Amelia so she is resting against her chest. The little girl's favorite place to sleep when she was sick or sad. “Sweetheart, you aren’t going to get any sleep if she’s in here.”

“I know.” She replies, soothing the small coughs coming out of Amelia by rubbing her back. “I’ll get someone to drop some case files and paperwork here tomorrow, work from here until she’s better.”

“And if you get a case?”

She glares at him. “Then I’m sure the team can handle it without me. It’s not like they haven’t before.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I’m not leaving her if she’s sick, Aaron.” She says, her voice firm. “She only settles for me if she’s sick and I’m not putting either of you through that.”

He knew his wife somehow felt responsible for his delicate relationship with his daughter. Things were better now, so much better, but he couldn’t say it didn’t hurt when Ameila, or any of their kids, immediately reached for Emily when something was wrong. The six months they had spent alone together had formed a bond he loved, but that he was also, in his worst moments, jealous of.

He wants to argue, wants to say that eventually something would happen with one of the kids when she wasn’t there, but he knows this isn’t the time. That it can wait until it isn’t almost 4am and she has their feverish daughter pressed against her.

“It’s a good thing your boss is so understanding.”

Emily smiles at him. “Well, I do repay his understanding with blow jobs so I think it’s earned.” _________________

May 2024

Ameila was Emily through and through. It was something Aaron, and just about everyone they knew, said frequently. She looked like Emily. She had her nose, her dark eyes and hair, and the same smile that had always been able to convince Aaron to do just about anything. Amelia had inherited her fathers jawline and his seriousness, her frown, a pure ‘Hotch’ look that Penelope had often joked would serve her well in whatever she decided to do in the future.

She also had Emily’s attitude. A need to know everything, to push all the boundaries around her, that often drove Aaron to the edge of his sanity in a way neither of his sons ever had. Elizabeth often commented on how similar Amelia and Emily were, and he never missed the way she smirked at him when she said it.

Emily was fiercely protective of Amelia. Aaron knew it was because their daughter was the only one of their kids who didn’t remember the incident with Foyet. She was so small when it happened, only a few months old when her family was torn apart by the actions of a psychopath, and they were grateful for it. Jack and Theo still bore the scars of what happened, years of therapy had done them wonders, but it still surfaced at times, almost unexpectedly. Leading to Theo calling in the middle of the night, the now 21 year old plagued by nightmares that his mother was dead, only calmed down by the sound of her tired voice over the phone.

The first time Amelia really pushes the boundaries with her parents is when she comes home one day with her nose pierced. The ring in her nose was massive, big enough to allow for the swelling that would follow, drawing her parents attention to it immediately.

“What the hell is that in your nose?” Aaron asks, annoyance clear in his tone.

“It’s a nose ring, Dad.” Amelia answers, her eyes rolling as she hangs her keys up. “I got it done after school.”

“And who said you could do that?”

“It’s my nose. I didn’t realise I needed permission.”

“Ok.” Emily interrupts, placing a hand on her husband's arm to try and diffuse the situation. “I think what your dad is trying to say is that you should run this stuff past us, ok?”

Amelia scoffs. “Well it’s your nose I inherited, surely you understand why I wanted to do something to it.” She walks past her parents and goes up the stairs before the conversation can go any further. “I have homework.”

_________________

Aaron walks into their en-suite later that night to find Emily standing in front of the mirror scrutinising her appearance. He leant against the doorframe and watched as she turned her head side to side, running her finger down the slope of her nose. Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at herself straight on again, her finger pressed into the tip.

“Em?”

She turns to look at him, taking her hand away from her nose as she does. He doesn’t miss the shy look on her face as she wrung her hands together. “Do you think my nose is weird?”

He frowns at her. “What? No.”

“I know it’s ridiculous. I’m 53 for fuck sake.” She mutters to herself.

He kisses the tip of her nose and she smiles at him. “You’re beautiful.”

“And you’re ridiculous.” She wraps her arms around him anyway, pulling him in for a kiss. “It will look better when she can switch to a smaller ring.”

“It will look better when she just takes it out.”

Emily laughs, shaking her head at him. “Come on, let's go to bed. Some of us have work in the morning.”

He raises an eyebrow at her as he always did when she referred to his early retirement, even though it had been years since he left the FBI. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

_________________

The casual mention of a boyfriend, a boy from Amelia’s art class called Chase, almost sends Aaron orbital. He manages to keep his opinions to himself until Amelia has gone to bed and he’s just in the kitchen with his wife, helping her with the dishes even though it was long ago established as her chore since she never cooked.

“She’s not that bad, Aaron.”

He scoffs at his wife. “She’s going to make me go grey.”

“Honey. Amelia is a teenage girl. A pretty well behaved one in comparison to what I was like.”

“Suddenly I feel a lot more sympathy for Elizabeth than I ever have before.” He mutters as he continues to put dishes away.

“What was that?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing, sweetheart.”

She narrows her eyes at him as she passes him another plate, patting his cheek with her spare hand. “You’re already grey, Aaron. It’s got nothing to do with the fact our daughter has a boyfriend. Or a nose ring.” _________________

Emily finally loses her cool two weeks later. They are eating dinner, just her, Amelia and Aaron, when she spots something on her daughter's wrist as she reaches for more salad. Emily grabs Amelia’s arm and pulls her sleeve back slightly to reveal a, admittedly very small, heart tattoo onto her daughter’s wrist. It was crude, slightly wonky and clearly not a professional one.

“What the hell is this?” She asks, staring her daughter down.

Amelia tears her arm out of her mother’s grasp and pulls her sleeve back down. “It’s a tattoo, Mom.”

“A tattoo? When did that happen?” Emily looks over at Aaron, who to her annoyance looked slightly amused that she was finally reacting like he had been all along.

“We did them at school.” Amelia answers, taking another bite of her dinner.

Emily’s initial reaction of telling her daughter how dangerous that was, how stupid, was drowned out by her overriding fear of who exactly had done this. “What do you mean ‘we’?”

“Chase and I did them. We have matching ones.” Amelia says, looking at her mother with a challenge on her face. “I don’t see what the big deal is Mom, you have tattoos.”

Emily glares at her husband when he chokes out a laugh at that, and he quickly excuses himself from the table. She turns back to her daughter. “Amelia, it really wasn’t very safe to do that. You have to let professionals do this kind of thing.”

Amelia rolls her eyes as she takes the final bite of her dinner. “Whatever.” She gets up from the table, already half out of the dining room before she speaks again. “I need to go FaceTime Chase.”

Emily puts her head in her hands as soon as she is alone. Her daughter was too much like her for her own good, independent and wilful almost to a fault. Emily loved that Amelia was like that, that she was so sure of herself in a way that Emily certainly hadn’t been at her age. She took it as a testament to her and Aaron’s parenting, but right now she was struggling with it. She just wanted to sit Amelia down and tell her that not everyone in the world had her best intentions at heart, and Emily had an increasingly sinking feeling that Chase was one of those people.

She blows out a breath and stands up, starting to collect the dishes from the evening meal. Emily hears her husband re-enter the room. “I’m going to get her some antiseptic cream to put on it. Who the hell knows where they got the needle they did it with from.”

“Emily-”

“She gave herself a matching tattoo with her boyfriend, Aaron.” She says, putting the dishes she had been holding back down on the dining room table. “They’ve been together for 8 weeks.”

He steps towards her and places his hands on her hips. “What was it you told me last week? That it will work itself out eventually.”

“She thinks she loves him, honey.” Emily lamented, allowing her husband to pull her into his arms. “And I know he’s going to break her heart.”

Aaron kisses her. “Sweetheart, we can’t protect her from that.” He kisses her again, cupping her cheek with his hand. “All we can do is be here for her if it happens.”

Emily rests her forehead on his chest. “Now who's being annoying ok about all of this?”

_________________

“This is where I found out I was pregnant with you.” Emily says offhandedly, a wistful smile on her face. It was so long ago now, but she still remembered the joy she had felt when she first saw Amelia on screen. The baby she had always been told she couldn’t have was now this amazing person she couldn’t imagine her life without.

Emily looks at her daughter when she doesn’t get a response, and she stops herself from laughing when she sees how pointedly Amelia is ignoring her. “Oh really, Mom?” She says to herself. “That’s so interesting.”

“Mom, I cannot believe you are doing this.” Amelia seethes, looking at the floor of the clinic they were in. Embarrassment coming off of her in waves. “This is so embarrassing.”

Emily rolls her eyes, and bites back a comment about how if she found birth control embarrassing then she should think twice about having sex. “I just want you to be safe, ok? You’ve got a boyfriend now and whilst I am not exactly delighted at the idea of you having sex.” She says, not missing how her daughter grimaces. “I don’t want you to take any chances.”

“Amelia Hotchner?”

Emily and Amelia look up to see Joanne standing at the door to her office looking expectantly at them. Emily smiles at her, Amelia does not, and the latter sighs as she stands up. She takes a few steps towards Joanne, only pausing when she realises her mother isn’t following her.

“Well you may as well come in. This was your idea after all.” Amelia says, annoyance colouring her tone. Emily sees past it, spotting the way her daughter nervously wrings her hands, fingers digging at her cuticles in a way she had picked up from her.

“Of course, sweetie.” She stands and walks up to her daughter, and guides her into Joanne’s office with a gentle hand on her back.

_________________

“You did what??” Aaron asks, seething, as they get ready for bed side by side in their ensuite. He turns to her, a disbelieving look on his face.

“I took her to get birth control.” Emily answers around her toothbrush, spitting into the sink. She rinses it and places it next to his in the holder.

“Why?” He is glaring at her, and she's suddenly more glad than ever that she hadn’t broached this subject with him until after Amelia had a packet of pills sitting in her bathroom cabinet, with very explicit instructions on the importance of taking it correctly from both Emily and Joanne. “Is she sleeping with him?”

“I don’t even know if she is having sex yet. But you know these things happen. I bought the boys condoms when they were teenagers.” She purposely misses out that she had also bought Amelia condoms, thinking that admission might make her husband's head explode. “I wanted to make sure she takes precautions if she takes that step.”

“She’s 15, Emily.”

“Yeah, and so was I.” She closes her eyes and sighs, turning to look at her husband as she crosses her arms across her chest. She looks at him and bites her lip, trying to figure out what she’s been wanting to say. “Aaron, I just don’t want what happened to me to happen to her.”

Emily can see the moment it registers in his head. The way his brow unfurls, his whole body unclenching as the anger seeps out of him, replaced by concern for her. He takes a step towards her. “Sweetheart…”

She shakes her head at herself, wiping a stray tear away that had fallen at the admission. “She deserves better than that.”

He sighs as he drags her into a hug, one she gladly returns, wrapping her arms around his back. “You deserved better than that too.”

Emily buries her face into his neck, breathes in the scent of him that had comforted her for more than half her life. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” _________________

Three days later it becomes a non issue. Amelia is out with friends, and Chase, leaving Aaron and Emily with the house to themselves.

Emily is sitting in her husband's lap on their couch. His hands up her shirt and his tongue in her mouth, when she hears it. A car door slamming on edge of her consciousness, someone running up the steps of their porch. She pulls back from Aaron, the dazed look on his face surely matching the one on her own. “Did you hear that?” She breathes out.

They hear a key in the door and break apart like they’ve burnt each other, both standing as the front door opens.

Amelia bursts in, tears streaming down her face. She drops her bag at the front door, her school things abandoned in the foyer of their home, and as soon as her eyes land on Emily her face crumbles. The steady stream of tears turning into sobs. “Mom.”

“Amelia?” She closes the gap between them, concern for her daughter overriding anything else, any lingering hopes she had of alone time with her husband gone in an instant. Amelia is in her arms in seconds, clawing at her shirt to try and get as close as possible. She buries her face into Emily’s shoulder and weeps. Emily cups the back of her daughter’s head, and runs her other hand up and down her back. “Oh sweetheart, it’s ok.” She soothes. “You’ll be ok.”

Emily exchanges a concerned look with Aaron over the top of their daughter's head and she shakes her head at him slightly when he takes a step towards them, silently asking him to leave it to her. He understands, just like he always had, and leaves them to it despite wanting to know exactly what has upset Amelia this much.

“Mia, honey.” She says gently, hand still tangled in her daughter's dark hair. She tries to pull back slightly, cupping Amelia’s cheek, but she holds on to her tighter, sobs still tearing out of her throat. “Let’s move over to the couch, ok?”

Amelia nods against her but doesn’t separate herself from her mother at all. Emily carefully guides her over to the couch and sits down. Amelia curls into her, wrapping herself around her in a way she hadn’t done in years. Emily wraps her arms around her, and whispers random words of comfort into her daughter's hair.

“Sweetheart.” She says gently, pulling away enough that she can cup Amelia’s face in her hands. She wipes tears away from her cheeks with her thumbs. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, not until you’re ready, but I need to know if you’re hurt.”

Amelia shakes her head. “Not hurt.” She says, her words choked by her tears. She leans back into Emily, pressing her face into her neck.

“Ok, sweet girl.” Emily says the old nickname, one she hadn’t used since Amelia was 9 and turned her nose up at it, slipping out without thinking. She presses a kiss on her daughter's head. “I’m right here.”

It takes almost 30 minutes for Amelia to calm down, for her sobs to dissipate into sniffs and a hoarseness in her throat as she takes in ragged breaths. “He broke up with me.”

Emily frowns, holding her daughter impossibly tighter. “What?”

“Chase broke up with me.” Amelia says, pulling back so she could look at Emily properly. “He said I was boring.”

Emily covers her reaction to that, keeping her surprise away from her face. Boring was not a word she would have ever used to describe Amelia. She tucks some of Amelia’s hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, baby. I know you really liked him.”

Amelia snuggles back down into her, sniffing as she lays her head on Emily's shoulder. Emily runs her hand through her daughter's hair, soothing her as she finishes calming down. “What do you want to do?” Emily asks. “We could get Dad to go out and get Taco Bell.”

Amelia chokes out a laugh but shakes her head. “I think I just want to go to bed.”

“Whatever you want.” _________________

Aaron is pacing their bedroom when she enters it, softly closing the door behind her. He stops and looks at her, an expectant look on his face.

“He broke up with her.” Emily says. “She is heartbroken.” She hears how her own voice breaks as she tells him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her like that.” She shakes her head at herself. “The worst thing is when she told me what happened I felt relieved. She’s sitting there absolutely hysterical and I’m relieved?”

Aaron closes the distance between them and hugs her. “You’re a fantastic mom, Em. I won’t let you believe anything other than that.”

She chokes out a laugh, somehow still surprised after all these years that he was able to guess what was really bothering her without her saying it outloud. “You’re a pretty great dad yourself, Mr Hotchner.” Emily lets herself relax in her husband’s embrace for a little longer, she pulls back and looks up at him. “I’m going to go in and sleep with her tonight.”

“Ok, sweetheart.” He kisses her quickly before letting her go so she can get ready for bed. He watches as she pulls on pyjama pants and a soft t-shirt that once belonged to him.

Aaron admires his wife as she takes off her makeup from the day and puts her dark hair up, smiling as he catches sight of some grey flecks that she hates as she twists it into a bun. She never believes him when he says it, but he thinks she's more beautiful now than she was when they first met all those years ago. Emily had always been beautiful, from the 22 year old she was when they first met. Teasing smiles and flirty comments as she coaxed him out to a bar with her.

Emily always lamented aging, wondering where the time had gone. More self conscious now than she had been the entire time he had known her. All he saw in lines on her face that she thought made her look old was all the laughter and joy they’d had over the years. She was softer now, her hips wider, evidence that she had given him two of their children that made him find her even more attractive. The grey flecks in her hair, that he knew she’d get dyed again soon, that showed him just how long they had loved each other.

They had been together 31 years and sometimes Aaron felt every moment of it, every single thing that had happened to them since she kissed him at one of her mother’s events. It somehow also had passed in the blink of an eye, decades gone in seconds and he was still somehow lucky enough to have her by his side.

“You’re staring.” She says, pulling him out of his thoughts with an amused look on her face and a teasing tone to her voice.

He pulls her into his arms again, kisses her cheek, then her nose. Making her laugh as she tries to squirm away from him. “You’re beautiful.”

Emily rolls her eyes at him. “You’re ridiculous.” _________________

Ameila smiles shakily at her mother as she walks into her room. Emily walks over to her bed and climbs in on the spare side, settling down for the night. She lays on her side and looks at Amelia, tucking some hair behind her ear. “How are you doing, sweetie?”

Amelia sniffs, suppressing a sarcastic laugh. “I’ve been better.” She settles into her mother’s side, resting her head on her shoulder. In the darkness of her bedroom, with Emily’s arms wrapped tightly around her, she finally feels like she can admit the truth. “It’s because I wouldn’t have sex with him.”

“What do you mean?”

Amelia closes her eyes as she catches the tone in her mother’s voice, the dangerous edge to it that she was so rarely on the receiving end of. She had only ever really overheard it when she was talking to someone about work over the phone, or one the rare occasion her parents had a full blown row, their angry voices soon turning into other noises that Amelia thanked whoever was listening for the invention of noise cancelling headphones.

“That’s why he broke up with me.” Amela says, feeling tears build back up in her eyes. “Because I wouldn’t sleep with him.”

She feels her mother’s hold on her tighten, and the sharp intake of breath that she takes beneath her head. Emily kisses the top of her head. “You’re ok, sweetheart. Go to sleep.”

Amelia drifts off to the feel of her mother stroking her hair, something she hadn’t had happen since she was younger. She was surprised to realise how much she had missed it, regret for how she had started to rebuff her mother’s affection a few years back building in her chest. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too.” Another kiss to the top of her head. “Now get some sleep.”

She falls asleep, completely unaware of how Emily laid awake for hours, anger for a teenage boy she had only met once burning through her veins until she came up with a plan. _________________

Emily wakes in the morning to the sound of Amelia’s door opening. She opens her eyes to see her husband standing there, a takeout coffee holder in his hand, and an unsure look on his face.

She smiles at him as she sits up in bed and beckons him in. He switches the light on, which immediately wakes Amelia, her groans the first indication that she was up.

“Morning, sweetheart.” Aaron says kissing his wife before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Morning.” She murmurs against his lips, before lifting the coffee she knew was intended for her. Cold brew with enough sweetener in it to rot your teeth.

“You guys suck.” Amelia groans from below the comforter, voice still thick with sleep.

Emily chuckles. “I think you’ll change your mind when you see what your dad has brought you.”

Amelia lifts the comforter from off of her face and shoots up when she sees her favourite frappuccino in her fathers hands. “Dad, you are the best.” She takes a sip and moans, the sugar hitting her tongue. “No wonder Mom has put up with you so long.”

Aaron laughs, glad to see that she seemed her usual self after how devastated she had been the night before. “Are you ok, Mia?”

She smiles at her dad, a shaky thing that was always the first indicator from his wife and daughter that tears were on the horizon. “I will be.” ______________

Emily’s first thought is to set Penelope on Chase. Let her hack into his social media accounts and digitally ruin his life for upsetting her little girl. For trying to pressure her into something she didn’t want to do. She knew Penelope would do it without a second thought. She was the most trusted confidant of all of the younger Hotchner's outside of their parents. Jack had asked for her help planning his over the top proposal to his now wife. Theo had come out to her first, a nervous teenager in her office asking for help on how he could tell his parents. Amelia went to her for advice on everything from boys to elaborate hairstyles, and Penelope gently discouraged her from dying her hair bright purple when she was 13, knowing it would have given Aaron an aneurysm.

Emily was finishing getting ready for work, Amelia already on her way to school, as she started to formulate a text to her friend, a cryptic request to come see her as soon as she got to work, when Aaron snuck up on her in the kitchen.

“You can’t get Penelope to ruin his life.”

Emily jumps, cursing under her breath. “Damn it, Aaron.” She turns to look at him, a sheepish look on her face. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything of the sort.”

“Oh really?” He raises an eyebrow at her. “You weren’t thinking of having her hack all of his social media accounts and freeze his bank account?”

Emily flushes and puts her phone down on the counter. “I can’t just let him get away with it.”

Aaron smiles at her and pulls her towards him with his hands on her hips. “Baby, this is something we have to let her deal with ok?” He kisses her cheek, his smile deepening as she narrows her eyes at him. “No getting Penelope involved.”

“Fine.”

Plan B it was. _________________

Emily is never happier than when she has all of her family in her house. The boys were coming round for dinner, Jack and his wife Sara and Theo and his new boyfriend Zach, someone he had met at college. Theo texted her that morning, a list of strict instructions of things that absolutely couldn’t happen the first time Zach was meeting the family.

She had just let them in, hugging her son fiercely as he walked in and feeling love bloom in her chest when he hugged her back just as tightly, no embarrassment at giving his mother this affection in front of Zach.

She lets him go and turns to the young man standing next to her son. “You must be Zach, I’m Emily.”

He shakes her hand, a nervous smile on his face. “Nice to meet you.”

Amelia bursts into the house, slamming the front door behind her, and immediately breaks the first rule on Theo’s list. “Мама, какого хрена?”

“Не сейчас, милая. У нас гости. И не ругайся.” Emily replies, tilting her head towards where Theo and Zach were standing.

“Ты должен был подумать об этом, прежде чем угрожать моему бывшему парню!”

Zach leans in to Theo, a confused look on his face. “Are they speaking Russian?”

Theo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so, and looks at his boyfriend. “Yes.” He turns to his mother. “Ne pouvons-nous pas le faire? C'est la première fois que Zach rencontre tout le monde.”

Amelia rolls her eyes and Emily smiles at Theo. “Je suis désolé, chérie. On va bien se comporter.”

“Are you speaking French?” Zach asks, looking even more confused at the complete nonchalonce all of the Hotchner’s were showing at the multiple languages being thrown around as if it was nothing. The slight look of amusement on Aaron’s face as he walked into the room. “How many languages does your mom speak?”

Theo grabs his boyfriend's hand and leads him further into the house, away from the rest of the family. “Six. Seven if you include English.” _________________

Emily eyes Sara curiously when she turns down wine with her dinner, a small look passes between her and Jack when she asks for soda instead. Emily shares a similar look with her own husband, a look on his face saying he had spotted what she had too, and she gladly gets an alternative drink for her daughter-in-law.

Amelia sulks all the way through dinner. Rebuffing her brother’s questions about school, a glare fixed on her mother almost the entire time. It’s when she refuses her favourite dessert, cheesecake, that her brother’s interest is piqued.

“Mills.” Theo asks, amusement on his face at his sister’s behaviour. “What’s up with you?”

“Why don’t you ask Mom?” She said, pointedly looking at her mother. “Мама пытается разрушить мою жизнь, вот в чем дело.”

“I did not try and ruin your life, Amelia.” She says, rolling her eyes at her daughter's dramatics. She looks at her sons and their respective partners. “All I did was have a conversation with the boy who made Amelia cry herself to sleep a couple of days ago.”

“Yeah. By explaining that you’re a Section Chief at the FBI, whilst you had your gun and badge on display.” Amelia exclaims.

There was a moment of silence at the table before it descended into laughter, confusion all over Zach’s face on whatever he had walked into.

“Oh sweetheart.” Aaron says, looping his arm around the back of her chair to place a hand on her shoulder. “Not again.”

Amelia frowns, looking at her parents in shock. “Not again? What the hell does that mean?”

“Mom’s crazy, Millie.” Theo says, a laugh bursting out of him.

“Hey, I resent that.” Emily says, sinking back into her chair slightly, glaring at Aaron when he laughs at her and kisses the side of her head.

Jack gives Emily a look with his eyebrows raised before looking back at his sister. “My first ever girlfriend broke up with me the day before homecoming, Mom scared the absolute shit out of her by showing up at her cheerleading practise the following day. She somehow managed to mention that Dad once killed a guy with his bare hands.”

“Your dad did what?” Zach asks, leaning in to Theo who just shook his head. A silent promise that he’d explain later.

“In my defence.” Emily says, crossing her arms across her chest, a slight flush to her face. “This one was really sick at the time and I was pretty sleep deprived.” She says pointing at Amelia. “I wasn’t entirely in control of my emotions, and you were just so sad.”

“She also made me very aware of what she does for a living when Jack and I first moved in together.” Sara pipes up, nothing but amusement on her face when she looks at her mother-in-law. She turns back to Amelia. “I think it’s sweet.”

Amelia shakes her head at them all and turns to Zach. “Run whilst you still can.” __________________

Emily closes the door behind Jack and Sara as they leave, promises of getting together soon uttered in between lingering hugs.

“Mom?”

Emily turns to see Amelia standing behind her, her hands in her pockets as she avoids her mother’s gaze. It’s the calmest she’s looked all evening, any frustration she had towards her and her actions having melted away.

“Look, I’m sorry, Amelia.” She says taking a step towards her daughter. “I know I probably shouldn’t have done that. But you were so upset, and he deserved to-”

Her ranting is cut off by Amelia throwing her arms around her waist and placing her head on her shoulder. “Thank you.”

Emily smiles and hugs her daughter back, kissing the top of her head as she pulls her closer. “You’re welcome, sweetie.”

“I always thought it would be Dad, or Theo or Jack who went after a boy for me.” She says against her mother’s shirt before she pulls away. “At least I can tell any future guys that my mom is crazy.” _________________

Emily turns to lay on her side as Aaron joins her in bed, she smiles at him and pushes some hair off of his forehead before running her blunt nails over his temples, the mix of dark and grey hair rasping as she goes. “When do you think Jack and Sara are going to tell us she’s pregnant?”

A laugh peels out of Aaron before he leans forward and kisses her, pulling back only to press his forehead against hers. “Whenever they are ready.”

Emily shifts so her back is against him and pulls his arm over her waist, sighing when he settles his chest against her. “You’d think they’d learn they can’t hide anything from us.”

He kisses the top of her head and holds her a little tighter. “We’ve got some pretty great kids.”

“We really do.”

“You have got to stop threatening anyone who hurts them though.”

“Sure, love.” She says, pulling his hand up to her lips to kiss his knuckles. “I’ll stop.”

They both know she won’t.

#hotchniss #Hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fan fiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #WTB Universe #Day-to-Day #it's just fluff guys #family fluff #domestic fluff #just them living their lives #which frankly they deserve #after what I put them through in ITSWM

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maplecornia · 3 years ago

Text

chapter 16

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 4.12K

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: okay DAYUM i must've on something when writing this because BOOM is it SPOICY

He takes you to a gazebo, a secluded hidden porch behind a grove. You can't see much through the shower, but you can tell that it's exquisitely made. The faded paint on the wood adds an antique look to the strong structure. The wood is molded and manipulated to create designs around the gazebo. Designs, and curves that are heavily accented by the vegetation growing around it.

As you draw nearer, you marvel at the way the rain manages to make it look even more gorgeous, the fat drops joining together and dripping off of every side making it seem as though there were tiny miniature waterfalls made just for it.

The trees around the gazebo shield the wind and the rain, so it's warm here, a small shelter within the storm. The scent of wet wood fills your nostrils, mixing with the aroma of wet grass and bark from outside. It reminds you of days spent on the porch back when you were a child. On either side of the gazebo, secured immaculately against the walls, there are two long benches of mahogany.

Taehyung carries you to the one on the right side, setting you down softly. You let yourself down easily, your hands trailing off his skin and resting at your sides once you are secure. Taehyung tries to ignore the way it sends shivers down his spine, and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck before pulling away.

Luckily, you are too distracted admiring the bench beside you.

The wood isn't splintery like most; it's smooth, no doubt coated with a thin sheet of resin so that it would look nice and polished. You let out a small gasp at the gazebo’s amazing artistic structure, praising whoever created it.

Though simple, it’s very detailed and beautiful.

You run your hands over it briefly before reluctantly pulling away and removing the many things you carry on your back. Taehyung helps you out, taking your coat without a word and carrying it over to the left bench, where he lays it out to dry. You remove the backpack and satchel, setting them down beside you.

Turning to him, you open your mouth to try and catch his attention. But as soon as you catch sight of him, you falter, your mouth going dry.

With his back to you, Taehyung has removed his hat, shaking out his drenched hair before setting it down on top of your coat. He then proceeds to remove his sweatshirt, pulling it over his head, and plopping it down next to your drying coat. However, it sticks to the T-shirt beneath and he manages to pull that halfway over his head before it drops.

Giving you a perfect view of his toned back, slick with rainwater.

You swallow hard at the sight, the image of the rainwater accenting and highlighting those perfectly robust muscles annoyingly refusing to erase itself from your mind.

As he begins to turn around, you have to look away, praying to God that he doesn't notice how red you're turning.

Thankfully, he doesn't, but he does look at you in confused amusement before his gaze travels to his backpack you hold tightly in your lap. He smirks, glancing at you.

“Is that for me?” his question startles you, and you jump a bit before looking up at him.

For a moment, you have no idea what he’s talking about, and you look up at him with wide-eyed bewilderment. He widens his eyes too, a bit mockingly, before gesturing towards the backpack. Still confused, you look down at your lap and start with the realization.

He wants his backpack.

Damn girl, what did you think he was asking for?

Embarrassment rising with a hot flame, you nod meekly, holding it out to him. Smiling, he takes it out of your hands, turning around to set it on the bench as he rummages through it, making sure none of the rain got on any precious items or papers. As he does it reminds you that you should probably do the same, and as you turn to your satchel, you groan a bit at the thought. You know things are bound to be bad there, and at the thought the dread grows deeper in your gut, twisting like a cruel knife.

Sighing, you slide the satchel over to you and place it in your lap, before unzipping it and looking at the hell which befalls you.

There’s the shoe you put in the bag rather haphazardly, and you take it out now, beating off the dirt and dust gathered from the ground. You use the bench, making a hollow beating sound against the wood. Tae glances over his shoulder, a bit surprised, chuckling with amusement as he sees the sight. You don't notice the glance before he turns away, just continue your task until you feel satisfied that it is finished. Nodding a bit, you place the shoe beside you on the bench and turn back to the bag.

Taehyung sets down his backpack, and turns to you, letting out a soft sigh. You don't notice as he watches you with unveiled amusement, chuckling softly at each facial expression you wear so carelessly on your sleeve. He walks over to you and sits down softly on the empty bench seat. You're too focused on your task, so when he glances over your shoulder to peer at what you're doing, you have no recollection of it.

As your hands pass over your sketchbook, your stomach churns with despair. Heart pounding with foreboding, you set your satchel carefully on the wooden plated floor, pulling it out. You take a deep breath setting it in your lap before opening it into your world of wonder and creativity.

Beside you, Taehyung takes in every drawing, every sketch, struck silent by awe and amazement. He finds every single creation, every movement your pencil made, every line, to be beautiful. Almost exquisite. He can see how much care and preparation you put into every idea, even the ones you hardly thought about at all.

Each one holds a purpose, a story behind it.

He wishes that he could look through each one for a bit longer. He wishes that you wouldn't flip through them as though they were useless or too ugly to look at, mere pages you have already seen, already read. Because he hasn't seen them, he hasn't read them, he hasn't been able to experience this particular part of you.

He hasn't had the chance to.

You hardly notice the glance or the change in attitude beside you. You're too distracted by the next page you turn over.

Your recent sketch.

The one you've been working on this whole day.

Ruined.

It received the worst from the rain, fat blotches of dried rainwater seeping into the paper, mixing with the pencils' soft touch. Blending the light shades with the dark shades, and causing it to exude through the protective barrier the thick, constructive paper has and into the next page. It's still a bit damp and as you look at the distorted picture, you find it growing blurrier and blurrier by the second.

And this time, it’s not because of the rain.

As the first tear falls in disappointment, you give a slight start at the sight of it creating another blot on your page.

You hadn’t noticed that you were crying.

Frantically, you quickly wipe the trail off of your cheek and dab at the tear stain on the page before taking a shaky breath. It doesn't help. It just causes the lump in your throat to turn tighter and the tears to begin pushing at the backs of your eyes, longing to break free.

Maybe your real frustration isn’t about the picture at all.

Maybe it's about everything that you have kept inside.

Maybe it’s about him.

But you refuse to let that be the truth.

You said you were fine.

You have to be fine.

Anger and impediment rising behind your tears, you grit your teeth as they escape the cage you have hid them behind for so long. Hot tears of pain and vexation pouring over your cold cheeks, you take the page, wrapping your hands spitefully around the exposition as though that would exude your vendetta. Pulling it frustratingly out of your sketchbook, you shake with aggravation at the sight of it.

Blaming it for your fate, blaming it for your weakness when you know it’s your fault.

It’s always your fault.

Swallowing hard, you take a breath before crumbling it in your hands. Hopelessness gripping you like a parasite, you exhale shakily, more tears dotting your vision as they threaten to spill over on top of everything else.

“Stop!”

You freeze as his hands cover yours, immobilizing you. The cage closing once more, and your tears slowing their destructive path, you slowly turn to him in shock.

You had forgotten he was there.

Taehyung looks at you in concern. His eyes are filled with worry, pain, empathetic sorrow. He purses his lips together, carefully unfolding the tight grip you have around your crumpled-up paper, but never letting go of your eyes.

He uncurls your fingers one by one, his nimble touch careful and gentle against your skin, soothing. With just one touch, he erases any worries you have had before, making them seem like a far-off dream instead of a recent scar. He only looks away once and that is to see the crumpled up piece of paper in your hands, as he slowly takes it out, and removes his hands from yours. He begins to uncrumple it and you lower your eyes to it, your heart hurting at the sight of what you've done.

It was all for nothing.

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to let your tears spill over once again.

You watch as he uncrumples the piece of paper, smoothing it out on his leg. He sighs as he sees it, and you watch him with wide miserable eyes. Eyes that search for reasons why. Even now you're nervous as he stares at it, taking it in.

“Why did you do that?” he asks softly before turning back to the paper and giving it a small, sad smile. “It was beautiful.”

You sigh, looking away and at your folded hands.

Why do you still care? It shouldn’t matter anymore.

“It's ruined.” You say, coldly, and his head snaps to you. You swallow hard, giving him a small smile, but you know that it doesn't reach your eyes.

“It was all for nothing.” You whisper, under your breath, your voice breaking at the end. It doesn’t help that he is looking at you as though your words wound him. You take a shaky breath before turning away and leaning down to zip up your satchel.

“No, it’s not.” He says softly but firmly beside you. You scoff before rising and turning on him swiftly.

“What do you--” you falter as you raise your eyes to him, startled by how close he is to you. He’s not even looking at you, his gaze is completely focused on your drawing as he holds it almost devotedly within his fingers.

“Look.” He instructs you, giving you the smallest glance and you let out a small exhale of breath. You can see his slight smirk as he looks away, and you know that he saw your little panic attack at how close he was. You wait a bit before, almost reluctantly, you lean close, jostling his shoulder with yours.

“This might not be what you intended by the sketch, but it's what it made me feel.” He explains, and you nod slightly. He takes a slight pause, softly shaking his head before continuing, one thought churning in his mind.

She doesn’t know, does she?

“You made her look like she was in pain, as though she lost something, or was trying to save something and failed. The anguish and agony on her face can stir something in your heart, something that can't exactly be described. It was as though just looking at it...my heart was being torn out of my body, broken, and then put back as though nothing had happened. As though everything would be okay as long as it was returned to me, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Everything seemed worse. Now I knew her pain, now I knew her heartache, and there was no way to cure it. No way to fix what I had broken. But that’s not all. It was as though she were alone, as though she were lost. As though there were no one left to show her the way.”

He breaks off at the end, as though gathering his thoughts, or too overwhelmed with emotion to say anything else.

You glance at him as he pauses, an unspeakable expression on your face.

You made him feel that?

How could he know so much without knowing anything at all?

“I know you think that the rain destroyed it, but I think it needed that extra touch. I think that that’s what it was missing. It adds a faded look, a sort of detachment, something that expresses her self-hatred, her pain, her anguish. It's that one moment where nothing makes sense, where the whole world is completely and utterly messed up. Where you're….” He trails as though searching for the right words to say, but you already know them.

“Lost.” You finish for him.

Bewitched, you reach out and touch the soft paper as though seeing it through new eyes. He looks at you, a bit shocked at how you read his mind, but it quickly turns into a soft smile and he nods, looking back to the sketch.

“Yeah, and you’re lucky because the rain didn't get rid of the features on the girl's face, nor the pile of bones she’s kneeling on, so the message still comes across. Even after you crumpled the paper up, the texture still manages to add a sort of obscure and sinister look which deepens the agony she is experiencing.” He says, nudging you a bit accusingly, still not happy that you crumpled it the way you did. You nudge him back, chuckling softly before glancing up at him from underneath your lashes.

“Keep it. If not for yourself, then keep it for me.” He says, biting his bottom lip as he holds you within that alluring gaze.

“Why?” you ask, looking from it to him, still a bit unsure.

“Because…” He falters, finding it hard to explain his attachment to the drawing. As though he's searching for a way to voice his emotions.

You search his face, trying to find the secret and unveil it. It's as though he’s put up a shield to block all his emotions from you. A hidden mask over his face makes it near to impossible to read him.

“Does it matter? I mean I don't want you to throw away such a beautiful piece of work. Even through the rain, some things are still beautiful. Sometimes even more so than they were before.” He turns to you, offering you the ripped page. After a moment of hesitation, you take it from him, exhaling a small breath.

Maybe he is right, maybe these flaws, these damages are what make it special.

“Okay.” You agree, giving him a small mischievous smile over your shoulder. “But on only one condition.”

He nods, holding his hand over his heart and one in the air beside him as though he were pledging a promise. Smiling, you high five his hand, wrapping your fingers around it and smirking up at him as his eyes open and he looks down at you in amusement. He raises an eyebrow at your expression, tilting his head in mock interest.

“Well?” he asks, leaning his head down a bit to yours as if trying to belittle or intimidate you. “Name your poison.”

“You have to sign it.” You say, pulling your hand away from his and extending your pinky finger instead. "Promise?"

His hand hovers in the air for a moment at your absence before he links his pinky finger with yours and smiles.

“Is that all?” he asks, and you nod, biting the inside of your cheek with excitement. He chuckles softly before finishing your promise, touching the two of your thumbs together in a simple link. "Then I promise."

You look at him from above your linked fingers, and when his eyes meet yours you can't help but let out a delighted laugh. You pull away, holding the paper towards him, and raise your eyebrow.

"Well?" you inquire, and he chuckles, shaking his head slightly, as he whips out a pen from his pocket.

“Do you just have those wherever you go?” you ask incredulously, and he rolls his eyes. He quickly signs the back of the paper before handing it to you. You take and turn it over to look at his signature, still a bit wet from the ink. He pockets the pen before looking at you and tapping the signed paper.

“Now you definitely can't lose it, little Michelangelo.” He instructs with superiority, and you scoff a bit at the nickname before turning to look at him dubiously.

“Why not?” He meets your gaze with those mysterious eyes, eyes that could find the key to your soul if they tried hard enough, and you try your hardest to ignore the way they melt your heart.

“Because now there’s a part of me on it.” He says quite simply even when the words aren't simple at all. You stare at him, uncertain. Unsure of what to say, unsure of how to react.

So you stare.

Your heart is beating so fast, but it's like you can't even feel it at all. You hardly notice as the two of you seem to draw closer and closer to each other. As though you were two magnets who are drawn together by some invisible string which neither one of you can see, but can certainly feel.

At this moment, you notice everything about him.

The way his eyelashes curl at the corner of his eye, making them seem almost catlike in their almond shape. The way the rain has made his skin look even softer, even smoother, how he seems to radiate beauty. The way his eyelids have this soft shadow around them, so soft that you know it can't possibly be makeup, but still noticeable enough to make his eyes pop out. This close, you can see the small copper flecks, the ones that turn his eyes that amber color. The ones that sparkle in the sunlight every time it rests on his face.

You see the new things too, things you never realized before.

Like how his hair slowly curls around his temple.

Or how every time he looks at you, his eyelids slowly lower and he regards you with a hazy look. A look that makes your heart beat faster than you thought possible.

Or how whenever he does his silly habit of licking his lips, it turns them more red and noticeable and…

A honk of a car horn in the far distance startles you and you immediately break apart, the small connection vanishing as well.

You stand, dropping the sketch securely on top of your satchel, and wander to the other side of the gorgeous gazebo, the pain in your ankle almost fading completely away. You smile to yourself at the sight of the car there, narrowing your eyes as you try to identify it. You don't know much about cars, but from what you can see it looks small and black. Not small enough to be a sports car, but just small enough to be considered….a minivan perhaps. Maybe a Suburban….a car that reminds you of the ones that BTS use…

Your eyes widening in realization, you turn to look at Taehyung.

It can't be.

He’s not looking at you, he’s staring at the screen of his phone, mouthing a string of curse words. As he glances up and sees your expression, he swallows hard, almost guiltily. He opens his mouth to say something, but the car honks once more and you turn around as Tae stands swiftly, your heart beating fast at your newfound analogy.

He didn't tell anybody he was leaving….did he?

Well, why would he?

He was on the bus for heaven's sake, you should have known he was out there without anybody knowing. If any member of BTS wanted to go anywhere, they certainly wouldn't travel by community bus. They couldn't, for fear of being recognized.

You want to kick yourself for not thinking of this sooner. Instead of being rational, you were too distracted by the idol to think of anything else. What could the people at BigHit possibly be thinking right now?

That he's been kidnapped?

That he's run off?

Or perhaps it's something worse. Besides, how much trouble would you be in if they got the wrong idea? Especially considering your new position…

You're so stupid.

Taehyung brushes past you, hurrying over to the bench and quickly packing his stuff. He pulls his sweatshirt over his head and secures his cap as you give him a perplexed look.

“Taehyung--” you start just as he pulls your coat off of the bench and turns to you, his eyes intense and filled with urgency. He places the coat around your shoulders and stares deep into your eyes, his frantic panic clear on his face.

“We have to go.” He hisses, brushing past you and pulling your satchel out from under the bench. He gathers the stuff you had out drying, and places them into the satchel carefully, along with your sketch. Frustrated, you shove your arms into the coat and sigh.

“Go where? In case you haven't noticed, there’s a storm happening outside. Besides, who is that anyway?” you snap, annoyed at yourself and a bit at him as well. He shakes his head, zipping up your satchel and turning to you. You can see that he’s piqued as well, maybe even frustrated and you wonder why.

He’s the one who wasn't being safe.

Who knows how many people are out there that want to hurt him? Or how many fans he has that would notice him even with the cap on his head? He was putting himself in jeopardy and to what?

To ride on the bus?

That can't be it.

“I don't care.” He says, placing the satchel over your shoulders as well and taking you by the hand. “We have to go.”

You were right when you said his reason wasn't to ride on the bus.

He left without saying anything to anybody...

When he wasn't done with his day of work...

When he still had many things on his schedule...

He did all of that just so that he could meet you.

Just so that he could tell you that he heard you sing, give you the flash drive of your voice, the flash drive he still holds in his pocket. And yet...he still hasn't found the right way to tell you. The right way to give it to you, the right way to say what he wanted to say.

That when he heard you sing, when he heard your voice, he felt as though he wasn't alone. He felt as though there was someone else out there who understood. Someone different from Jimin, from BTS…

Someone who could feel what he felt, and understand who he was.

That your voice aroused those emotions in his heart, in a way that had never happened to him before.

How you have a gift, and it was the gift that brought him to you.

As he drags you behind him, darting towards the entrance, you give out a slight cry of surprise stumbling after him with your bruised ankle.

However, he doesn't get that far, stopping in his tracks after a few steps.

You don't notice, staring at your feet and begging them to cooperate, so you run smack dab into his back, letting out a small shriek. You pull back, rubbing your nose and glaring at him, but the look on his face stops you in your tracks.

He’s frozen on the spot, his eyes wide with panic. You furrow your brow, before turning to look at what he’s so fixated on and nearly pee your pants. You curse under your breath at the sight, looking up to the sky as though God could help you in this situation.

What have you gotten yourself into this time?

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: pretty spoicy no? (¬‿¬) the PART 2 version

chapter 17 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

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gavlaoflightandshadow · 3 years ago

Text

My (bad) submission to @malwarewolf-mocs fic writing contest. Its the first fic I've written in like, a decade, and its actually my second go at writing something for this contest. Got 2000 words into the first attempt before I realized the plot was going nowhere and made very little progress for at least a week so back to the drawing board. Anyway here is the Great Being's Plea to the Lord of Sand, or the One where Velika Bends the Truth a Little (a lot). Please don't be gentle.

“I come to you today with bittersweet tidings. My long exile, my journey of 100,000 years , has at last ended, and I have returned to be amongst my people once more, but my return comes at a terrible price. I bring with me abominations, cursed beings, unalive, yet walking as though they contain the divine spark, treading upon our once shattered world. How did it come to this?

It began with the destruction of the Tribe of Iron, torn apart by a plague of madness, dreams stolen by a creeping illness. At least, this is the story you were told, Harena, but it is not the whole truth. It was not a sickness that destroyed our Iron kindred, but a being from another world, a hungry spirit of woe, she devoured their wishes and left their minds scarred and twisted. We found her, deep below the ruins of their village, and when she attempted to feed from us, she found our minds…unpalatable. We dreamed in ways she could not understand, so instead we fed from her, propelling us to heights we could not have imagined. Greedily we drank from her well, and from our studies of this being we created great things, and from our creations we gave gifts to the people of this world. We extended our lives far beyond the limits of evolution, enhanced the gifts of nature, adapted our people to their environments that they would flourish. The Agori looked to us for our wisdom, and called us Great Beings, a title we wore with pride. This was the height of our power, and our hubris shown brighter than the suns.

You know, of course, what happened next. We grew tired of the adoration and responsibility of rule, so we created you, the Element Lords, to lead in our stead. Our energies fully turned towards creation, we became blind to the crude matters of the world, until ‘it’ was discovered. Our salvation and undoing, the miracle. Energized Protodermis, strange matter, capable of creation or destruction, seemingly at whim. We learned the true power of destiny, and as your war raged, and our attempts to mediate peace failed again and again, we set to work on what was to be our greatest creation, a Great Spirit to restore this world following its inevitable doom. We were powerless to stop the Shattering, but we would make it right, that we swore.

The Great Spirit. Our noble work. My greatest failure. Overcome by curiosity, I decided to observe the great machine from within, transferring my mind and soul into the body of a Matoran, dim reflections of the Agori, biomechanical automatons tasked with the work of keeping our creation alive. What I could not have foreseen was the effect of my presence. These machines, never meant to be more than drones, began to feel. Abominations, perversions of our grand design. Have you ever wondered, Harena, what would happen if the grains of sand that make up the form we gave you came to life? I now know the answer to that question, as our plan to heal this world nearly became its final doom.

Mata Nui was created to restore life, and so we designed him approximate a living being, though at many orders of magnitude greater a scale. Energized Protodermis as his blood, Matoran as his cells, and like any living being, a vulnerability to disease. To protect him against cosmic ills, we created guardians to act as his immune system. The Toa, taken from the multitudes of Matoran, and changed to be more like yourself, and at the height of his health, thousands of them roamed his colossal body. These beings now walk openly upon Spherus Magna, our home. Imagine it, Harena. Armies of warriors, each imbued with the power of the elements, marching across the desert. The Agori and Glatorian would stand little chance in the face of their onslaught, to say nothing of your own people, regressed and primitive as they have become. Foreseeing the threat such beings would pose, even before the construction of the Great Spirit was complete, I devised a countermeasure. A being of protodermis, everything they were, everything they could never be, encased in armor blacker than the firmament, bound by protocol and precepts, tasked with the destruction of these Toa. I created salvation. I created Marendar.

Marendar, the ultimate enemy of the Toa, my greatest creation. Another failure. Surprised? While I journeyed through the stars, trapped in my cage of living protodermis, my brother remained here, on what was then Bara Magna. Angonce, his judgment always outweighed by his “better nature”, his mercy and sentimentality. He was unwilling to simply let Marendar carry out his duty, and instead chose to meddle in my designs of salvation. He gave Marendar a spark, turning him from a glorious tool of my design into yet another protodermic abomination. When Marendar broke free of his own prison, it was not the Toa that brought him low, but a Turaga of Stone, once a Toa himself, now bereft of his great power. With words as his weapon, he wove my creation a false tale of heroism and hope, of imperfect, broken beings, of legends never meant to be, and corrupted his precepts. Now he wanders the desert alone, guarding the dunes. He stands with the Toa as their “brother”, as though beings created as they are could even begin to understand brotherhood, the bonds of family and tribe.

The Toa and Matoran are not the only dangerous beings to have emerged from the decaying body of the Great Spirit. Some I have already dealt with personally. First was Tren Krom, Mata Nui’s predecessor, and the reason all of our later creations were flesh and metal combined. Then fell Karzahni, created to repair and maintain the Matoran, driven mad by his own incompetence. I attempted also to eliminate his counterpart, but in my Matoran form, without the advantage of my opponent being either insane or fatally naive, they were able to elude my attacks.

I can sense your confusion now, as the being that stands before is not one of protodermis, but of flesh and bone. It was a simple enough matter to uncover one of my old laboratories, even buried beneath a hundred millennia of windswept sands. Luring a Vorox to my lair was simpler still. You needn’t look so enraged, Harena, I did not subject the poor fallen creature to the same fate as I suffered. After swapping my Matoran form with his own, I shattered the mask that served as my face through these many centuries since the Shattering, and stayed with him as his bestial snarls faded. He did not die alone, and if I have my way, he will not have died in vain. I will admit, however, that his form did not entirely suit me, so I have made…improvements to the original design, so to speak. The fight ahead will require strength not found in the common desert dwellers.

I am sure you wondering why I have told you all of this, recounted the mainy failures of me and my brothers and sisters, the faults and follies of the Great Beings. The answer is itself a question: who truly deserves to stand tall on our home made whole, who have lost more than any other? The Matoran have lived for millennia in a paradise, and what has happened to your people? To our people? Have you not suffered enough? Have the Vorox not suffered enough? Even now, your lieutenant gathers his warriors in the north to march for the wretched nest of these usurpers, do they not deserve a mighty general at their head? I ask you again, who truly deserves to rule the dunes, to hold sovereignty over the trees, and to be guardian over the seas? What I ask of you is simple. Harena, Lord of Sands, Queen of the Vorox, will you join me in ridding our world of that which doesn’t belong? Will you help me commit them to grave? Will you not take that which is owed to you?”

The Great Being fell silent, eyes fixed upon the mass of sand upon the worn throne. Slowly, the mass coalesced, a torso, limbs, a bladed tail emerging from the dust, red eyes burning behind a spiked mask. The figure rose from the throne without a word, and knelt before the fallen scientist-king.

“Velika,” she said, in a voice as dry as the Barrens she once ruled, “tell me what must be done.”

#bionicle #I gave the Element Lord of Sand a name and she's illegal on iOS now. Bad Joke.#I couldnt help but to end on a cliffhanger im sorry

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hello-yue-here · 3 years ago

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thank you @chiptrillino for tagging me in a wip game!

not quite sure what the rules are but based off of your AMAZING POST OF ART WIPS (check it out here yall chip is so talented) ive decided to just share some parts of my writing wips that i rlly like because i cannot draw whatsoever lmao

enjoy some lil snippets hehe

from heart don't stand a chance:

"Zuko couldn’t get over her eyes. She was looking past the camera towards the man who took it. Zuko could see clear as day the love she held for Sokka in her gaze.

It was a perfect moment that Sokka had captured. No wonder held it with him at all times. If someone had looked at Zuko like that, he’d never want to see anything again.

As he took in the photograph, Sokka sat next to him in silence. His hand was clutching the ring around his neck again in his fist, pressing it close to his mouth as he peered over Zuko’s shoulder to look. Zuko turned to him to compliment the picture and saw a sad fondness lingering in his eyes."

this is a scene i wrote a while ago thats gonna appear in a much later chapter. but yeah. more yue angst for you guys im so sorry.

from i love you (and that's all i really know):

"Mister Sokka," a little voice wishpered in his ear as he felt tiny pokes on his cheek, "Wake up Mister Sokka."

"Good morning to you too Izumi," Sokka responded wearily as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He looked towards the little girl who was standing on her tippy toes to see over the edge of the bed and poke his face until he rose.

She smiled at him once she realized he was awake.

"Can we have pancakes?" She asked shyly, hiding her mouth just below the edge of the bed as she looked up at him with hopeful eyes.

That look was going to be dangerous for him later on, he could aready tell.

"Sure thing, Izumi, just let me sleep for five more minutes, mkay?" He asked as he shut his eyes again. He was exhausted from last nights events, and the sun had barely risen. How did Zuko do this?"

this is a scene from the next chapter of this fic. so much sokka and izumi bonding you guys are gonna explode hehehe.

from cherry (the mailee fic i wont shut up about that is now a whopping 19 pages):

"Mai never had to guess with Ty Lee. She always knew when Ty Lee was happy about something because she would use an obnoxious amount of exclamation points. She would send gifs of people or cartoons making outlandish expressions whenever she wanted to react to Mai’s text with a specific facial expression. Sometimes Ty Lee would even send voice memos whenever her thoughts became too long, or she got too excited about a story that her fingers couldn’t type as fast as she could speak."

hehe i love mailee.

from yours (the mailee sorority fic that i promise i did not forget about):

"Mai lifted her head off the pillow again and met Zuko’s eyes. She studied his impassive expression, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. He did seem like he missed Mai and Azula, so maybe he did really just want to catch up with them.

But Mai wasn’t going to give up a golden opportunity like this.

“Tell us everything about the boy toy as well and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Mai said.

Zuko rolled his eyes and sighed, “Ugh, fine. And his name is Sokka by the way.”

“Nuance. You also have to wake up Azula.”

“No chance in hell,” Zuko scoffed, “You’re the roommate and her fellow ‘pong princess,’ wake-up duty is all yours.”

“If she murders me, it’s your fault. She’s a bitch when she’s hungover.”

“Whatever you say, Mai,” Zuko grinned before returning back to his phone."

i have decided that zuko is a little shit for this fic and no one can stop me.

from Where'd All the Time Go? (the yuekka fic that i have severe writers block with that i also promis i have not forgotten about):

"“Sokka I really think you need to take a moment and-”

“I am fine Aang, I don’t have time for a feelings talk right now. Right now I need to find the fucking chief of this damn place.” His words came out harsher than he meant, but he didn’t have the time to dwell on that.

Before Sokka could run off again to continue his search, a hand grabbed his arm. One of Arnook’s advisors, Malina, had started dragging him towards the podium.

“Do you not realize how late you are for this Sokka? The ceremony was supposed to begin with your speech nearly an hour ago-” she hissed at him as she pulled him along through the crowd.

“Malina I’m sorry but I really need to speak with Arnook it is urgent-”

“This damn speech of yours is what’s urgent right now Sokka, you can speak with Arnook later but the guests are getting antsy so you need to give your speech right. Now.”

“But-”

“Now.”

Maline shoved Sokka towards the podium and suddenly all eyes were on him. Every guest in attendance had their focus solely on Sokka."

homeboy is stressed in this scene. things are slowly going to shit in this chapter. i promise i will update this before the end of the year. i swear. im so sorry.

from a currently untitled jetko/sukka boiling rock fic:

"“Oh good, you survived after all,” She said in a mocking tone.

Jet didn’t answer. He knew anything he said would be used against him. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what was happening. But he would be damned if he showed that weakness in front of the fire nation.

“I was told you were more talkative than this,” the girl mused. There was something familiar about her, “my informants were very detailed when discussing your little teashop romance.”

I knew it. Jet snarled in his mind, That bastard betrayed me."

i want this fic to be a little darker but idk how good i am at writing darker fics because i love fluff and humor too much. this could be good angst practice for me.

from a toph and sokka fic that i wrote a while back to help me cope w some shit that i dont know if ill ever post:

"“Sokka? Are you still there?” Toph asked, the slightest hint of concern began to slip into their voice

“Tell me a story,” he was trembling. Despite all of his efforts to sound calm, he knew his voice came out trembling and scratchy and pathetic-

“Is everything okay? You don’t sound too hot,” Toph said through the phone.

Breathe, Sokka, breathe. You don’t want them to be worried, you just need to calm down.

“Please, Toph, I just,” he said through shaky breaths that weren’t nearly deep enough for him to be getting enough oxygen, “I just need a distraction. I just need to hear your voice okay?”"

nonbinary toph anyone?

from a 10 things i hate about you kataang and zukka au:

"“What? Something on my face?” the guy asked deadpanned. He rubbed at his scar as if he were wiping off a smudge of mustard, and Aang’s face went pale.

“Stop scaring the sophomores Zuko, this one’s new. He won’t get your… humor… just yet,” Ms. Wu said as she waved Aang off again.

“I’m hurt that you’d imply I’m not funny, Wu. I’m hilarious,” the senior, Zuko, said as he walked past Aang.

Aang let out a sigh of relief knowing that this Zuko guy didn’t seem all that offended by his awkwardness, and darted out of the room."

zuko is a little shit part 2. the amount of sarcasm i have dripping off of heath ledger zuko is glorious. let zuko be a little shit. i havent added to this in months but when i finish some of my other wips i cant wait to get back to this.

i have more wips and drafts saved but none of them have anything juicy or funny or interesting yet because all of them are like less than three pages so far

but yeah, heres a good chunk of sneaky peakys from my wips!

I hope you liked them!

anyone who wants to do this can totally go for it. imma tag @ambykinns @lumities and @flowers-inthepieshop (only if you all want too!!) because this was fun :)

#liv talks about writing #liv talks ab fanfic #liv wips #liv fics #i love sharing my writing #especially when i have a bit of a block going on with well.... every fic #maybe this will give me inspiration!!!#i love sharing my writing im proud of these little snippets and i hope you all likes them as well :)#atla #avatar: the last airbender

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zodiakuroo · 4 years ago

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Break

issei matsukawa x gn!reader

read the warnings twice yeah?

cw: 18+, physical abuse, self-harm, mental illness blood, noncon, toxic relationship

It’s no big deal.

It’s like every other time. The faint scars that line your wrists are evidence of exactly how experienced you are in this act. And yet, it’s somehow different from every other time. The urges have been manageable. With your new healthy coping skills you’ve learned to deal with the pressures of life in ways that don’t involve you injuring yourself. You were doing well too. It’s tragic how just one bad day can destroy your resolve and take away all of your progress.

Your shaky hands hold the blade to your wrist but you can’t bring yourself to break the skin. It’s an oxymoron of sorts; you don’t have the strength to fight off the urge, nor do you have the strength to make the first cut. The pain scares you, it’s been so long you can barely remember how it feels. But the pain is also what you crave; the pain brings release.

You wonder what Mattsun would think. As faded as they are, he’s seen the marks. You know he has. He’s even showered them with kisses on the nights where he made love to you, slow and gentle, savouring every inch of your body no matter how flawed. You recall how he pressed his lips to your skin, how he whispered sweet praises bringing tears to your eyes while his long, thick cock was stretching you open and filling you up completely.

“My perfect fucking baby. Love you so fucking much.”

But he’s never asked you why or when and for that you’re grateful. That was the most shameful part of you. The part of you that you wish you could erase and forget about.

God, if he could see you now, in all your pathetic glory.

“C’mon do it” Your boyfriend’s deep voice echoes around the room. The sharp blade slips from your fingers, clinking against the sink. You didn’t even hear him come in.

Fresh tears start to well up in your already bloodshot, puffy eyes as the humiliation of being caught sets in.

“Issei I- It’s not- I’m not I-“

“Not what?” He should look horrified, disgusted even but instead his expression is blank. His arms are folded across his chest as he leans against the door frame, his large body taking up almost all of the space. . The lack of concern is almost terrifying.

“I’m just- I’m-“ You stammer. How could you possibly explain away what you were about to do? What words could you possibly say that would make him believe that this is not who you are. Not anymore.

“You’re cutting again.”

“No I’m not- I just-“ Rivers of tears run down your cheeks. Hearing him say those words is devastating. For the first time he’s acknowledging how weak you are and always have been.

“Do it. I wanna see.” He doesn’t seem fazed but your emotional display, looking more curious than anything else.

“I- I can’t.” You sniffle, training your eyes on to your feet, physically unable to look him in the face anymore.

“Why not? You used to do it all the time.” He refers to it so casually, downplaying the taboo nature of the habit you thought you broke.

“‘M not supposed to.” Your fingers fidget with the hem of your pajama shorts.

He’s supposed to tell you not to.

“Why not?” He furrows his brows just a little, almost looking genuinely confused. He stalks over to you until you’re rear is pressed right against the sink while Matsukawa’s intimidating figure looms over you.

“It’s bad. I shouldn’t hurt myself.” And yet, even as you say the words, you yourself don’t believe them.

“Aw you’re scared.” He laughs. “How cute.” In a split second his arms are around you, holding you in a tight embrace and kissing the crown of your head. The comfort of his presence is so warm and overwhelming, (especially in your fragile state) that you almost forget what you were doing in the bathroom to begin with.

Almost.

“You need this right? To feel better? Let me help.”

In a split second the warmth of Issei’s body is replaced with the cold, hard ceramic tiles of your bathroom floor. The force of him throwing you down leaves you feeling dizzy and rattled. A dull ache spreads across your skull, throbbing at the point where it made contact with the ground. Before you can find your bearings, he’s straddling you, trapping you in place with both your wrists pinned above your head. The first thing you see as your eyes come into focus is the glint of metal in the harsh light.

You open your mouth to protest but all that that comes out is a loud pained cry as Mattsun delivers 3 cuts to your right arm in quick succession. He is unfazed by the way you wriggle and squirm under his weight because he’s too mesmerised by the way the crimson rivulets flow from his cuts dripping on to the pure white tiles. All you can register is burning pain where he’s sliced you open, sobbing harder now.

Issei brings your bleeding arm above your head, licking and kissing your brand new wounds. He sinks his teeth into your inflamed skin, drawing even more blood from you, groaning at the bitter, metallic taste.

“See? I know what you need.” He smiles down at you with his teeth, lips and chin stained red.

Slowly, he begins rocking his hips and you feel an all too familiar bulge pressing against your abdomen.

“Issei stop!” You shriek trying to fend him off with your left hand.

It’s futile but he doesn’t like that you’re trying fighting him off when he only wants to help. His dick grows harder in his slacks, throbbing as he ruts on top of you ignoring your weak shoves and slaps. Mattsun isn’t satisfied. He needs you to bleed some more for him.

Your left wrist receives the same treatment as the right; swift slices and then he discards the razor. They’re deeper this time so more of the crimson fluid gushes from the wounds. It feels warm as it runs down you skin and drips onto your shirt and face, mixing with your tears.

Mattsukawa thinks you’ve never looked prettier. “Pathetic little wrist cutter.” He groans, moving faster, getting off on the way his cruel words make you cry even more.

“Can’t do anything right. Fuck.” He leans down to lick up the mingled fluids from your cheeks, ignoring the way you plead and beg him to stop. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“Issei please.” You hiccup, powerless to stop him. He has both your hands clutched in one of his big ones and uses the other one to grip your cheeks, forcing your lips into an open mouthed pout.

He latches on to the cuts on your left arm and begins to suckle on them, drawing even more of you into his mouth. He never breaks eye contact while he humps your trembling body while his inevitable organism approaches. You’ve finally stopped screaming. Now you only whimper as the sobs rack your body.

He’s never seen you so broken, so defeated. The light in your eyes is gone. There is only despair and emptiness. He can’t believe you’ve hidden this part of yourself from him for so long. Matsukawa fucking loves you like this.

He leans over you, hips never stopping their motions and spits the fat glob of your blood and his saliva right into the gaping cavern of your mouth. It hits the back of your throat. You cough and sputter but the sounds are swallowed by Mattsun as he shoves his tongue into your mouth forcing you to taste yourself. He spits back whatever he licks up over and over, unbothered by the way your teeth knock against each other and the drool that runs spills from the corners of your mouths.

“Just ask me next time, yeah?” He pants from above you with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and bright red strings of bloody saliva connect your lips. “I’ll cut you up all you want.”

He begins to move more frantically the closer he gets. Meanwhile you can do nothing except lie there and take it. You can’t do anything but let him use your pain to fuel his pleasure. You can’t watch as his faces scrunches up as he floods his boxers with his cum because he’s broken you.

The hot, damp feeling of his crotch against you makes your skin crawl and bile rise in your throat. The stinging pain of the cuts has already faded into dull throb. You thought you had used up all your tears but when you see the new wounds that will turn into new scars, the floodgates open anew.

“There we go baby. ‘S all better now right?”

#tw blood #tw physical abuse #tw noncon #tw self harm #tw mental illness #yandere mattsun x reader #yandere matsukawa issei x reader

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hyuckshaze · 3 years ago

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Drowning in the Distance | Chapter I

✩‌ haechan ‌x‌ ‌fem!reader‌ ‌|‌ terminal illness au! series ✩

SUMMARY‌ ‌⇾‌ confined to a life of detachment from the only people on earth who understand them, the patients of saint evangeline’s can only watch as those around them drown in themselves, in more ways than one, while they themselves drown, in a much more literal sense. haechan is tired, tired of moving from place to place with no real chance of getting better. y/n is tired too, tired of living solely for the purpose of staying alive. maybe, just maybe, despite the space that separates them, they can guide each other to a life worth living.

WARNINGS‌ ‌⇾‌ ongoing theme of terminal illness (cystic fibrosis); talk of christianity, the afterlife, heaven/hell, death; ongoing mention of surgeries, scars, medications, drug trials etc.

CHAPTER WORD COUNT ⇾‌ 7.02k

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

I | Y/N

✩‌

I trace the outline of my sister’s drawing, lungs molded from a sea of flowers. Petals burst out from every edge of the twin ovals in soft pinks, deep whites, even heather blues, but somehow each one has a uniqueness, a vibrancy that feels like it’ll bloom forever. Some of the flowers haven’t blossomed yet, and I can feel the promise of life just waiting to unfold from the tiny buds under the weight of my finger. Those are my favourites. I wonder, all too often, what it would be like to have lungs this healthy. This alive. To feel like I didn’t have to battle my own body every morning in order to make it through the day, to survive. I take a deep breath, feeling the air fight its way in and out of my body. I hold the breath for as long as I can, counting the whole 8 seconds out before coughing and spluttering for a gulp of oxygen. Would I still be cursed in the afterlife? Condemned to a life of struggle beyond life itself? I sigh; I’d once believed in God, in Heaven, but as things got harder and my health got increasingly worse, I couldn’t help but ask myself the big question. What kind of God, a saviour of the people, would leave the world in ruin? Would infect the unborn, the blank canvases, and denounce their lives as less worthy? It seemed too messed up, too abhorrent, to accept. My attention falls back to the art as my hand sinks, slipping off the last petal of the last flower, fingers dragging through the background of stars, each pinpoint of light that Yeji drew a separate attempt to capture infinity. I clear my throat, pulling my hand away, and lean over to grab a picture of us from off my bed. Identical smiles peek out from underneath thick wool scarves, the holiday lights at the park down the street twinkling above our heads just like the stars in her drawing. There was something magical about it. The soft glow of the lampposts in the park, the white snow clinging to the branches of the trees, the quiet stillness of it all. We nearly froze our asses off for that picture last year, but it was our tradition. Me and Yeji, braving the cold to go see the holiday lights together. This photo always makes me remember that feeling. The feeling of going on an adventure with my sister, just the two of us, the world expanding like an open book.

I take a push-pin and display the picture next to the drawing before sitting down on my bed and grabbing my pocket notebook and pencil off my bedside table. My eyes travel down the long to-do list I made for myself this morning, starting with “#1: Plan to-do list,” which I’ve already put a satisfying line through, and going all the way down to “#22: Contemplate the afterlife.” As often as fleeting thoughts on the topic seemed to pop into my head, to fully complete number 22 and come to a fulfilling conclusion was probably just a little ambitious for a Friday afternoon, but at least for now I can cross off number 17, “Decorate walls.” I look around the formerly stark room I’ve spent the better part of the morning making my own, once again, the walls now filled with the artwork that Yeji’s given me through the years, bits of colour and life jumping out from clinical white walls, each one a product of a different trip to the hospital. Me with an IV drip in my arm, the bag bursting with butterflies of different shapes and colours and sizes. Me wearing a nose cannula, the cable twisting to form an infinity sign. Me with my nebulizer, the vapour pouring out of it forming a cloudy halo. Then there’s the most delicate one, a faded tornado of stars that she drew my very first time here. It’s not as polished as her later stuff, but somehow that makes me like it more. And right underneath all that vibrancy is... my pile of medical equipment, sitting right next to a hideous green, plastic hospital chair that comes standard for every room here at Saint Evangeline’s. I eye the empty IV pole warily, knowing my first of many rounds of antibiotics over the next month is exactly an hour and nine minutes away. Lucky me.

“Here it is!” A voice calls from just outside my room. I look up as the door slowly creaks open and two familiar faces appear in the small crack of the doorway. Karina and Tzuyu, my best friends since early childhood, have visited me here a million times in the past decade, and they still can’t get from the reception desk to my usual location without asking every single person, both staff and visitors, in the building for directions.

“Wrong room.” I say, grinning cheekily as a look of pure relief washes over them. Karina laughs, pushing the door open the rest of the way.

“It honestly could’ve been. This place is still a freaking maze. I’ve got no idea how you can remember all the twists and turns.” A small frown tugs at the corners of my lips. Maybe because I’ve spent most of my life here. I brush off the feeling gnawing at my stomach and smile once more.

“You know that it’s almost always 302! Anyway, are you guys excited?” I say, hopping up to give them both hugs. Tzuyu pulls away to look at me, pouting, her dark-brown hair practically drooping along with her.

“Second trip in a row without you.” It’s true. This isn’t the first time my cystic fibrosis has taken me out of the running for some class trip or sunny vacation or school event. About 75% of the time, things are pretty normal for me. I go to school, I hang out with Tzuyu and Karina, I work on my app; I just do it all with low functioning lungs. For the remaining 25% of my time, however, CF controls my life. When I need to return to the hospital, which seems to be happening more and more frequently, I always seem to miss out on things like a class trip to the art museum or now our senior trip to Hawaii. This particular tune-up just happens to be centred around the fact that I need to be pumped with antibiotics to finally get rid of a sore throat and a fever that won’t go away. Despite practically being a qualified nurse for myself, these things had to be done in a place with constant monitoring. Well, it’s both the cold and the simple fact that my lung function has been steadily declining for the last few years, but suddenly decided to tank just before the one thing I’d been looking forward to most over the last few months.

Karina plunks down on my bed, sighing dramatically as she lies back.

“It’s only two weeks. Are you sure you can’t come? It’s our senior trip, Y/N!”

“I’m sure.” I say firmly, and they know I mean it. We’ve been friends since middle school, and they know by now that when it comes to plans, my CF gets the final say. Whether it’s two weeks or two hours, if my lungs say no, then it’s a no. It’s not like I don’t want to go, of course I do. It’s just, quite literally, a matter of life or death. I can’t go off to Hawaii, or anywhere for that matter, and risk not coming back. I can’t do that to my parents. Not now.

“You were the head of planning this year, though! Can’t you get them to move your treatments? We don’t want you to be stuck here.” Tzuyu says, gesturing to the hospital room I so carefully decorated. I shake my head, plastering a smile on my face despite the growing jealousy in the pit of my stomach. I should feel glad that they get to go, to have fun during spring break, and yet, the feeling continues to fester inside me as I look at them, the winning grin still stretching my lips across my face.

“We still have spring break together! And I haven’t missed a spring break slumber party with you guys since eighth grade, when I got that cold!” I say, smiling hopefully and looking back and forth between Karina and Tzuyu. Neither of them returns my smile, though, and both opt to continue looking like I ripped apart their favourite childhood stuffed animal.

I notice they’re both holding the bags of bathing suits and bikinis that I told them to bring, so I grab Tzuyu’s out of her hand in a desperate attempt to change the subject.

“Ooh, suit options! We have to pick out the best ones!” Since I’m not going to be basking in the warm Hawaii sun in swimwear of my choice, not tanning under the scorching UV rays on the sandy beaches alongside them, I figure I can at least live a little vicariously through my best friends by picking out their soon-to-be most worn outfit, their bathing suits, with them. This perks them both up. We eagerly dump their bags out on the comforter atop of my bed, creating a mess of florals, stripes and neons. I scan Tzuyu’s pile, grabbing a red item that, in description, falls somewhere between a bikini bottom and a single piece of thread, which I know without a doubt is a hand-me-down from her older sister, Momo. I toss it to her. “This one. It’s very you.” Her eyes widen, and she holds it up to her waist, fixing her wire-frame glasses in surprise. I watch, holding back a giggle as she stammers, staring at the red material that is so not her.

“I mean, the tan lines would be pretty great-”

“Tzuyu,” I say, grabbing a, much more modest, floral bikini, adorned with white lace, that I can tell will fit her like a glove. “I’m kidding. This one’s perfect.” She looks relieved, grabbing the bikini from me with a sheepish smile. I turn my attention to Karina’s pile, but she’s busy texting away from the plastic hospital chair in the corner, a big smile plastered on her face. I dig out a one-piece that she’s had since we took swimming classes nearly seven years ago, holding it up to her with a smirk. “How’s this, K?”

“Love it! Looks great!” She says, not sparing a glance up from her screen, typing furiously. Tzuyu snorts, putting her suits back in the bag and giving me a sly smile.

“Chan and Brooke broke up.” She says in explanation.

“Oh my god. They did not!” I say. This is news. Amazing news. Well, not for Brooke. But Karina has been crushing on Chris, also known as Chan, since Mrs. Zhao’s English class two years ago, so this trip is her chance to finally make a move. After watching her pine for so long, it bums me out I won’t be there to help her make a killer five-step “Hot Hawaii Romance” plan, nor be able to see it go down. Karina puts her phone in the pocket of her jeans and shrugs casually, standing and pretending to look at some of the artwork on the walls.

“No big deal. We’re going to meet him and Felix at the airport tomorrow morning when we get there.” I give her a look and she breaks out into a huge smile.

“Okay, it’s a little bit of a big deal!” We all chatter with excitement, and I hold up a cute white and blue one-piece that is super vintage, and right up her street. She nods, grabbing it and holding it up to her body, sighing in content. “I was totally hoping you’d pick this one.” I look over to see Tzuyu anxiously glancing at her fancy wristwatch, which is no surprise. She’s practically an Olympic gold medalist in procrastination and probably hasn’t packed a single thing for Hawaii yet. Besides the bikini, of course. She sees me notice her checking her watch and grins with chagrin.

“I still need to buy a beach towel for tomorrow.” Of course she does. Despite the many towels in her home, it’s only reasonable that she head to the mall and purchase a new one. ‘New place, new towel, Y/N’, she’d once said.

I stand, heart sinking into my gut at the thought of them leaving, but I don’t want to hold them up. I need to be happy for them.

“You guys have to get going, then! Your plane is at the literal ass crack of dawn and you both need to sleep! I know you won’t sleep on the plane.” Karina looks around the room sadly while Tzuyu twists her bag of suits downheartedly around her hand. The pair of them are making this even harder than I thought it would be. I swallow the mix of emotions that come bubbling up at this display. It’s not like they’re the ones missing their senior trip to Hawaii, spending what is supposed to be the best and most memorable two weeks of the year in a hospital room. At least they’ll be together. I give them both big smiles, practically dragging them to the door with me. My cheeks ache from all the fake positivity, but I don’t want to ruin it for them.

“We’ll send you a bunch of pictures, okay?” Tzuyu says, giving me the tightest hug that she could without hurting me. Even without vocalising it, they know that I’m not doing as well as I’m letting on.

“You’d better! Edit me into a few.” I say to Karina after pulling away from our tight hug, who is a wizard at Photoshop. “You won’t even know I wasn’t there!” Tzuyu looks at me once more, before pulling me into a group hug with the both of them. We stay like that for a moment, just enjoying each other’s embrace. “Come on, you know you gotta go.” I say softly. They linger in the doorway after the goodbyes, and I give them an exaggerated eye roll, playfully shoving them out into the hallway. “Get outta here. Go have a great trip.”

“Love you, Y/N!” They call as they walk down the hallway, turning back to look at me only once. Tzuyu’s eyes are cloudy as she turns away. I watch them go, watching until Karina’s bouncing locks are completely out of sight, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be walking out with them, off to pack instead of unpack.

My smile disappears, letting out a long breath of relief as I close the door and see the old picture pinned carefully to the back of my door. It was taken a few summers ago on the front lawn during a family barbecue. Me, Yeji, Mum, and Dad, dopey smiles on all our faces as the camera captures the moment. Between the chuckles and the sizzling of food upon the grill, everything felt perfect. I feel a swell of homesickness as I hear the sound of the worn, shaky wood of that front step, creaking underneath us as we laugh and get close for the picture. I miss that feeling. All of us together, happy and healthy. Well, for the most part. This isn’t helping.

Sighing, I pull myself away, looking over at my medicine cart. In all honesty, I like it here. It’s been my home away from home since I was six, so I usually don’t mind coming. I get my treatments, I take my medicine, I drink my body weight in milkshakes, I get to see Doyoung and Irene and then I leave until my next flare-up. Simple as that. But this time I feel anxious, restless even. Because instead of just wanting to get healthy, I need to get healthy. For my parents’ sake, because they’ve gone and messed up everything by getting divorced. And after losing each other, they won’t be able to handle losing me. I know it. If I can get better, maybe everything would...

No. Slow down. One step at a time.

I head over to the oxygen attached to the wall, checking the flowmeter is set properly, even though it always is, and listen for the steady hissing sound of the oxygen coming out of it before I gently tug the tube around my ears and slide the prongs of the cannula into my nose. I sink down onto the familiarly uncomfortable hospital mattress, and take a deep breath. I reach for my pocket notebook to read the next thing on my to-do list and keep myself preoccupied: “#14: Record a video.” I grab my pencil and bite it thoughtfully as I stare at the words I wrote earlier. Oddly enough, contemplating the afterlife in full seems easier than that right now, but the list is the list, so, exhaling, I reach over to my bedside table to get my laptop, sitting cross-legged on the new floral comforter I picked out yesterday at the store while Tzuyu and Karina were buying clothes for Hawaii. I didn’t even need the comforter, but they were so enthusiastic in helping me pick something out for my trip to the hospital, I felt bad not getting it. At least it sort of matches my walls now, bright and vibrant and colourful. I squint at my reflection in the screen while my computer starts up, frowning at the mess of long brown hair and trying to smooth it down, running my fingers through it over and over. Slightly irritated, I pull my hair tie off my wrist and resort to a messy bun in an attempt to look halfway decent for this video. I grab my copy of Java Coding for iPhones from my bedside table and put my laptop on top of it, so I don’t show any double-chin, and can have a shot that’s remotely flattering. Well, as flattering a shot as one could get when recording from a hospital, under shitty fluorescent lights, in loungewear with messy hair. Logging on to my YouTube account, I click on the ‘LIVE’ button, adjust the webcam, making sure you can see Yeji’s drawing directly behind me; the perfect backdrop.

I close my eyes and take an attempt at a deep breath, hearing the familiar wheeze of my lungs trying desperately to fill with air through the ocean of mucus. Exhaling slowly, I slap a big air-hostess level smile onto my face before opening my eyes and pressing the enter key to go live.

“Hey, guys. Have you had a good Black Friday? I’ve been waiting all day for snow that doesn’t seem to be coming.” I glance into the upper corner of my screen as I turn the camera towards the window, the sky a cloudy grey, the trees on the other side of the glass completely leaf-stricken. I smile as the number of watchers goes steadily past 3K, a fraction of the 75,384 YouTube subscribers who check in to see how my battle with cystic fibrosis is going. “So, I could be prepping and packing to go to Hawaii for my school’s senior spring break trip, but instead I’ll be spending this holiday in my home away from home, courtesy of a mild sore throat.” Plus, a raging fever. I think back to when I got my temperature taken on admission to the ward this morning, the firetruck red numbers on the thermometer reading a clear 104. I don’t want to mention it in the livestream, though, because my parents will definitely be watching this back later, if they aren’t already watching it live. As far as they know, I just have a niggling cold. “Who needs two whole weeks of sunshine and crystal clear waters and beaches and adventures when you can have a month of opulence right on your own front doorstep?” I recite the amenities, counting them on my fingers in front of the camera. “Let’s see. I’ve got a full-time concierge, unlimited pudding, milkshakes, ready-made meals, laundry service and as much oxygen as a girl could want and need. Oh, and Doyoung talked Dr. Moon into letting me keep all my meds and treatments in my room this time, isn’t he great? Check it out!” I turn the webcam to the pile of medical supplies and then to the cart next to me, which I’ve already pristinely organized into alphabetical and chronological order by the scheduled dosage time, which is also plugged into the app I made. It’s finally ready for a test run! That was number 10 on today’s to-do list, and the satisfaction of finally crossing that one off the list was immeasurable.

My computer pings, sounding with the comments that begin rolling in. I see one, simply writing Doyoung’s name with some heart emoji’s. He’s a crowd favourite just as much as he’s my favourite. Ever since I first arrived at Saint Evangeline’s more than ten years ago, he’s been the respiratory therapist here, slipping candy to me and the other patients on the CF ward, like my partner in crime Jaemin. He holds our hand through even the most bone crushing grips of pain like it’s nothing, a soft smile on his face the entire time. I’ve been making YouTube videos for about five years or so to raise awareness about cystic fibrosis. Through the years more people than I could have ever imagined began following my surgeries and my treatments and my visits to this hospital, sticking with me through near death experiences, awful fashion decisions and even my awkward braces stage.

“My lung function is down to thirty-five. Percent, that is.” I say as I turn the camera back to myself. “Dr. Moon says I’m steadily climbing to the top of the transplant list now, so I’ll be here for about a month or so, taking antibiotics, sticking to my regimen, the usual.” My eyes travel in the monitor to the drawing behind me, the beautiful, healthy lungs looming over my head, just out of reach. I shake my head and smile, leaning over to grab a bag from the second shelf of the medicine cart. “That means taking my medications on time, wearing my AffloVest to break up mucus, and-” I hold up the unappealing bag, filled to the brim with a beige liquid, “-a whole lot of this liquid nutrition through my gastrostomy tube, my G-tube, every night. If any ladies out there are wishing they could eat six thousand calories a day and still have a Hawaii-ready body, I’m up for a trade.” My computer dings over and over again, messages pouring in one after another. Reading a few to myself, I let the positivity push away all the negativity I felt going into this.

Hang in there, Y/N! We love you.

You got this!

I LOVE YOU! STAY STRONG :)

“New lungs can come in at any moment, so I’ve got to be ready!” I say the words like I believe them wholeheartedly, like I have no doubts. Truthfully, after all these years I’ve learned to not get my hopes up too much. With a loud ping, another message appears.

I’ve got CF and you remind me to always stay positive XO.

My heart warms, and I give a final grin for the camera, for that person fighting the same fight that I am. This time it’s not forced, it doesn’t feel fake. It’s genuine. “All right, guys, thank you for watching! Sorry it’s a little short today, I’m still settling in and I gotta double-check my afternoon and evening meds now. You know how anal I can be. I hope everyone has a great week. Bye!”

I end the live video and let out a long breath, closing the browser to see the smiling, winter formal ready faces on my desktop background. Me, Tzuyu, and Karina, arm in arm, all wearing the same deep-red lipstick we’d picked out together at the mall. Tzuyu had wanted a bright pink, but Karina had convinced us that red was the colour we needed in our life. I truly didn’t mind, though I’m still not convinced that Karina was right. Lying back, I pick up the worn Moomintroll plush resting on my pillows and wrap my arms tightly around him. Junnie, my sister, Yeji, had lovingly proclaimed him, named after a boy I’d met in the hospital when I had first been diagnosed with cystic fibrosis. Renjun was terminal too, a cancer patient, but being four, neither of us really knew what that meant. Within my two years at Qian University Hospital, we’d become inseparable, spending every waking moment together, even being found curled up together, sleeping soundly in the book section of the children’s area. He’d introduced me to the Moomin franchise, excitedly chattering about their names and how cute they all were, showing me his drawings and teaching me all about them. Needless to say, I fell in love with the little creatures, and Renjun and I grew even closer. When he’d contracted some virus and the infection spread, when his frail body had given all that it had to give, the leukaemia had nothing left to fight. Six-year-old me didn’t understand at first, asking where he was, asking when I’d be able to see him again, asking when he’d come back. After Renjun’s death, my parents decided that moving hospitals was a good thing, a necessary change. The plush had been something I’d held on to tightly ever since, not daring to return to hospital without it. Junnie was my safety, my home in such an unhomely place. The years of coming in and out of the hospital with me have certainly meant that he had been loved, white patches of fabric sewn over spots where he had ripped, his stuffing tumbling out when I had squeezed too hard during the most painful of my treatments. There’s a knock on my door, and it swings open not even a second later as Doyoung busts in holding an armful of pudding cups for me to take my medication with.

“I’m back! Delivery!” When it comes to Doyoung, not much has changed in the past six months, or the past ten years for that matter; he’s still the best. Having just graduated early from his medical studies when I arrived, top of his class, he’d aged physically, sure, but he still looked the same as he did on that first day. The same short, dark hair. The same colourful scrubs. The same smile that lights up the entire room. But then a heavily pregnant Irene follows behind him, carrying an IV drip. Now that’s a big change from six months ago. I swallow my surprise and grin at Doyoung as he places the pudding at the edge of my bed for me to sort onto my medicine cart, then pulls out a list to double-check that the cart has everything I need on it.

“What would I do without you?” I ask. He winks.

“You’d die.” Irene hangs the IV bag of antibiotics next to me, her belly brushing up against my arm. Why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant? I go rigid, smiling thinly, as I eye her baby bump and try to subtly inch away from it.

“A lot’s changed in the past six months!” She rubs her belly, brown eyes shining brightly as she gives me a smile.

“You want to feel her kick?”

“No.” I say, a little too quickly. I feel bad and send her an apologetic look when she appears taken aback at my bluntness, her eyebrows arching up in surprise. I don’t want any of my bad energy near that perfect, healthy baby. That innocent, blank canvas. Luckily, her eyes travel to my desktop background.

“Are those pictures from your winter formal? I saw a bunch in your video!” She says, excited. “How was it?”

“Super fun!” I say, voice laced with excitement as the awkwardness melts away. I open a folder on my desktop filled with pictures. “Killed it on the dance floor for a solid four songs. Got to ride in a limo. The food didn’t entirely suck. Plus, I made it to ten thirty before I started to get really tired, which was way better than I expected! Who needs a set curfew when your body does it for you?” I show her and Doyoung some pictures that we all took at Karina’s house before the event while she hooks me up to the IV drip, tests my blood pressure and O2 reading. I remember I used to be afraid of needles, but with every blood draw and intravenous line, the fear slowly drifted away. Now I don’t even flinch. Despite my physical weakness, it makes me feel strong every time I get poked or prodded. Like I can overcome anything.

“All right.” Doyoung says when they get all my vitals and finish gushing over my sparkly, silver A-line gown and my white rose corsage. Tzuyu, Karina and I decided to swap corsages when we went to formal. I didn’t want to take a date, not that anybody asked me anyway. It was super possible that I would need to bail on the day, or wouldn’t feel well halfway through the dance, which wouldn’t have been fair to whoever was, or could have been my date. The two of them didn’t want me to feel left out, so instead of getting dates of their own, they decided we’d all go together. With the development in terms of the whole Chan situation, though, that doesn’t seem super likely for the end-of-year prom. Doyoung nods to the filled medicine cart, leaning upon the side of the cart as he speaks. “I’ll still monitor you, but you’re pretty much good to go.” He holds up a pill bottle. “Remember, you have to take this one with food.” He says, putting it carefully back and holding up another one. “Also, make sure you don’t-”

“I got it, Doie.” I chuckle. He’s just being his usual fatherly self, but he holds up his hands in surrender. Deep down he knows that I’ll be absolutely fine. I wave good-bye as they both head toward the door, using the remote next to my bed to sit up a little more.

“By the way…” Doyoung turns back as Irene heads out of the room. His eyes narrow at me and he gives me a gentle warning look. “I want you to finish your IV drip first, but Jaemin just checked in to 310.”

“What? Really?” I exclaim, eyes widening as I move to launch myself out of bed to find him. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he’d be here! Doyoung steps forward, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me gently back down onto the bed before I can fully stand.

“What part of ‘I want you to finish your IV drip first’ did you not get?” I smile sheepishly at him, but how could he blame me? Jaemin was the first friend I made when I came to the hospital, the only one who really gets it. We’ve fought CF together for a whole decade. Well, as together as you can get from a distance, anyway. We can’t get too close to each other. For cystic fibrosis patients, cross-infection from certain bacteria strains is a massive risk. One touch between two patients can kill the both of them. His serious frown gives way to a gentle smile. “Settle in. Take a chill pill.” He eyes the medicine cart, jokingly. “Not literally.” I nod, a real laugh spilling out, as a fresh wave of relief fills me at the news of Jaemin being here too. “I’ll stop by later to help you with your AffloVest!” Doyoung says over his shoulder as he leaves.

Grabbing my phone, I settle for a quick text message instead of sprinting down the hall to room 310.

You’re here? I am too. Tune-up.

Not even a second goes by and my screen lights up with his reply.

Bronchitis. Just happened. I’ll live. Come by and say hi later. Gonna crash now.

I lean back on the bed, exhaling as long and slow as I can. Truth is, I’m nervous about this visit. My lung function fell to 35 so quickly. And now, even more than the high temperature and the sore throat, being here in the hospital for the next month, doing treatment after treatment to hold back the inevitable bursting of the dam while my friends are out of thecountry is freaking me out. A lot. 35 is a number that keeps my mother up at night. She doesn’t say it, but her computer, more specifically her history, does. Search after search about lung transplants and lung-function percentages, new combinations and phrasing but always the same bottom-line idea. How to get me more time. It makes me more afraid than I’ve ever been, but not for me. When you have CF, you sort of get used to the idea of dying young, dying before your friends and family. No, I’m terrified for my parents. And what will become of them if the worst does happen, now that they don’t have each other. But with Jaemin here, someone who understands, I can pull through it.

The rest of the afternoon ticks by slowly.

I work on my app, checking that I worked out the programming error that kept coming up when I tried to run it. I put some Fucidin on the sore skin around my G-tube in an attempt to make it less firetruck red and more of a summer-sunset pink, sometimes it gets like that. I check and double-check my “At Bedtime” pile of bottles and pills. I reply to my parents’ hourly texts. I gaze out the window as the afternoon fades and see a couple about my age, laughing and kissing as they walk into the hospital. It’s not every day you see a happy couple coming into a hospital. Watching them holding hands and exchanging longing glances, I wonder what it would be like to have somebody look at me like that. People are always looking at my cannula, my scars, my G-tube, not at me. It doesn’t really make guys want to line up at my locker, not like the way they line up at my best friends’. I “dated” Jeong Yunho my freshman year of high school, but that lasted all of a month, until I came down with an infection and needed to come back to Saint Evangeline’s for a few weeks. Even after a few days in, his texts started to get further and further apart and I decided to break up with him. Besides, it was nothing like the couple out in the courtyard. Yunho’s palms were sweaty when we held hands, and he wore so much body spray, I would go into coughing fits every time we hugged. This thought process is not exactly a helpful or productive distraction, so I even give number 22, “Contemplate the afterlife,” on my to-do list a try, and read a few more chapters of Life after Life, but, pretty soon, I opt to just lie on my bed, looking up at the ceiling and listening to the wheezing sound of my breathing. I can hear the air struggling to push past the mass of mucus that takes up shelter in my lungs. Turning and reaching for my med cart, I crack open a vial of Flovent to give my lungs a helping hand. I pour the liquid into the nebulizer by my bed, the small machine humming to life as vapours pour from the mouthpiece.

I sit, staring at the drawing of the lungs while I breathe in and out.

And in and out.

And in and… out.

I hope when my parents come to visit over the next few days, that my breathing is a little less laboured. I told them both that the other one was taking me to the hospital this morning, but I actually just took a cab from a street corner, two minutes down the road from my mum’s new place. I don’t want either of them to have to face seeing me here again, at least until I’m looking better, more like myself. My mum was already giving me troubled and concerned looks when I needed to put my portable oxygen on just to pack my belongings.

There’s a knock on my door, and I look over from the wall I’m staring at, hoping that it’s Jaemin stopping by to wave at me and say hi. I pull the mouthpiece off as Doyoung pops his head in. He drops a surgical face mask and latex gloves onto the table next to my door.

“New one upstairs. Meet me in fifteen?” My heart leaps. I nod enthusiastically and he gives me a big smile before his head disappears from sight. I grab the mouthpiece and take one more deep breath of the Flovent, letting the vapour fill my lungs the best I can before I’m up and moving. Shutting the nebulizer off, I grab my portable oxygen concentrator from where it’s been charging next to my bed, press the circular button in the centre to turn it on, and pull the strap over my shoulder. After I put the prongs of the nose cannula in, I head over to the door, pulling on the blue latex gloves and pulling the strings of the face mask around my ears. Sliding into my white sneakers, I push my door open and step out into the whitewashed hallway, deciding to take the long way so that I can walk past Jaemin’s room, room 310. I pass the nurses’ station in the centre of the floor, waving to the young nurse’s assistant named Chaeyoung, who is smiling over the top of the new, sleek metal cubicle. They replaced that before my last visit six months ago. It’s the same height, but it used to be made of this chipped and wood that had probably been around since the hospital was built some sixty years ago. I smile, remembering when I was small enough to sneak past to whatever room Jaemin was in, my head still a good few inches from clearing the desk. Now it comes up to my hips. Chaeyoung had only been at Saint Evangeline’s for a year or so, but she was lovely and always made me laugh. Being only a few years apart in age, we formed a relationship fairly quickly. Heading down the hallway, I bite back a laugh of excitement as I see a small whiteboard stuck on the outside of a half open door, an array of pens stuffed into a small pot attached to the side, an overturned skateboard keeping it propped slightly open. I peer inside to see Jaemin fast asleep on his bed, curled into a surprisingly tiny ball underneath his plaid comforter, a poster of EXO’s KAI positioned directly over his bed, keeping watch over him. I draw a big heart on the board, my name inside the pink lines, to let him know I’ve been there, before moving off down the hallway toward the brown wooden double doors that will take me to the main part of the hospital, up an elevator, down C Wing, across the bridge into Building 2, and straight to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, the NICU.

One of the upsides of coming here for more than a decade is that I know the hospital just as well as I know the house I grew up in. Every winding corridor, every hidden staircase, every secret shortcut, has been explored over and over again. But before I can open the set of doors, a room door swings open next to me, and I turn my head in surprise to see the profile of a fairly tall, fairly thin boy that I’ve never seen before. He’s standing underneath the door frame of room 315, holding a sketchbook in one hand and a charcoal pencil in the other, a white hospital band like mine wrapped around his right wrist. I stop dead. His tousled, dark-chocolate-brown hair is perfectly unruly, like he just fell out of a DAZED magazine and landed right in the middle of Saint Evangeline’s Hospital. His eyes are a deep brown, the corners crinkling as he talks. But it’s his smile that catches my eye more than anything else. It’s slightly boxy, and extremely charming, and it has a magnetic warmth to it. My lung function feels like it dropped to 25. It’s a good thing this mask is covering half my face, because I did not plan for even remotely attractive guys on my floor this hospital stay, let alone DAZED-esque guys. Though, it’s not as if the mask does anything at all to disguise my mismatching outfit and worn sneakers.

“I’ve clocked their schedules.” He says as he balances the pencil perfectly behind his ear. I shift slightly to the left and see that he’s grinning at the couple I saw coming into the hospital earlier. “So, unless either of you plant your ass on the call button, no one’s going to bother you for at least an hour. And don’t forget. I gotta sleep in that bed, dude.”

“Way ahead of you.” I watch as the girl unzips the bag that she’s holding to show him blankets. Wait. What? Cute guy lets out a whistle.

“Look at that. A Girl Scout.”

“We’re not animals, man.” Her boyfriend says to him, giving him a big, dude-to-dude, bro-to-bro kind of smile. Oh my god. Gross. He’s letting his friends do it in his room, like it’s a love motel. I grimace and resume walking down the hallway to the exit doors, putting as much space as possible between me and whatever scheme is going on in there. So much for cute, huh?

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