#I had a terrible day too so it feels like a cherry on top ignore my mopy ass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pandorasprongs · 9 months

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CHAPTER FOUR | come home to my heart.

'it's nice to have a friend' fic masterlist + playlist | previous chapter

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

SUMMARY: jamie tries to get reader to forgive him.

WARNINGS: language

A/N: hello! sorry for such a long wait, i've been on vacation. i also haven't been able to proofread huhu but hopefully the interlude prepped ya'll for this moment because a good chunk of this one is from jamie's pov! don't have much to say because i don't want to spoil much hehe but enjoy jamie's comeback!

Losing Jamie for a second time felt the exact same: like absolute shit. Except this time, you were an adult and couldn't sulk in your room all day. So for the next few weeks, — aside from said crying sessions — you've been dragging yourself to all of your lectures and powering through office hours as if nothing happened.

You already told Liv about it the morning after, and after seeing your bloated face and the fact that you had a massive hangover, she decided to withhold her 'I told you so' speech, much to your relief.

It was unraveling the exact same way as last time and the cherry on top was the fact that Jamie wasn't reaching out in any way, shape, or fucking form. No texts, calls, or anything.

Every now and then, you'd think about reaching out yourself. It was you who yelled at him that night and told him to leave, but you would shake your head every time. No, if Jamie really wanted to preserve your relationship, he would have to be the one to reach out. You got to say your piece and that's it.

And maybe you were being a little petty, taking down all your photos with him from the shelf and stuffing them in a box with all the tokens from Jamie that you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away, but at least it stopped you from nearly breaking down every time you passed your hallway.

Jamie wasn't taking it so well either, despite what you assumed.

After that night, he had this sinking feeling in him. He knew he fucked up, — ghosting you and treating you like a complete stranger at the pub in front of his teammates, — but it hurt even more hearing you shout and tell him how badly it fucked you up.

To this day, he doesn't know why he did it, really. Maybe it was the fact that he felt guilty for never talking to you after you left. Or maybe you were right; he cared too much about what his teammates thought that he ended up hurting you in the process. But no matter the reason, he ruined one of his most important relationships that night.

So what was he going to do? What he always did. Ignore it. Focus on the season, despite the fact that Richmond has been on a losing streak since the West Ham game. While Jamie might be off his game because of you, he wasn't going to acknowledge that. Just bury it and hope it disappears.

It wasn't until after the fifth match in the losing streak that he got a message from an unknown number he was forced to confront it.

Hi Jamie. I'm Liv. I'm not sure if (Y/N)'s mentioned me, but I'm one of her friends and I got your number from her phone. I was hoping to talk to you soon when you're free.

So now, he was sitting in a white office like he was waiting for some test results. It didn't help that the person sitting in front of him was in a lab coat, either.

"Sorry, I know it's weird we had to do this in an office." Liv started and Jamie straightened up in the chair. "I thought you'd want somewhere private to talk."

"Right."

"Yeah, so you're probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you. Uhm, (Y/N)'s been a little off recently. She told me about what happened, which I honestly saw from a mile away, but that's not the point." Liv sighs before continuing. "The last time this happened, back in uni, she practically quarantined herself in her room till her parents came and picked her up. She barely ate, and barely talked to anyone. It was terrible. And I can tell that she's on the way to that again."

Jamie's eyes widened, filled with guilt once again, but he said nothing.

Something about his reaction just triggered something in Liv. "Right, so I'm sorry if this sounds rude, but what the fuck are you doing, man?" The footballer moved back in his chair, but Liv wasn't dismayed. "Why haven't you called her? Or even texted or something."

"I," Jamie's completely at a loss for words. "I thought that she didn't want to talk."

"What gave you that idea?"

"She told me to leave that night so harshly, so I thought..." Jamie trails off, realizing how terrible that reasoning is after saying it out loud.

Liv is thinking the exact same thing, causing her to roll her eyes. "Come on, Jamie! You can't actually think she wants nothing to do with you now. She won't ever say it, but do you know how many times I've caught her checking your contact to see if you've sent anything? She misses you and seeing how shit you've been playing these past few matches, I think it's safe to assume that you miss her too."

Despite this woman being a complete stranger to Jamie, he's suddenly compelled to admit, "Just because she misses me doesn't mean that she wants me back in her life. And I don't think I should be, to be honest." She's better off without me.

Liv's expression finally softens and she looks down at her desk before saying, "She at least deserves an apology."

—

It had been a few days since then, which Jamie had been using to think it over. He knew Liv was right; he needed to apologize. He just didn't know how. And of course, he had to talk to the most emotional man he knew.

"Jamie! What brings you here?" Ted who, despite the team losing yet another game, greeted quite cheerfully. It almost made the football player turn right back around because he wasn't sure if he was in the mood for his coach's relentless optimism.

But he knew there wasn't anyone else he could go to, seeing as you were obviously unavailable, Keeley was way swamped with her new company, and telling his mum would be indirectly telling your parents too. He shuts the door behind him and moves to Ted's side of the office. "Right, um, I was hoping to talk to you about something."

His coach seems to pick up on Jamie's uneasy demeanor and leans forward with a sympathetic look on his face. "What's up, buttercup? Should I gather the diamond dogs for this?"

Jamie, recalling the name that the coaches and Higgins called themselves, was quick to reject the idea. "No, no, I'd rather not have them find out about this. Uhm, look, I know I haven't been doing my best recently,—"

"Oh, we'll get a win soon bud, don't worry." Ted is quick to reassure the player and while Jamie appreciates it, he shakes his head.

"No, I know, but that's not it." Jamie takes a deep breath before continuing. "It's just, I've been a bit distracted recently."

"Is this about a girl perhaps?"

"No," though Jamie thinks about it for a second. “Yes, but no?" Seeing the slight look of confusion on his coach's face, he explains, "A while back, I reconnected with an old friend. She was my best friend actually, back in Manchester. We didn't exactly end on the best of terms and it was my fault. But when we met again, she told me that I didn't need to apologize."

Jamie continued to recount the past few months to his coach, from his blind date to the Bones & Honey incident, along with what he did to you in the pub all those years ago.

"So now, I don't know what to do. Her best friend said I should apologize, but I don't really know how. I'm not really the best with these types of things." Both of them still remembered how long it took for Jamie to get the team to forgive him when he first came back.

Ted takes a second before responding, trying to figure out the best thing to say in this situation. "You know Jamie, I've always thought the simplest ways are sometimes the best ones. Overthinking things tends to complicate them more. You want to apologize right? How'd you used to do it when you were kids and you threw your little tantrums at each other?"

"Coach, I don't think bringing her chocolate is gonna work this time around." Jamie gets flashbacks to your first-ever argument as kids. Jamie accidentally ate the last slice of chocolate cake that you had unofficially saved and you stormed out and locked yourself in your room for an hour.

All it took was Jamie sliding a bar of chocolate through the bottom of the door, explaining that he got hungry, and promising to save her a slice of cake the next time they had a party. You ended up sharing the bar with Jamie.

"Probably not. But in all the times you fought, what were the things that got her to forgive you? What did you say that made her understand your side and know that you actually were sorry for what you did? And how did you prove to her that you weren't going to do that to her again?" Maybe if Jamie thought about this advice later tonight, it'll make more sense, but right now, only one question was occupying his mind.

"D'you think she'll forgive me?" He thinks out loud.

"I honestly don't know Jamie, I don't even know who she is. But if you show her how much you care like how you're showing me right now, I'm sure things will be fine." Ted, now standing, offers a comforting pat on the back.

Without looking up, Jamie whispers, "I never meant to do this to her. To hurt her like that."

"We rarely ever mean to hurt the people we love." Ted offers.

Love. Yeah, Jamie thought, he did love you, even after all these years. Especially after all these years. What, with all the 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' bullshit.

"All we can do after is try to atone for our mistakes and hope they forgive us. And even if they don't, at least you leave knowing you tried." Jamie nods his head and thanks his coach for the advice.

As he got into his car to leave the clubhouse, he pulled out his phone. Hi, are you free tonight? I was hoping we could talk.

He anxiously waited for your reply and started listing all the places he had to pass by before heading to your place if you even answered. But before Jamie even left the car park, you already replied, Sure.

—

Maybe you had been hoping for Jamie's message more than you thought. You were in the middle of the lecture when you got his message, so while your class passed the handouts around, you took the chance to grab your phone and reply.

So now, you were anxiously waiting in your flat, still unsure of how you were meant to feel about all this. You knew there was still anger there, but you weren't sure if exploding on him relieved that feeling or made it worse. A part of you also felt guilty for it too, for not even giving him a chance to apologize in the first place. Maybe instead of awkwardly letting him inside later, you would've been having yet another movie night together.

That's what he was going to do now right? Apologize? You didn't really press on for my details when he messaged you earlier. You just hoped that seeing him again will trigger the right response to whatever he had planned.

You heard the doorbell ring and suddenly, it felt like your heartbeat quickened. You take careful steps towards the door and after mentally preparing yourself for whatever this was going to be, turn the doorknob.

"Hi," Jamie greeted, in the most awkward way possible for a guy as confident as he could. You notice him holding a box of LEGO flowers under his left arm and a pack of chocolate nuggets in his right hand.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you jokingly ask, "Is your apology just going to be flowers and chocolate?" though it may have come across as harsher than you intended.

"No, but uh, in case you changed your mind about talking to me when you saw me, I thought this would at least get me through the door," Jamie explained and you slowly nodded your head.

"Well, you were right." You take the things from his hand and let him inside.

You had already cleaned up the place before he came over and hidden all the messy catalogs and test papers in your room for the time being. Its current condition could honestly pass as one of those display sets in department stores.

You placed the items on your dining table before turning back to Jamie who was awkwardly standing in the middle of the living room.

You didn't want to delay this any further. "So, why'd you want to talk?"

"Right," Jamie started, still unable to look you in the eye. "I wanted to say sorry for not messaging you these past few weeks. I've just been busy and Richmond's been on a losing streak too,—"

"Is that really all you wanted to say?" Your tone was soft, but even you knew you were being blunt. You just couldn't handle the sinking feeling of anxiety in your chest anymore and while you might be rushing him, you just wanted to get this over with.

"No, it's not." Jamie closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He moves towards you and starts looking at you intently. "I'm sorry. For everything. You deserved an apology and an explanation a long time ago and I can't go back in time, so I want to do it now."

He pauses for a moment, and when you realize he's waiting for you to say something, you respond, "Go ahead, Jamie."

He nods his head and almost looks like he's psyching himself up before a match. He takes another deep breath before continuing.

"I wanted to start from when I started to get distant. I never told you, but after I started at Man City, dad came back into the picture."

"He did?" Your voice was barely a whisper, and you're unsure if he even heard it because he keeps talking.

"You know how he is, right?" Of course, you did.

Growing up, you knew the exact times his dad would be coming over. There’d be some beat up car in their driveway and if you looked out your window, Jamie’s window blinds would be down. During the early years, you’d ask your mom to call their house, but after the first time and about a ten-minute call with Georgie, she started telling you they were busy. It was only after that outlying car in their driveway disappeared that Jamie would come knocking at your door, asking to play. He'd have this air of discomfort the first few days, but you were so happy being able to see him again that you’d end up ignoring it.

"Anyway, he was on my arse that whole time. He always had something to say after every match about how I fucked up or, how shit I'd been. Even if I was just sitting on the bench, he still had something to say. It was exhausting," You could tell that Jamie was starting to get angry at the reminder of his father, and without thinking, you reach out to hold his hand. Jamie seems to relax at your touch and when he seems to have composed himself, you let go.

"He would go on about the same things. Don't be soft, it's the fucking Premier League and shit like that. I just, I wanted it to stop. And I thought that toughening up would stop him from him getting under my skin. That meant removing everything that did make me soft, vulnerable. One of those things was you, but I realized now that it was in a good way. As in, I only ever felt comfortable and safe when I was with you." Your eyes widened at his confession and you felt tears threatening to fall.

"But fuck, Dad was really in my head back then. I thought that you were making me weak. And I hated the thought of him calling me that. So I stopped picking up your calls and messages. I just blocked you out.

"But when I started to realize I was becoming a prick, I thought you'd never want to talk to me again. That you'd hate me and it wasn't worth trying to get you to forgive me. Plus, Mum always had great stories about you, so I thought you were better off without me. I guess that's why I was such a prick back in the pub, pretending I didn’t know you. Might as well lean into it if I already lost you." At this point, you were resisting the urge to envelop Jamie in a hug and never let go, but you knew he wanted to finish his piece.

"And I know that it doesn't change the fact that it was a shitty way to treat someone I loved, but it's the best explanation I can give you. I really am sorry." Jamie held your eyes, emphasizing how genuine he was being. Someone I loved, did he really just say that? But he starts again before you can even consider what that meant.

"And, I really am trying to be better. I want to be worthy of staying in your life, if you'll let me. This time, I promise I'll never leave you like that ever again."

You were processing his words and couldn't answer immediately, so Jamie added, "And if you decide that you don't want anything to do with me, then you'll never have to see me again. But I promise to keep trying to be better even then."

You continued to stay silent and Jamie took that as your answer. "Right, so that's all I had to say, so I'll be out of—"

You wrap your arms around him, stopping him mid-sentence. The footballer is slow to reciprocate it, but when he does, you're transported back in time. It feels like you're eight again, and Jamie's football team just won the finals. It feels like you're fifteen again, and you've made up during a midnight run to the grocery after a stupid argument. It feels like you're seventeen again, saying goodbye to the only boy you've ever loved.

"I don't know if I'm ready to forgive you yet, Jamie. To go back to how it was before." You finally answer, and if you're being honest, you don't think you ever could go back. "But I want to be able to," you whisper and you feel him relax even more in your arms. "Just, don't fuck it up and leave again. Because I'd really love to have you in my life again."

"I promise I won't." And this time, you believe him.

A/N: and there you go! the angst is over! (or is it? muahaha) some cameos from liv and ted to help snap jamie out of it :) i had written jamie's apology monologue the same time i wrote reader's angry monologue from chapter three with some slight revisions when i put them in their respective chapters, so hopefully it matches up well stay tuned for the next chapter!!

TAGLIST: @moonflowersandsparkles @faith-alons26 @rexorangecouny @aiyaiy @thegirlthatwantedtowrite @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @higherthanheroes @guccilongboard @alipap3 @rockchickrebel @ellietartt @shineforever19 @skewedcherries @jamietarttdodo @meg-ro @deepdarkvelvet @taytaylala12 @scaramou @rae4725 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo (couldn't tag you for some reason?)

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fic #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt x f!reader #jamie tartt x female reader #it's nice to have a friend series

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hqmillioncorn · 2 years

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FFxivWrite: Day six......Onerous!

‘I wish you health and happiness for all time and may the world be kind...’

a single question has weighed heavy on babycorns mind since the start of her and cherrypits adventures. Unfortunately the right people were never really around to answer it

To the people of Ul’dah today was just another hot morning as usual but to a small Babycorn and her smaller brother it meant that it was now time for their favorite meal of the day.

“Breakfast is almost ready Cherry! Just a little bitty longer!” Babycorn carefully made her way over to the small makeshift table that Cherrypit had carved out of a fallen tree on the outskirts of Thanalan using nothing but his teeth.

At some point Babycorn needed to do a little hop to avoid stepping over her little brother, as he was currently doing his favorite morning activity of rolling around the floor like an empty can while happily squealing and babbling in baby language.

When Cherrypit heard Babycorn say something about breakfast he stopped rolling around the floor for a second to look up at Babycorn. “Mmm!” he said, before continuing to roll in circles until Babycorn would call him over to eat.

Babycorn sat at the table and set down a small bag, it was full of snacks that they managed to buy yesterday. “Just a little bitty longer~!” she grabbed the bottom of the bag and flipped it over, letting its contents spill over the table. A slice of bread plopped out along with a popoto that began to roll to the edge of the table. “Oh no nonono!” Babycorn acted quickly, catching it one hand before it managed to hit the floor.

Not that it hitting the ground would have made a difference anyway. Babycorn still would have happily eaten it.

Cherrypit clapped at her expert popoto catching. He was still lying on the floor but he had tired himself out from rolling, instead he chose to simply lie there basking in the Thanalan sun.

It did weird Babycorn out a little that Cherrypit could look up at the sun without hurting his eyes but that was probably the least strange thing about him now.

Babycorn absentmindedly rolled the popoto around in her small hands. She looked up at the wall in front of her and her parents looked down back at her. Both mama and papa had been drawn by Babycorn on the wall of their new home. Their home was a hidden-away corner of Ul’dah that could only be reached by any small short person crawling through a small tunnel. It wasn’t the comfiest place to live but it was the safest.

It had almost been a full year since she last saw her parents and she missed them both terribly.

She didn’t want to forget what they looked like.

“Mama! I saw friends yesterday again!” The word friends still felt unfamiliar coming out of Babycorn’s mouth. Having just barely found out what the term really meant made Babycorn feel weird. Like a sort of weird that was also very happy.

The drawing of her mama didn’t respond.

“They’re all really really nice! They’re not mean like other people.” According to one of her new friends, Yeyema (she was small too! Just like Babycorn!!) friends were people that did a lot of fun things together and were nice to you. That sounded like her mama and papa too. “You and papa are my friends too mama!”

Once again there was no response.

Babycorn’s smile began to waver. Looking at her parents was making her tummy feel sick, so she turned around instead. She saw Cherrypit still lying on the ground. He was eerily still but Babycorn knew he was fine. Well, as fine as someone in their situation could be.

“Just an itty bitty more…”

“Breakfast will be ready in an itty bitty bit more~! Can you go see if Yuri is awake yet?”

“Okayyy mama!!”

“Thank you babycorn!”

Ignoring the pain in her heart and stomach she looked back at her parents again. Babycorn set the popoto down and climbed on top of the table. She held out her hands and tried to grab her parent’s hands. She had drawn them holding the others hand. Just like she had seen them do countless times.

Sometimes she would run in between them and hold onto both of them.

“Mama? Papa? Is this all my fault?”

There was no answer but Babycorn already knew what the answer to her question was anyway.

Chelinka had told her all about how the scary man had come after her and her family specifically because she was the weakest version of her. Whether Chelinka had meant it, she had unintentionally convinced Babycorn that the only reason that any of this happened was because of her.

If it wasn’t for her then everything would be okay.

Cherry wouldn’t have given his life for her’s. He would be okay, he would be safe.

Her mama and papa wouldn’t have left them alone.

———————————–

“Mama? Papa? Is this all my fault…?”

Babycorn was curled up in one of the makeshift beds in the infirmary the Eorzean alliances had set up. In her arms was the stuffed Tonberry that Cherrypit had chosen to take with him during their mission in Garlemald.

Its owner was currently in a deep sleep on the other side of the infirmary. Showing no signs that he was going to awaken any time soon.

As another thought about Cherrypit crossed her mind Babycorn found herself clutching the stuffed Tonberry tighter. Her hug only loosened slightly when she thought about how sad Cherry would be if she accidently hurt one of his friends.

“Cherry…”

Babycorn had been dropped off in the infirmary and into a small room that was thrown together just for her after she had tried to run back to Zenos, demanding that he come face her because he needed to pay for what he had done to Cherrypit with his own life.

The last time she saw Zenos he had the audacity to tell her ‘You’re welcome.’ for giving Babycorn her life back.

‘Now we can finally face each other at our truest strength.’

If Zenos was really trying to help her, he would stay still so she could kill him.

Babycorn looked up when she heard steps outside of her room. There wasn’t really a door to it or anything, instead they had put up a curtain so she could still have a sense of privacy.

She could hear G’raha telling Estinien that he would keep watch over Babycorn for a while. They were the ones who dragged her back here when she tried to go fight Zenos on her own. Babycorn wished they would come inside, she didn’t want to be all by herself.

She wished Tilika was here. Where was she? She was worried.

She wished…

“Mama…Papa…I’m sorry this is all my…”

Babycorn felt something touch her face.

“Huh?”

She looked to find that Cherry’s stuffed Tonberry was looking right at her. There wasn’t anything too shocking about that, Cherrypit’s toys looked at her all the time. He had told all of them every day how much he loved her and in turn they grew attached to her too.

What was a little shocking was that it was only now that the stuffed Tonberry decided to move. Maybe Babycorn had been squeezing it too hard for it to do that before?

She sniffled, “Sorry.” Hopefully it would know what she was apologizing for. As Babycorn looked down at the stuffed Tonberry it didn’t seem to want to move anymore.

A familiar sentence tickled her lips. She wanted to ask it something but it didn’t make any sense to ask one of Cherrypit’s toys this question. Before she could stop herself she found herself asking it anyway.

“Mama? Papa? Is…Is this all my fault?” Babycorn’s expression was unmoving as tears continued to stream down her face.

The stuffed Tonberry, of course, said nothing. It raised its hand that didn’t have a knife sewed onto it and wiped away some of Babycorn’s tears. The stuffed Tonberry shook its head, like it was saying “No, no, no, no.” over and over again.

Babycorn remained silent, for some reason it felt like a very small part of a large weight on her chest was finally being shaken loose.

#ffxivwrite2022 #sorry its hard to be serious with characters called babycorn and cherrypit but i try my best #anyway the fates of cocorn and elelote are kiiiinda stolen from cherie rhapsody and laharls mom disgaea 1 opps #in what i mean that cocorns spirit is manipulating a tonberry doll and watching over them and eventually elelote is babycorns reaper avatar #but she doesnt tell her because she feels babycorn will be sadder about it #the drawing is the last drawing cherrypit drew after getting to garlemald babycorn carries it with her everywhere

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aberrantmind · 4 years

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microvent in tags ig ....... long story short vibes are off n i will most likely delete this post

#vent #still kind of feeling bitter abt the friend group im supposedly part of completely ignoring my birthday and going all out for the birthdays #of the other ppl in it :upside_down:#would a singular 'hi elsie i noticed from ur status its ur birthday so happy bday :)' been too much to ask for #apparently so even tho everyone else in tht groups been showered with affection and gifts on THEIR birthdays #its just Ok I See!#ughhhhh like yea its been weeks since then maybe they were just busy or whatever and genuinely didnt know #but being reminded of anything i can interpret as rejection fucks me up soooo #havent been doin too hot today #also cherry on top of Day Not Good: my throat hurts and i dont know why #feels terrible and gross #my horrible cats just lying on the other side of the couch usually id be grateful 4 that bc it means hes not suckling on my clothes and #kneading me w his horrible sharp claws but maybe i just want love.....#maybe i havent had a single conversation w any member of my family that hasnt been abt school or health for ages and i need a horrible cat #to lie on my lap and knead me w his horrible sharp claws and try to get milk from my arm #ill feel better later dw i just need to vent abt stuff sometimes #need to special interest harder to distract myself from overthinkin :thumbs_up:

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rek1s-headband · 3 years

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Break up prank on the sk8 boys

➯ Characters: Reki Kyan, Langa Hasegawa, Cherry, Joe, Miya and Shadow x gn reader

➯ Warnings: none, just some angst to fluff. Enjoy!

Reki:

He thought it was a joke at first

Like you, he watched his fair share of videos, and had seen the trend going around already

But you weren’t discouraged, you were going to try and make him believe it no matter what

He laughed it off the first time, but after you simply gave him a puzzled look and a “huh?”, he felt his heart pick up significantly. Maybe you weren’t joking??

Instantly he was running back in his mind where he could’ve possibly gone wrong, where he could’ve messed up so badly that you felt the need to leave?

After his nervous laugh died down, he went deadly silent

“You’re serious?”

You were starting to feel awful, like maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, but you decided to persist

When you nodded your head slowly, you could’ve died when you saw how quickly his face dropped

Even though he had a small smile on his face, you could see the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. He was running a shaky hand through his hair, and when you were ready to take him into your arms, to tell him you were only kidding, he wouldn’t let you get a word in edgeways

A flood of questions was suddenly leaving his moth, all his unvoiced questions coming out in one go. He was holding your hand now in an almost death grip, asking you why you were unhappy, why you wanted to leave

Why he wasn’t good enough for you

That’s all you needed before you were pulling him into your arms, sobbing yourself. This shut him up, he was completely speechless as your tears pooled on his shoulder, telling him you were so sorry, that you were only joking. You just wanted to see him get a little panicky, you never expected the outcome to look like this

As soon as the words left your mouth you saw his shoulders visibly drop, pulling you impossibly closer as he let the last of his tears out. He chuckled shakily, running a hand up your back.

“I thought I lost you for a second there”

That was when you pulled your head out of his shoulder, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling him closer to you. Eyes wide, he simply watched as you declared he could never lose you, that you weren’t going anywhere. You were stuck to him like glue, whether he likes it or not

He gave you one last relieved smile, before he was pulling you close again for a desperate kiss. He kissed you like it was the last time he ever would, because now that he’d thought he lost you, he was never going to take anything about you for granted again

Langa:

Was fully convinced you were serious right off the bat

Right as the words “I think we should break up” were leaving your lips, his brain was doing overtime trying to figure put how he hadn’t realised how unhappy you were. Sure, he was kind of bad at reading emotions, but surely he wasn’t so terrible he couldn’t figure out how his own s/o was feeling?

Was he really as bad at communication as people told him he was?

You instantly regretted your decision as you watched his mouth hang open, saw his eyes scrunch slightly as he wrung his hands quietly at his sides

He nodded, and you couldn’t seem to swallow the lump in your throat as your eyes locked on the small tear rolling down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away with a small smile

“If thats what will make you happy”

You couldn’t seem to collect your thoughts as you watched him step closer to you, dropping his head to your level as he grabbed your hand. It was soft, as if he didn’t want to hurt you any more than he thought he had. He stumbled over his words, trying to find the right ones to say. Eventually he just took a deep breath, and looked into your eyes

“Were you really that unhappy?” Your heart broke when you heard the crack in his voice towards the end. “How did I not notice how sad you were?” Tears were falling down his face again and he didn’t even bother wiping them away this time. Suddenly you were shooting forward, grabbing his shoulders as you began to cry

“You’ve never made me unhappy Langa, not once.” You saw his wide eyes stare at you, not even attempting to reply as he watched you continue. “It was a joke, Langa. I wanted to see how you’d react, I didn’t think you’d take it this seriously. Did you really think you made me unhappy? Ive never been happier than when I’m with you-“ you barely got to finish before he was wrapping you in his arms, his grip vicelike. His face was digging into your shoulder, clinging to you as if you’d disappear any second.

His breath was ragged and shaky as he pulled you even closer, making sure there was absolutely no room for you to escape. You ran your hand through his hair in an attempt to calm him down as he slowly emerged from your shoulder

With a small chuckle, he rubbed the side of your face with his hand, letting his head drop slightly as he let out a sigh of relief

“I really thought I was ignoring my own s/o’s feelings.” You laughed, pulling him into another hug

“If I’m ever upset, I’ll let you know. Just know it wont be for quite a while” you grinned, grabbing his collar to pull him into a kiss. It was sweet, and gentle, and you felt all your previous problems melt away as Langa pulled you closer, smiling into the kiss

Cherry:

You and Kaoru rarely fought, and when you did it was over minor things that were reconciled within a day. So when you were sitting him down, asking if he’d be okay with breaking up, the only thing he could feel was complete confusion.

What happened? You’d always been so happy, never expressing much discontent. And besides, whenever you did it was resolved as soon as possible. What was so different today?

What was making you so unhappy that you felt the relationship was beyond saving?

Or worse, what outside your relationship was making you happier than him?

He kept these thoughts to himself, coughing quietly to try and open up his throat that seemed to be impossibly tight at that moment. He held your hand, stroking it softly and nodding before looking up at you

“Why the sudden change of heart, hm?”

The small smile on Kaoru’s face that was slowly diminishing by the second made you want to melt into the ground. Even when you were asking him to leave, he was still so caring, still so loving. You could only watch, feeling your heart break as he looked at you, his eyes glassy as he quickly plastered the fakest smile you’ve ever seen onto his face

“Well, if you’re unhappy when you’re with me, surely we shouldn’t be together.” He let out a small, breathy laugh that was almost missed by you, if you hadn’t been watching him with such avid horror. “I dont know why you feel you aren’t happy anymore, sweetheart, but I’m glad you realised what you want.” You watched him stand without a word, as you slowly realised that this is real.

He thinks this is real

That was all you needed before you were leaping off the couch, practically turning it over with the force you’d pushed off it. You were shouting his name, grabbing him by the arm and absolutely dragging him to face you. With the sudden turn and shock, you both ended up on the floor as you began to babble, words pouring out of your mouth and tears streaming from your eyes

“Kaoru, of course I’m not unhappy, you always know just how to make me happy, I could never leave you!” You were jumping on top of him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he sat up, a hand on your back and the other pulling your hair back from your face, trying to find any trace of a lie on your face

“Are you serous? It was all...” he was speechless. He didn’t realise you would even pull something like that, much less go so far with it

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” you sobbed. “I never meant for it to go this far. I just wanted to see you get a little worked up, pull a funny prank, nothing else, i prom-“ you were cut off when Kaoru pushed his lips onto yours, breath shaky as he ran his hand through your hair, as if you were going to disappear any second and he was making sure you were still there

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours, letting out a small laugh

“Don’t ever pull that shit again”

Joe:

When you first brought it up with him, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Surely you weren’t serious, right?

He kept a smile quirked on his lips, a questioning look in his eyes. Still, you kept a face of steel, as if challenging him to ask if you were joking

As worried as he was, he wasn’t sure you were being serious. Something about it wasn’t..genuine? You looked too straight-faced, your expression staying neutral the whole time as if to not give something away. He was certain he hadn’t done enough to make you this delighted about breaking up, so why were you so unaffected?

The cogs were turning in his brain, all arrows pointing towards one of two directions: either he was a massive dick, or it was a prank

Oh. A prank

Of course, he wasn’t certain, but it would certainly explain quite a bit

So he decided on a plan. It wasn’t exactly the nicest thing to do, but if it was a prank, it was a nice way for him to get you back for the little skit you pulled. And if it wasn’t a prank, well, maybe it’ll take the sting away a little

His mouth quickly dropped to a frown, ready to put his plan into action. “Oh yeah? Well, thats a bit of a relief.” He had to try hard to hide his grin when he saw your eyebrows furrow, saw the frown begin to spread across your face. So maybe it was a prank. You could only watch as he continued his speech

“You see, I’ve been thinking about ending things for a while now. There was a girl at S I met a few weeks back, and man, you should’ve seen the eyes she’s been giving me. Anyways, I’ve taken a real liking to her, and Ive been thinking about giving things with her a shot. Of course, now it shouldn’t be a bother, right?”

When he saw your face contort from confusion to anger, he knew he’d fucked up severely. Suddenly you were getting up close to his face, prank forgotten, poking him in the chest as you began to shout

“Are you serious!? After all we’ve been through together, you’re just gonna leave me for some bitch you met a few weeks ago??” You were fuming at this point, while Joe watched you with with a look of mock confusion

“What’s your problem? You were the one who wanted to “break up”, right?” Something about the way he said ‘break up’ made you freeze, looking up at him as you watched a grin begin to form on Joe’s face. That bastard

“You...you asshole!” You were lost for words. He knew this whole time? And instead of enlightening you, he decided to play along? You watched with a blank expression as Joe laughed, pulling you into a hug

“I knew it” he let out a loud laugh, but it almost seemed forced. You pulled away, and when you tried to look at him his eyes seemed to be everywhere but you. You grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you

“You didn’t think id actually want to break up, did you?” When he simply frowned, pulling his eyes away again you cooed, pulling him into your chest as you stroked his hair, feeling his arms slowly wrap around your waist and hold you close

It’s safe to say the two of you stayed like that for quite a while

Shadow:

When you asked him to break up as a joke, you simply wanted to see if you could piss him off. Hiromi was prone to getting mad at the smallest things, cursing up a storm when he did something as small as mess up his makeup

So when you saw his face break, felt him shrink in on himself as he asked you why, what had he done that made you want to leave, your face was frozen with shock

Now this was completely new. Of course, you knew Hiromi wasn’t just some big angry man, but you didn’t think he’d get this worked up

Brows furrowed, he brought a hand to his forehead as he let out a long breath

“What happened?” Those two words held so much emotion it almost made you break. You didn’t realise how much this would affect him, just how upset it would make him. But here he was, an emotional wreck as he wiped an almost-tear away from the edge of his eye

But soon after, he was stepping close to you, grabbing your hand and looking at you with all the sincerity in the world

“Please, give me another chance. I dont know what I did, but I do know we can fix it. I know we can, please y/n. I cant lose you”

His heartfelt speech was all you needed for the tears to slowly fall from your eyes, Hiromi looking at you with a look of concern, and confusion. You were stepping into his arms, crying silently as he hesitantly put his arms around you, not quite sure what to do. So was that a yes?

You picked your head off his shoulder, not moving from his arms

“Oh, Hiromi” he looked down at you, concern washing over his face once more. “It was only a prank, I’m so sorry.”

Now he wasn’t just upset, but relieved. A bit of anger was in there somewhere, but that could be overlooked for now. He let out a loud laugh, hugging you so tightly you could’ve sworn you felt at least 3 of your ribs break

“And what made you think that was a funny thing to do?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, not letting you out of his death grip. You simply shrugged, burying yourself deeper into his chest. He smiled, his knees practically buckling after the whole ordeal

He held you at arms length, a frown on his face. You felt a twinge of panic, maybe he wouldn’t forgive you?

This thought was quickly forgotten when he barked out a loud laugh. He dropped his face to your level, putting his hands on your shoulders

“Pull something like that again, and I swear you’ll give me a heart attack”

Miya:

Miya has never been one for properly expressing his emotions, so when you walked up to him one day and asked him to break up, he simply frowned. He didn’t let it on, but his world was very quickly caving in around him

Keeping a neutral expression, he sighed and nodded his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak right now

When you gave him a confused look from his lack of a verbal response, he really had to try to not walk out of that room there and then. You break up with him, and then expect him to just take it and walk away with a smile??

When you continued to look at him expectantly, he just let out a breath, turning away from you. “Fine. Whatever. If thats really what you want then so be it” he was kicking himself for being so blunt, but what other choice did he have? He couldn’t think, his lungs felt too small, too cramped

And now you were going to leave just like everyone else had

You tried to put your hand on his shoulder, calling his name quietly. He simply shrugged you off, dipping his head so you wouldn’t see the tears that were quickly collecting in his eyes. You’d just dumped him, the last thing he needed was you seeing him cry. You didn’t give up, asking him why he wouldn’t just look at you. Still not facing you, he attempted to talk again

“What more is there to discuss? You want to leave, so go. I’m not going to stop you if its what you want.” The crack in his voice at the end of his sentence broke your heart, and you were quickly turning him around, with more force this time, so he was forced to look you in the eyes

“Do you really think I’d leave that easily? It was a prank, you dumbass.” His head was buzzing with thoughts, why the hell would you do that? So you dont actually want to leave? You’re still gonna stay with him? You-

His thoughts were interrupted by you flicking his forehead. His hands flew to his head, letting out a cry. First you pretend to dump him, and now you have the audacity to flick him?

However, it did serve its purpose of pulling him out of his thoughts, and you were quickly pulling him into a hug while you stroked his hair. Before long you felt your shoulder grow wet with tears, the occasional sniffle leaving him. You laughed, holding him close as you tilted his chin to look at you

“I’m not going anywhere, as much as you might like me to. You’re stuck with me for a while longer, Miya Chinen.” He looked away from you, clicking his teeth

“Shut up..” he was mumbling, but there was so mistaking how hard he was gripping your clothes, as if you might try to leave again. But like you said, you weren’t going anywhere for quite some time

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whirlybirbs · 3 years

Text

FEVER-DREAM ; echo/reader

summary: echo is fine-tuning his new prosthesis. you have experience, you help. unspoken feelings are acted on. adoration blooms. you learn what mesh’la means.

word count: 3k

pairing: echo / f!reader

tags: mutual pining, lots of tender looks, victorian-era hand-touching sluttiness, echo is a gentle soul, reader is head over heels, a touch of ptsd mention, set on ord mantell, mention of our boy fives, in this house we love assistive devices, enough sexual tension to power the death star

a/n: this is me round-house kicking the bad batch writers in the throat because they made echo cosplay a droid — but, also because this man deserves to be treated as more than a means to a mission’s end. majority of you know i am ~bitter~ (understatement of the century) of tbb’s plot/design/writing. but echo has been a favorite from the original days... so have some very soft fic.

i reference character redesigns by @nibeul in this piece — please go peep them here, and some updated character spreads here! they’re really beautiful and add a phenomenal layer of storytelling to the existing designs that’s lacking. nibuel’s art and writing is lovely. please give them a follow — i can’t rec their work enough.

“How does it feel?”

The words are nearly whispered; it’s clear you didn’t want to startle him, and Echo can feel the pinch in his brow soften at your sudden appearence in the doorway.

His bunk, at the back of the Havoc Marauder, is small — the space itself even more so. There’s a makeshift partition, hooked together with spare parts and meant to offer a bit of privacy on the cramped vessel. Its slate grey color has faded, and the edges have become tattered in the cycles of use.

When Echo pulls his dark eyes up from his work, you’re leaning against the frame — your expression is earnest.

For a moment, the once-ARC Trooper is quiet.

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to your attention. Each and every time, it sends him into a spiral; his heart catches as he inhales and tries to push down the warm stir in his gut. The sight of you is enough, nowadays, to melt Echo’s well-maintained irritability. His attention is stolen from his ever-present pain, if only for a bit.

There are plenty of days where he misses the old him — the wide-eyed, eager ARC Trooper who had his brothers by his side. His real brothers. Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait... Fives.

Fuckin’ hell, Fives was probably staring down at him now laughing.

No matter what changes, you’re still shit with the ladies, vod’ika.

In a way he hasn’t fully admitted to himself, you make him feel like himself again. Like... Like some shiny cadet, on leave and distracted by the promises of pretty smiles passing-by. It’s good.

This makes him feel... good.

He flexes, and his right hand — the new, gunmetal durasteel cyberized-prosthesis — closes into a tight fist. It’s taken him a bit, but the feeling isn’t so foreign now. It’s still... slow. Slower than he’s used to, but you’d mentioned it may take some time. The phantom feelings get better, too. All in all, it’s a good thing.

Your own hand, your left, glimmers back in the same gunmetal color.

(Echo had never pressed you about the missing limb — not until one day, in Cid’s, you’d joined him in a quiet corner. You’d spilled your drink and a complaint about getting the star-cherry syrup out of the joints had slipped out. Echo had laughed; a real laugh, the sort that was so rare coming from him, it had you staring at him as if he’d hung ever star in the sky.

Can I ask how it happened? he’d said, breaking the heavy silence when your eyes never left his.

The Pykes, you’d said, and that was enough.)

“I haven’t, uh... Haven’t gotten the sensory calibration right yet.”

Then, his prosthesis cramps. His fingers go rigid, and Echo curses sharply as he reaches around his forearm to quickly reboot the appendage. It goes slack, then hums alive once more.

You wince.

You’re slow to move into the room — and you settle atop one of the crates Echo had stolen from the belly of the ship, an old Mantell Mix shipping container. You’re mindful to set his datapad aside, to not disturb his space too much. Before you reach for his hand, however, you lift your chin and open your hands in your lap.

“May I?” you ask, just as soft as before.

Echo feels small under your gaze.

Truth be told, you’re doing more than just... asking. You’re taking him in — appreciating him. It’s a habit that’s grown more and more apparent to not only himself, but the others.

In recent rotations, Echo has let his hair grow out — not long, but the once close buzz he’d kept has begun to curl at the top. Not entirely dissimilair to how it was before the Citadel. The dermal implants, the ones the Techno Union installed in order to parse the nuerological data in his head, stand out against his warm-colored skin.

His usual AJ^6-inspired headpiece is resting on his bunk.

That damn thing.

A neccesary tool. One that, given the amount of user data Tech had procured when working on modifying the implant, Echo found himself immediately distrusting. It wasn’t as if the AJ^6 cyborg construct had a beautiful track record, and frankly, Echo would like to keep his personality in tact, thank you very much. There were plenty of days he felt machine enough.

It wasn’t often you saw him without the headset; you knew it made linking in via his scomp easier to handle, it made the visualization of data transfers as easy as breathing. For Echo, it was a part of his vast kit, an important tool. For you, seeing him without it bubbles up a bit of a smile.

Echo catches it.

His eyes narrow playfully.

He looks... well. You — hell, are there words for it? For the way the sight of him makes you feel? It’s like there’s a world full of potential there, a thousand words unsaid, and feelings that have steeped in the warmth of longing gazes and half-there touches.

You’re still looking up at him, knees bent on the crate.

You blink, realizing you’ve been caught staring — not for the first time and certainly not for the last. In the beginning, it had left a sour taste in Echo’s mouth. But, now... Well, it stokes a sort of pride in his chest that he hangs onto.

It never gets easier to recover from — certainly not when Echo smirks. He moves to allow you to take his prosthesis into your lap. The gesture is gentle; your fingers cradle the firm yet pliable metal.

“What?” he asks. His voice, low and rough and warm, is tinted with amusement.

“Nothing,” you say vaguely with a shrug — as if that’s supposed to explain any part of your enamored stare. Your attention moves to the prosthesis.

“Nothing?” he asks, moving to thumb his left ear with his free hand with a dash of nervousness. A habit. Echo tilts his head as his fingers brush the cochlear implant there. The panel rests neatly against the side of his head, a small rounded-off square. The bite of self-consciousness has dwindled around you — but still, it creeps back up every now and again.

The Corporal’s brows knot playfully as you turn his new hand over in your lap; you’re admiring the upgraded feel, the more seamless panelling in comparison to your own. Echo watches your lashes flutter in silent thought.

Then:

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You blink slowly at the hand, swallow down your sudden sheepishness and ignore his gaze. You bite back the smile digging into your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks suddenly, and you look up.

A baited trick. He’s smiling.

The warm sort — the sort reserved for you and for Omega. The two souls that hold a piece of his heart, with all its ticking valves and electric timed pulses. There are machinisms that keep him alive, and then there is you. Your wide-eyed expression melts, giving way to the sort of smile he’s tried to memorize over and over. It’s the same smile that has warded off that reoccuring nightmare of the night on the tarmac at the Citadel, the same smile that has pulled him through the grit of phantom pains.

“What—” a sudden laugh bursts from your chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were staring, mesh’la,” he rumbles out as a reminder, enjoying the fact he’s suddenly become the center of your attention. Echo leans back, his boot toeing yours. You nudge it back. Your face feels hot. You ignore his pointedly teasing look with a roll of your eyes.

The nickname started a few weeks ago. You haven’t asked what it means — no, for now it’s meaning hangs in the balance. Untouched but there. The affection the word carries makes your heart feel heavier and unbelievably full.

“Bad habit,” you chirp back, looking up at him through your lashes.

His laugh is warm.

“Maybe not.”

“No,” you say quietly; your voice is soft as your eyes bounce across his face, tracing the lines of his face with your gaze, “I don’t think it is.”

There’s a silence that slips between you — a comfortable one. It’s heavier than before. That has begun to happen recently, especially with the petal-soft utterance of mesh’la becoming more and more frequent. You hold his gaze. Echo lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Then, you remember the task at hand.

You clear your throat.

“Uh... The access panel I’m looking for,” you say slowly as your raise your finger to point to your own arm, “It’s on your bicep.”

Echo blinks. He clears his own throat before looking down — he hadn’t even noticed that access panel. That could explain the jarring miscommunication stalling the limb. This model had more bells and whistles than he initally realized.

Better than a fuckin’ scomp link, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Echo makes room on his bunk. You move to settle beside him, your bent leg resting aginst his hip as you half-straddle the bed; your other knee brushes his thigh — and Echo tries to sit still. You’re close, now.

“Is it okay if...?” you trail off, fingers tugging on the short sleeve of his blacks; you pause until Echo offers a curt nod. You catch him swallow. You push onward, fingers nimbly rolling the fabric up over his broad bicep.

Echo steals a glance your way as your fingers pass across a slip of his bare skin.

In his lap, both his hands twitch.

He’s no small man. Lean and athletic, Echo is built like a soldier. Omega had said once that Echo was an ARC Trooper, one of the best of the best. You believed every bit of it, and you’d hung on her words when she’d rambled on about ARC training, about Kamino, and about who Echo was before you knew him. It was all in the past, though. That Echo is a part of this Echo but... They’re different men. He’s been changed by the things that have happened.

You don’t press him on the details.

In time, they’re slipped into conversation here and there — between the here and now.

In the beginning, when you’d found yourself amongst the crew of the Havoc Marauder — be it for a simple job on Cid’s behalf — Echo had hardly paid you a moment of attention, though you admit you’d been curious from the start. It had taken three jobs for you to finally see his face. Then began the slow and gradual bonding over catching joints, grating plates, and hardware updates. His legs, your arm. Two pieces of a pair.

Now, he has this. A beautiful new upgrade — something he’s wanted for a long time. A part of his old self is back, in a way.

You liked that it was more than just a tool. That, in having this piece of his body back, he felt like more than a tool. More than a scomp link.

After all, he is a man — a... a very handsome man. One whose proximity is sort of distracting you, again, from the task at hand.

“The panel here,” you say as you slowly press on the seam that enables the settings panel to be revealed; you’re mindful to explain, “It controls sensory outputs, as well as synchonized synaptic commands. The panel on my forearm does the same to my hand, yours is just... well, you’ve got the new and improve version.”

Echo ducks his head as you work, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Feeling a bit jealous, mesh’la?”

“Maybe,” you breathe out with a smile.

Then, you lift your eyes. You intended to see that he was still comfortable, but instead you come face to face with the Corporal. His nose nearly brushes yours when you lift you chin, completely dragged in by the closeness shared.

There’s a beat of tension. Echo’s mouth goes dry.

You fingers pause. You swallow hard. “How... uh, how does it feel?”

Echo tightens his grip, then releases. His breath tickles your cheeks. His eyes, a deep, warm brown, flit from your eyes to your mouth, and then back. His voice is a croak.

“...Same as before.”

You tinker with a dial, eyes never leaving his; your voice is above a whisper. “And now?”

It’s immediate. Like a rush of cold air up his arm — and on instinct, Echo’s hand twitches. His fingers grip the fabric of his blacks, along his thigh, and... he feels it. The smooth, stretch of the material. It’s... it feels like a lot. His fingertips, metallic and cyberized, tingle. It’s distracting.

He can feel.

His hand is slow. It moves across to bridge the space between you. His pointer finger settles on the curve of your knee; the feeling of your tactical pants beneath his fingertip is ignored, instead he chases the heat of your body.

Your breath catches at the touch.

Echo’s face is turned to you, but... his attention has settled on his hand. His palm then sweeps across your thigh. He follows the curve, soaks in the feeling. You’re frozen in place, beating back the desperate sound of appreciation that threatens to be pulled from your throat. The touch is... more than welcomed.

The closeness itself is making you dizzy.

Then, Echo turns — and the warm, durasteel-plated palm finds your cheek.

Your skin is hot.

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he whispers, words riding on a quiet exhale — the sort that make you feel... well, you don’t even have words for the way he makes you feel. Echo is... kind, honest, and loyal. Above all else, he’s gentle. Despite it all, despite every bit of horror he’d been put through, he’d never lost sight of the importance of a gentle hand. Especially now in a moment as intimate as this. It coaxes you closer.

You lean into the cybernetic attachment, cheek resting in his palm. You nod, then, with eyes eager to take in every bit of this moment.

He chuckles at the enthusiasm. Echo’s thumb, deft and smooth, then traces the line of your lower lip.

The feeling is... the gnawing pain that he’s felt for nearly a year has melted. Finally, the itch has been scratched in his brain and the hollow ache of his bones is gone. It’s relief, and comfort, and excitement and all these beautiful things — and you.

You’re stuck — you don’t want to move, you won’t move. He’s rooted you completely, and when his other hand — the calloused and warm one of flesh and blood — finds it’s spot along your thigh, you swallow a lovesick sigh that would only exaserbate your desperation.

Your mouth is moving before you realize it.

“What does it mean?”

Echo’s eyes narrow, only a bit, and he runs his thumb up your cheekbone.

“What does what mean?”

“Mesh’la,” it sounds foreign on your tongue. It’s not Hutteese or Twi’leki, not like any language you know, “Will you tell me what it means, Echo?”

The corner of his lips quirk. Your eyes jump to it.

You feel like someone’s reached right into your chest and given your heart a squeeze — and it only worsens when he laughs. He laughs, deep and quiet and warm, like a thunderstorm on a summer night. It feels cruel, to string you along like this when you’re here, lips parted, hanging off his every touch and his every word.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly as his other hand touches your jaw — it’s so damn reverent, this little moment in time, that you almost don’t believe it’s real.

It feels like a dream — like someone has come in and stolen your thoughts from you; like the unrequited yearning has finally stoked a fire large enough to burn you up entirely, a fever you never knew you wanted.

His nose brushes yours.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his chest. You’re clinging, lost to the moment — and you can’t help wonder if this is how it feels when he catches you adoring him. He’s admiring you so tenderly that you nearly break.

You want to kiss him.

He’s thought about nothing but kissing you for the last five days at least. Longer in his dreams. Nowadays, it’s a constant pull, a constant want.

And now, it’s here — a present and current moment where it can happen. Where he can stop being a shiny cadet and he can make a move...

Enter Omega.

“Echo, we’re back—!”

The telltale hammer of a girl’s boots on the floor signals that the party is back from their supply run — but you’re so far off, spinning in a different universe, you don’t even hear her until its too late... Until Echo is yanking himself away and clearing his throat and rolling his wrist to test the prosthesis in a different way, a less intimate way.

You blink, then rattle yourself back to the present. Omega is in the doorway staring with a quizzical look. Clearly, your state does little to dissuade the assumptions she’s already making and you can see the gears turning in her head. The dark-haired girl then slowly grins.

“Hi.”

You swallow. “Hi, Omega.”

“...Whatcha guys doin’?”

Echo coughs. “Uh, just fine-tuning the new upgrade.”

“...Riiiiiight.”

You rub your cheeks and laugh — clearly forced and incredibly pained — as you stand up and nearly ram your head right into the top of Echo’s bunk. It’s met with a hiss of warning from the trooper as he jumps up to try and protect you from the impact.

“Well! Uh, thanks for letting me help, Echo,” you clap, rocking back and forth on your boots, “I, uh... Oh, Cid called. I should... I should get back—”

“Yea,” he says, straining a bit to find the words, “Yea, I’ll... I’ll comm you if it starts to, uh... If it starts to act up?”

Omega watches the exchange, big brown eyes moving from left to right.

“Good, great — yea, that’s,” you inhale as you rub your thighs and move towards the door, “Perfect. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!” Omega calls, waving.

You wave back, smiling. “Bye, Omega.”

Then, once it’s only Echo and Omega in the bunk, the tween speaks.

“...What the kriff was that?”

#HE IS A CORPORAL!!!!!#let echo say fuck #and omega #echo x reader #echo imagine #arc trooper echo x reader #echo/reader #echo/you #echo x you #tcw imagine #tbb imagine #sw imagine #the bad batch imagine #THANK YOU ANON WHO SENT ME THE UPDATED SPREADS #LOVE U ANGEL

563 notes · View notes

kimnjss · 3 years

Text

keep going | jjk

⤑ series: cherry pickers

⤑ pairing: gamer(fuckboi)!jungkook x video vixen(virgin)!reader

⤑ genre: smut!! (and the start of angst at the end...)

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 4.8K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: cursing, slight dirty talk, oral sex (m/f. receiving), handjob, cum shot, face sitting, spitting, grinding, (half-assed) 69-ing, nipple play, groping, dry humping, they’re both half drunk nd messy.

⤑ A/N: hiiii! how are you? sooo ., i decided to make the party two parts bc i had terrible time management today nd it’s getting late - buut i really wanted to post today. sooo part two up tomorrow!!

MAY 8TH, 2020 | 23:30

Jungkook hears your squeal over the booming bass of the music, long before you're appearing through the crowd of drunk partygoers. Jimin is steps behind you, large black glasses resting on the tip of his nose. Eyes likely bloodshot underneath them obvious from the stumble in his walk. Your hair fans out behind you as you run, jumping with a shout onto your boyfriend. Who is more than ready to catch you. Hands splayed over the small of your back, while your legs wrap around his waist.

Giggling, even though nothing's really funny. Cold hands finding his cheeks as your hair creates a curtain on one side of his face. “My baby!” Speaking a bit too loud for how close you are, but he doesn't mind it. Especially since you're quick with covering his mouth with yours. The strong taste of alcohol hitting his tongue as if how drunk you were wasn't already obvious.

The kiss doesn't last long because you're being distracted by your thoughts, lips parting from his, you begin to bounce in his arms. Thighs brushing against his waist and the skirt of your dress riding up the swell of your ass. “Jimin said you got dressed up for me,” You're wearing this pretty smile on your face, cheeks tinted pink and he's not too convinced it's just from the alcohol.

He nods without a bit of hesitation because he had nothing to hide. Wouldn't even be stood here in this outfit if he didn't think you'd find him attractive in it. Another squeal is leaving your lips, legs leaving his body as you jump down out of his grasp. Taking a step back to fully take in his appearance.

“You look good enough to eat,” Moving in close to him, your arms lift to wrap around his neck. Tugging gently so his face is level with yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheek as you lean up to reach his ear. “We'll get to that later, though.” A gentle kiss pressed to the outside of it and you're sure you hear a moan leave his lips.

Not dwelling too much on the sound, you pull back, taking his hand in his, leading him into the kitchen where you swear you saw Jimin disappear. Probably in search of smoother drinks to accompany the numerous shots swimming in his stomach. Jimin was quite the drinker and a bit hard to keep up with, either way, you managed without falling over. That was definitely a plus.

Jungkook had been here an hour or two before you showed up. Found Taehyung in the crowd and Yoongi after that, the three of them spending time drinking and talking while he waited for you. Your friends were cool and he was enjoying the music and everything, but at the end of it, he was most looking forward to seeing you... even if he had been with you just the day before.

Shots were passed around and Yoongi had his mind set on getting absolutely trashed, him and everyone within a ten-foot radius. Which had him refilling every single empty glass in sight. Including Jungkook, despite the fact, he was on the far end of the couch. So yeah, not as drunk as you, but definitely heading in that direction.

Who cares, though? It was a party after all.

MAY 9TH, 2020 | 00:19

Sat up on the kitchen counter with Jungkook beside you, quietly sipping from his cup while you talk a mile a minute with the guys in the room. Taehyung has taken an interest in Jimin who has made it his entire business to play hard to get. The whole nine yards, honestly, not looking directly at him while he spoke, acting aloof when it was clear to any of your close friends that Tae was enjoying the undivided attention.

Yoongi had gone somewhere a good half hour ago, nothing but a brief mumble of his departure which was drowned out by the music. Hoseok was leaving a few moments after him, loudly declaring he wanted to go dance. Yet, you have yet to see the inevitable circle form around him.

That left Joon and Jin with you and Jungkook, the four of you laughing and talking loudly about something that you'd no doubt forget in the morning. Well, three of you... Jungkook only half listened, the rest of his attention on you. Hadn't taken his eyes off you since he was setting you down on the counter and it was getting a little hard to ignore his stare.

Jungkook was always obvious, hardly ever beat around the bush... especially when it had anything to do with you. So just one look in his direction and you could tell that he was undressing you with his eyes, playing a dirty movie in his mind where the two of you were the stars.

Normally, you'd tease him. Get him all riled up until he was whining, basically begging for some type of release. It was always fun to see how far you could push him, how much you could get away with before he was becoming a mess of himself.

Strangely tonight, though, you didn't feel like teasing. Wanted him just as much as he wanted you, if not more. And with this liquid courage cruising through your veins, you didn't care if he knew it. You didn't care who knew it. Jin has sparked Joon's argumentative spirit, claiming he was right about something that Joon literally based his entire life on.

It's not often you get to see Joon get riled up, especially in the face of a stranger. But the oddly sexy vein popping out at the side of his neck is very low on your list of concerns. No, your focus is on Jungkook and how you can get him from this room to upstairs a little more private.

“Koo,” His head snaps in your direction in an instant at the sound of your voice, cloudy eyes taking in your outstretched arms. Instantly putting together that you were beckoning him toward you, he doesn't waste a moment to stand in front of you. Palms settling down against the tops of your thighs, the coldness of them forcing goosebumps to rise on your warm skin.

Long legs stretching out to wrap around his hips, pulling him closer. You always wanted him closer. Fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down closer to you. He kisses you immediately, hands wrapping around your thighs, using his grip to pull your body toward him. He's hard. Can feel it pressed right against your thigh, a curious hand dropping down his torso until you're able to reach him.

Jungkook flinches at the touch, hips jerking forward and teeth scraping against your lower lip. The subtle pain pulls a moan from your lips that's quickly muffled by the determined twist of his tongue. Hesitant fingers inch underneath the hem of your dress and then back down your thighs, up a little higher, and then back down. His fingers repeat their movement three times before you're pulling away from his lips.

“What are you doing?” Your words come out through a laugh, hands on either side of his face as you look down to watch his fingers on your skin. “I'm just checking...” All slurred and barely coherent, he's not looking at you instead he's tracking the movements of his fingers as if he was in the midst of creating a masterpiece on your legs.

You can't help the laugh that slips past your lips at his focus, fingers racking through his short hair. Pushing the fluffy strands out of the way so you can get a better peak at the look of concentration on his face. “Checking what?”

Dark eyes lift to find yours, teeth catching his lower lip as he searches your features. Looking for any hint that you were uncomfortable. That you wanted him to slow down. Something that you constantly caught him doing if the two of you were moving past a peck. It was sweet, nice of him to always be thinking of you. But it did make you feel fragile like you needed him to look out for you. Never did you like this feeling, but coming from him... it didn't feel so bad.

“How high up you'll let me go this time. Do you want me to stop?” There's a second question hidden in there. He wasn't just talking about his hands on his legs, but rather how far you were willing to go tonight. It's obvious because Jungkook was horrible at hiding what he was thinking, every thought written on his face at all times.

Which is why you're so quick to shake your head, using the hold you have around his waist to pull him further between his legs. His hardening length brushing against the crease of your thighs and you're humming at the feeling of warmth that spreads throughout your body. “Not yet. Keep going,”

That's all he needs to hear and it's like a switch has been flipped inside of him. Whatever restraint he had been using since you first jumped on him going out the window as his hands move higher up your legs, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck. His teeth catch your skin, blunt nails dragging their way to your ass and all you're left to do is whine and moan underneath him.

A hand running down the front of his pastel-colored pants to cover his crotch. Fingers flexing around his bulge, shamelessly palming him through his pants in the middle of Yoongi's kitchen. He's letting out a breathy groan, head falling back as his hips move in motion with your hand.

He looks so hot, it's almost unbelievable. Eyes squeeze shut, with his lower lip tucked between his teeth. Thick neck on full display, you can't help but lean up and kiss it. Sucking open-mouthed kisses into his skin, while your hand moves over him.

“Fuck,” he groans, loud enough for just you to hear. The sound sending a pang of arousal pooling between your legs. “I want to fuck you so bad,” It's a drunken confession that he's barely aware of, his focus on his hands squeezing your ass over the fabric of your dress.

Leaning back enough so your eyes catch his, he's looking at you with such desire and want. A look that you're no stranger to, but it definitely has you feeling a little less out of control tonight. Tilting your head up, you press a soft kiss to his lips, pulling back just before his tongue is able to slither past your lips.

“Wanna go upstairs?”

MAY 9TH, 2020 | 00:57

Jungkook takes two steps toward you the moment Yoongi's bedroom door is secured shut. Hands on either side of your face, holding your head steady as he goes in for a kiss. A sloppy rushed kiss that pulls deep groans from his lips. Fingers curling in your hair while his hand drops low on your waist, pulling your body into his.

He's spent long enough holding on to restraint, not wanting to tip the scale in either direction in hopes to keep you from pulling back. Only going as far as you'd let him, but now you were giving him the green light for more. And although, he wasn't sure how much more you were willing to give... he was going to enjoy all he was able to take.

His mouth falls from yours, fingers moving toward the neckline of your dress. The same tiny dress you deemed too tight to wear anything underneath, besides the lace thong that does nothing but look pretty against your skin. With a fluid motion of his hands, your tits are spilling out the top of your dress, nipples peaking from the cool air circulating around the room.

His cock stiffens in his pants at the sight. Trying not to be obvious with the way the sight of your bare chest makes him drool. This was so far from being the first time he's seen boobs, but this was the first time he was seeing yours and that felt like the first time ever. He didn't know what to do with himself. Brain working overtime trying to figure out where to start. He wanted all of you, that much wasn't a secret. But he knew that he had to be careful, this was a privilege of course. A rarity. One wrong move and he fuck it all up for himself.

The blank stare on his face does nothing for the pounding in your chest. Wishing that he'd just say something instead of staring the way he was. Not even looking directly at you. Did he think they were weird? Were you doing too much? Should you cover up?

Two strong hands wrap around your thighs, lifting your body off of the ground. Finally, finally looking up at you with those dark brown eyes of his. So easy to read, so filled with lust. For you. Long strides taken across the room and before you know it, your body is being surrounded by fluffy sheets and the smell of Yoongi.

“You're so perfect,” He sounds like he's in disbelief, shaking his head at his own words as he climbs onto the bed with you. Your head trapped on either side of his arms, hips pressed flush together. He fit so well between your legs.

Warm lips meet yours, tasting heavily of alcohol and his fruity lip balm. He's swallowing the moan that falls from your lips, tongue pushing against yours as his hips move in a slow rut. Kissing you breathless with his hand wrapped around one of your breasts, thumb flicking against your nipple. So easily pulling moans and whines from your lips with a simple flex of his muscles. “I can't believe I'm with you,” His words murmured against your lips, but your heart is standing at full attention, ready to swell in his favor.

Pulling back only to leave a trail of wet kisses down the length of his neck, mapping his way to your breasts. A breathy cry of his name falls from your lips when his teeth scrape against the hardened nub. Chuckling soft, his eyes lift to meet yours as he wraps his lips around it. Tongue moving just as it had been inside your mouth and you can't help but wonder how it'd feel in other places too.

Always ten steps ahead of you, Jungkook's hand outlines the curve of your breasts all the way down to the dip of your waist, passing your hips until the tips of his fingers catch the hem of your skirt.

He pulls off your chest with a pop, a thin line of spit connecting his lower lip to your skin. His tongue juts out to break it while his gaze lowers to watch himself reveal more and more of your skin with each movement of his hand. It's not long until your entire dress is bunched up at your waist, the maroon thong you had shimmied into on full display for his greedy eyes.

The growing wet patch between your legs is all he can seem to focus on. Jungkook startles you with his quickness, head dropping between your legs in an instant. Arms looping around your thighs to hold them apart, nose nudging against your covered clit as his tongue flattens against your slit.

“Holy fuck!” It's like someone has lit your entire body on fire. Back arched off the bed and toes pressed against the sheets. He's letting out a laugh, the prettiest sound you've ever heard paired with that toothy grin of his. Three gentle kisses are placed right on top where his tongue just had been.

Reaching down to find his soft head of hair, you gently drag his face up away from your sensitive pussy. His nose bumping against yours and his stiff cock resting just above your clit. Much harder than before and you can only guess why. Yet, despite his obvious arousal and his desperate want to continue, he's still able to compose himself enough to ask.

Pressing the softest of kisses to your lips, fingers pushing strands of your hair out of the way. “Keep going?” Silently hoping that you answer in his favor. Pretty much over the moon when you're nodding, hips lifting to meet his. It's his turn to curse, teeth cutting into his lip to keep from being too loud.

Kind of hard with the way you were grinding against him. Even through your useless panties, his boxers, and pants, he could feel you. How warm you were, wet too. So sure that his fingers would slip right in. How many would you actually be able to take? Just one? Two? Maybe three?

Had to be at least three if you expected to take his dick after. Never one to brag, but Jungkook was a decent size. Thick in the places that it mattered most, long enough to boost his confidence. Definitely took pride in the way your eyes would go wide when seeing it. Were you thinking about it too? Him fucking you.

“Yn, fuck.” He's hissing through clenched teeth, only now noticing the work you've done at the front of his pants. Buttons undone and fly wide open, your warm hand down the front of his briefs to fish out his throbbing length. It only grows harder in your soft grip, twitching at the brush of cool air.

It takes two of your small hands to cover him, the pink mushroom tip peaking out from your closed fists. Hands twisting in opposite directions and he doesn't even hesitate to fuck into the hole you've created. Eyes fluttering as breathy moans fall from his lips, heavy balls slapping against your covered pussy.

Jungkook's got a firm grip on your breast, the other hand clutching the bunched up fabric of your dress. Head bowed as he watches his cock disappear and reappear between your hands. He has no shame in the fact he's imagining it's you he's fucking. That he's being squeezed by the tightness of your walls. Imagining that you're reaching your limit too, instead of him selfishly getting his release. Every single time.

He loses it when you're sitting up, spitting into the palm of your hand to create a much wetter slip for his cock. Hands tightening around him and moving at a much faster pace. He's gasping and groaning, fucking forward as if he's buried inside of you. And you're close too, it makes him feel a lot better about the loud way he spills his load onto your stomach.

Warm and sticky against your clammy skin, you're lifting a hand off of him to dip your fingers into the mess. He watches the way you drag through it, bringing your index finger up to your mouth. “Oh, God.” He groans, earning a pretty giggle from you. His mouth is on yours again within an instant, fingers tangling in your hair as his tongue rolls around the inside of your mouth.

Tasting himself on your tongue and that just makes him want you more. “Please let me taste you.” His eyes still feel heavy and his body too, but that's the least bit of his concern. He wants to make you feel good. It's only fair, with the way you're constantly catering to him. You deserved it. “Please,”

Not even worried about sounding desperate or even whiny, he just wants you. He wants you to want him. And you do. Have wanted him since the first time you met him if you're honest. Tonight all of that was only amplified, a mixture of the alcohol and the realization of how quickly you had fallen for him.

Didn't even realize it was happening until it was done. Jungkook was quickly becoming it for you. Not a day went by where he wasn't on your mind, yearning to see him, to talk to him, to kiss him. Needy in ways that were nearly foreign to you. Always so good at keeping it together, but when it came to him you just couldn't.

And you didn't really want to either.

“Okay,” His face breaks into this huge smile and you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips. “Okay?” He has to check, make sure that he's hearing you right. And when the sound of your laugh fills his ears, followed by another confirmation he's almost ready to jump for joy.

Springing up, he's shrugging his shirt off. Wiping the drying cum from your stomach as a true gentleman would. Tossing the dirty fabric to the side, he's shifting to lay on his back before you're stopping him. “Take this one off too,” Reaching for the sleeve of his undershirt and he doesn't waste a moment before tugging it over his head and tossing it to the side.

He's moving to lay on his back before you're allowed the proper time to admire his well worked on chest. The ripples in his stomach that can only be accomplished with hours upon hours in the gym. His head lifts to find you sat up in the same spot, this quizzical look on his face which you return with a laugh.

“Come sit on my face,” He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, reaching out for your wrist, to gently drag you toward him. Your eyes are saucers, cheeks flushed at the thought of being sat up on him like that. “Why?” It's obvious to the both of you why, but you wait for his answer anyway.

His shoulders lift in a slight shrug, lips stretching into a slow sexy smile. “I've always wanted you to sit on my face,” He's so calm about it too as if he didn't just admit to the dirty secret thoughts that bounce around his head when the two of you are alone. You're so inclined to give this man whatever he wants that you don't bother to fight it anymore, simply lifting yourself up to stand over his head.

Taking in the way he's smiling up at you like a kid on Christmas, arms looped around your legs to help you lower yourself onto him. The tips of his fingers latch onto the waistband of your panties, tugging them far enough down your legs so he's getting a good look at your bare pussy.

Lips glistening with your arousal, slightly puffy from the bit of stimulation. There's a small patch a hair above it, trimmed into a neat triangle. Almost like an arrow saying: Jungkook's mouth goes here. And he's forever one to follow a sign. With his arms looped around your thighs, he's lowering you comfortably over him. He lands an open-mouthed kiss on your clit, using the grip he holds on your thighs to hold your body still.

Gasping, your hips jerk, body lunging forward to brace yourself on his stomach. “Fucking cute,” He murmurs into your pussy, head tilting to the side so his tongue can reach deeper inside of you. Paying close attention to the sounds of your whines to make sure that you're enjoying yourself just as much as he was.

Much sweeter than he had thought, arousal dripping down the sides of his lips. You've got a tight grip in his hair, hips moving in stuttered thrusts against his mouth. A hand pressed onto his stomach, nails scraping against the skin. He's cautious with introducing his fingers to the mix, teasing your hole slowly before he's pushing one in. Cock stiffening at the loud wail that leaves your lips, legs spreading wider for him.

It's never felt this good. Not when you're alone with your own hand down there. His is much longer, thicker. Reaching deeper inside than you ever could. With lips latched around your clit and a single finger fucking inside of you, Jungkook's pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven. The sounds of your moans being the welcome bell.

His tongue moving around your clit in quick circles and he swears he feels your walls clench around his fingers. So wound up, it's not long before you're nearing your end. And he takes the chance by pushing another finger alongside the first one, much tighter and harder to move but the sound that leaves your lips eggs him on.

“Shit, baby...” He pants against you, the warmth of your hand around his shaft making him lose focus. You stroke him lazily, barely able to keep your head up with the way he's making you feel. But you manage, tongue poking out to roll against the tip. His whines vibrate against your pussy and throughout your entire body, forcing an involuntary roll of your hips.

Fingers plunging deeper inside of you as his hips lift, cock brushing against your lips at the same time he's curling his fingers. Pressing against the rough patch that has you spiraling out of control, hips bucking against his face and grip tightening in his hair. “Jungkook, fuck! I'm...” Pretty much delirious at this point because he has no interest in letting up, determined to knock you over the edge if it's the last thing he does.

A string of curses leaves your lips. Sloppy kisses landing on his length, a failed attempt to muffle them. All at once you're feeling pressure build and snap in the pit of your stomach, a wave of heat washing over you. Your legs shake on either side of his head, loud cries of his name and incoherent sentences falling from your lips.

Jungkook holds you steady through all of it, the movement of his tongue slowly as you come down. Lips puckering to plant a gentle kiss to your lips, just as your body is falling limp against his. Slowly pulling his fingers from inside of you, he doesn't waste a moment with sucking your juices from them, humming contently at the taste.

“So sweet,”

Shifting in his hold, you move to sit on his lap. His nose, mouth, and chin are shiny with your arousal, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded, hair a knotted mess. He looks absolutely fucked out and it's so hot. Lowering yourself, your mouth is finding his, tongue plunging into his mouth as you lower your body. The tip of his cock nudging against your clit, forcing a moan from your lips.

All it would take is a certain angle of your hips and he'd be sinking inside of you. Stealing away your virginity with a single thrust of his hips. You wanted that so bad. With him. Only him. “Jungkook.” Sighing his name out, his cock twitches between your legs. And from the way his eyes go wide, you can tell he's just noticed how close you actually were.

“I want you to fuck me. Please, Kookie,” There's slight whine in your voice, but you don't care how desperate you sound. You've never wanted something this bad. Felt it in your chest, your stomach, your core. You wanted him.

He doesn't say anything for a while, eyes scanning over your features for a little longer than you'd like. Before he's letting out a soft sigh, his hand reaching up to push his hair back on his head. Sitting up with you in his lap, his hand lifting to wipe at the wetness around his lips. “Fuck, princess. Not tonight. Not yet,” Two large hands set on your shoulders, he's offering up an apologetic smile.

A pout is already forming on your lips. You can't help it, your brows just seem to automatically furrow and your lip pushes out. “Why not?” His hand is lifting to pat your hair, head tilting up to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Because, when I fuck you... I'm gonna fuck you.” You'd think he was explaining the cuteness of puppies with the way he was looking at you. The tone he was using. “And you've been drinking. I need to make sure you remember every second,” His fingers rub against your scalp lightly before he's going in for another kiss.

Not even a moment is granted for the sting of rejection to settle in. The moment he's pulling away and gently nudging you off of his lap to redress, there's a loud knock on the door and you're becoming all too aware of the party that was still going on downstairs. A loud crash follows the knock and you can hear shouts from two very familiar voices.

And then another, much harder knock. Joon's voice sounding from the other side. Hurriedly explaining all the commotion going on downstairs.

“Hoseok and Yoongi are fighting!”

— known for your body and surrounded by rumors about your sex life… rumors that he doesn’t think to doubt. until he’s meeting you… forced to realize there’s much more to you then the thonged shorts and lacy costumes.

⤪ masterlist ⤨

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!

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tyongxnct · 3 years

Text

𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 - 𝐿𝑒𝑒 𝑇𝑎𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑔

pairing: Taeyong x reader

special guest: Jaehyun, Jungwoo, mention of Mark, Johnny & Yuta

summary: your relationship with Taeyong was falling apart and you knew that you had to let him go, but you loved him so much, so you chose to be selfish. You tried to ignore the fact that he was cheating on you, that he spend nights with someone else next to him in bed and that his lips tasted like her lipstick whenever you kissed him. Taeyong is perfect and he deserved someone perfect, that’s why you decided to change yourself for him, to make him stay and love you again, but no matter what, in the end you weren’t her.

song: perfect - Selena Gomez

genre: cheating!au, idol!au, angst

warnings: cheating, mentions of sex, self-doubt, 2 mini smut scenes they’re really short

word count: 4,1k

A/N: Here it is, the first short story! I hope you enjoy reading this. I really recommend you to listen to perfect by Selena Gomez while reading!

Different inflection when you say my name Kiss me, but your kiss don't taste the same Is it real or am I going out of my mind? Curious 'bout the company that you keep Cause I hear you talking 'bout her in your sleep And now you've got me talking 'bout her in mine

“Y/n,” Taeyong said your name as soon as you pressed the green button, “I’m out with friends tonight, you don’t have to wait for me.” You could hear a female voice in the background, but maybe it was just your imagination playing with you. You were curious, about who exactly Taeyong was with, so you closed your eyes and asked him. “Okay, w-who are you with?” you asked softly, scared of the answer.

“Oh, just with the boys, Jaehyun says hi.” You wished he’d say Johnny or Yuta, or just anyone else except for Jaehyun because you’re friends with Jaehyun’s girlfriend. When you talked to her earlier that day, she told you that she was going to the movies with Jaehyun, it was their date night.

“T-Tell him I also said hi.” Your voice was about to break, tears almost streaming down your face, but you held them in, you didn’t want him to hear you cry.

“Yeah - oh my god I was just about to say that-“ Taeyong was distracted and didn’t even hear what you just said. You heard the female voice talking before he hung up without saying goodbye.

You felt like you were losing your mind.

You weren’t sure If you misheard Jaehyun’s girlfriend, but when you checked your social media and saw her story with Jaehyun, hand in hand, you knew that Taeyong lied to you.

03:27am, You couldn’t sleep the whole night, you were still awake when Taeyong came home. “Why are you still awake?” he asked you as he took off his clothes to change to his pajamas. “Couldn’t sleep without you.” Which was true. He didn’t say anything, he hovered above you, pressed his lips for a second on yours and then he entered the bathroom to brush his teeth. Your hand was on your lips, the taste on his lips was different, the cherry taste on his lips left a bitter taste on your lips. His lips tasted unfamiliar.

Taeyong fell asleep, you were facing his back as you also tried to fall asleep. You wanted to know why his lips tasted like cherry, why he lied to you and why he didn’t love you anymore, because you could feel that you were drifting apart which scared you so much. Taeyong mumbled something while he was fast asleep, you could understand him better as he turned around to face you. “Miyeon.”

Miyeon?

Were you with Miyeon tonight? Who is Miyeon? How did you meet her? Do you love her?

Oh, and I bet she has it all Bet she's beautiful like you, like you And I bet she's got that touch Makes you fall in love like you, like you

Taeyong is the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen, and you didn’t even know why he was dating you. His face was perfect, every inch of his face was pure beauty. His mouth was slightly open, he softly breathed in and out. Your eyes landed on his lips. Did she kiss you with her cherry lips? Is she as beautiful as you are? She has to be, Taeyong deserved the most beautiful girl on this planet, but here he was, stuck with you. Did he fall in love with her just like you fell in love with him? Is she also an Idol just like Taeyong? She must be. You never shared many interests with Taeyong, you always thought ‘opposites attract each other’, but what If he fell in love with an Idol who did the same thing for a living as him? Who was also talented, with a perfect face and body? They’d share the same passion, dancing and singing whereas you couldn’t even remember the simplest steps.

Taeyong was probably attracted to someone who shared the same interests and passion, who was beautiful inside and outside just like him.

I can taste her lipstick And see her laying across your chest I can feel the distance Every time you remember her fingertips Maybe I should be more like her Maybe I should be more like her I can taste her lipstick, it's like I'm kissing her, too And, she's perfect And, she's perfect

The first time you saw them together was when you decided to visit Taeyong at the studio. You wanted to surprise him or maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see the woman he fell in love with. The woman with the cherry lips.

And you did. You saw them, Taeyong was laying on the couch with her on top of him and her head was on his chest, she was listening to his heartbeat, like you did so many times. You could see Taeyong placing his hands on her jaw and pulling her closer to press his lips on hers. You were secretly watching your boyfriend of 4 years making out with another woman. It was so quiet, you could hear your heart breaking.

You rushed to a restroom, tears streaming down your face, you didn’t notice that you were holding your breath, the walls around you suffocated you and you just wanted to vanish.

When you calmed down, you called Taeyong to tell him that you were on your way.

“I’m busy in the studio-“ he lied.

“I know, I mean, that’s why I’m bringing you some food. I cooked your favorites.” You smiled trough the pain.

“Fine, but you can’t stay, I have to, uhm, finish that one track I was working on.” Taeyong looked to Miyeon who was listening to your conversation.

“Okay, I’ll be there in two minutes. Love you.” Is he going to say it back?

“Yeah, bye.” He didn’t say it back.

After wiping away your tears, you put on your fake smile and entered Taeyong’s studio. Taeyong was sitting on the chair and was working on his laptop and Miyeon was still in the room, sitting on the couch. She looked as beautiful as you thought she would. Long blonde hair, skinny and a perfect face.

“Hey.” you acted.

“Hi, Miyeon this is Y/n. Y/n this is Miyeon. We’re working together on the new track.” Is that how he met her? Is that how he fell for her?

“Hey Miyeon, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that Taeyong had company, I didn’t bring enough food.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m on a diet anyway.” She checked you out, you didn’t miss her eyes going up and down you body.

You felt bad, really bad. You were in a pair of jeans and one of Taeyong’s hoodies and here she was, in a short skirt, her long legs looked tempting for Taeyong, he always asked you to wear shorts at home, but you felt uncomfortable with your legs and sticked to your sweatpants.

You wanted to know If Taeyong would kiss you next to her, so you leaned forward and pressed you lips on his. The cherry taste was back, and he didn’t move his lips. So he liked the taste of cherries, that’s how Miyeon tasted. Your kiss ended up as a peck and every passing second got painfuller. “I’ll leave you two now, don’t overwork yourself- I’ll see you at home.” You smiled at them, Taeyong couldn’t even look up, he felt bad for you.

How does she touch you? Can I try it, too? I know you're twisted, but baby, I'm twisted, too I wanna know if she can make a man lose his mind

You looked at yourself in the mirror.

You were pathetic, you knew that you were, but still, you tried to be like her.

You dyed your hair blonde, not exactly the same blonde as hers, but it was still a huge difference to your hair before.

After straightening your hair, you put on some make-up and your new red lingerie you had bought.

You felt uncomfortable, the lingerie covered almost nothing, and you felt cheap.

Were you really going to try to impress Taeyong with sex?

Did he even think that you’re sexy?

He was probably just going to laugh at you.

When Taeyong came home, he didn’t see you anywhere but when he entered your shared bedroom and saw you laying almost naked on the bed, only candles lighting up the room, his mouth opened wide. “Y-You’re blonde.” he stuttered, and you could see that he tried to stop himself from laughing. “I felt like I needed a change. Do you like it?”

“It looks so bad.” He busted out in laughter. “Did you dye it yourself? Oh god, it looks terrible.” Taeyong kept on laughing. You were half naked in front of him and he choose to mock you? You didn’t dye your hair yourself, you paid so much money to get it like this. “I can change it If you don’t like it.” You walked up to him. He didn’t move. “Yeah, change it back. Go to a professional.” He said as he watched you. You helped him taking off his jacket, his eyes following every move you make. Your hands were slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “I will, but first, let me make you feel good.” You whispered as you pressed little kisses on his chest.

You softly pushed Taeyong down on the bed. Your hands were unbuckling his belt, you could feel him getting nervous, it’s been so long since you had sex.

While you were pushing his pants down, your mind travelled to her. Did she touch you like this? Did you touch her? Have you had sex already? Was she good? Better?

You pushed down his boxer briefs and wrapped your fingers around his cock. You started pumping his shaft and you softly licked his tip. Taeyong was stiff under your touch, even when you put his cock in your mouth. You started sucking and pumping his cock and a moan left his mouth.

“F-Fuck. N-No stop-“ he pushed you away. You landed on your butt and breathed heavily. “Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry it’s been so long that I-“

“No, no. I just- it’s… The boys are waiting, and we can’t- can’t have sex right now I’m gonna be late.” He pulled his boxers and pants up and nervously buttoned his shirt back up and he left without saying anything else.

He doesn’t love you anymore. He is disgusted, he doesn’t even want you to touch him. You felt so worthless and disgusting.

You entered your bathroom to shower, you wanted to rub everything off of you. When you looked at yourself again at the mirror, you felt uglier than before. You took your phone which was on the counter and threw it. The mirror shattered to pieces and you felt like you just watched an illustration of your life.

Just like the mirror, your heart broke into many pieces.

With the smell of her perfume I could love her, too, like you, like you And I can almost hear her laugh Curving on her back for you, for you

While you were crying yourself to sleep, Taeyong hurried to Miyeon’s apartment. “Taeyong? I thought you-“ he pulled her in for a kiss before she could finish her sentence. He pressed her against the door and his hands were all over her body. She responded happily, pulling him closer and moaning into his mouth. His tongue was exploring her mouth for the nth time, and he fucked her so hard that night, until you left his mind. Until he stopped thinking that it was you, until he moaned Miyeon’s name and came inside of her. The red marks on his neck and scratches on his back to remind him that he just wanted to fuck Miyeon and not you.

“Well, that was amazing.” Miyeon said exhausted as she poured herself more wine. “We never fucked like that, we should do it more often.” She laughed. “Poor Y/n. If she only knew how good you fuck me.” Miyeon giggled and pressed kisses on Taeyong’s bare shoulder.

He ignored her sneaky remark and closed his eyes. He saw your face whenever he closed his eyes, he wanted to get you off of his mind, and then he fucked Miyeon again, until his mind was full of Miyeon naked under him.

Taeyong came back home late that night again, he breathed in and out, his heart was beating against his chest, it almost hurt.

He thought that you were sleeping already, but you were wide awake, thinking about the events of the night and feeling ashamed.

You could feel the bed sink down next to you. This time, Taeyong was facing your back. He smelled different, Taeyong smelled like all the times he smelled after he had spent time with her.

You didn’t change your hair back. After hanging out with Jaehyun and his girlfriend, you felt a little more confident with it. Even Jaehyun had told you that you looked really pretty.

You didn’t even need to tell Taeyong that you were hanging out with Jaehyun and his girlfriend, Taeyong was also not at home.

You needed to spend some time with friends, you were drowning in your insecurities and in self-doubt, that you had to be with someone. Spending time with your friends helped you stop thinking.

“Oh, wait Taeyong is calling-“ you told them. “Yes?” you said, “Hey, uhm, I’m out with Jaehyun tonight, you know, boy’s night and stuff.”

Jaehyun was sitting right in front of you. “Oh okay, tell Jaehyun I said hi.” Jaehyun and his girlfriend looked at you confused. “Yeah, I will.” And you ended the call.

“But I’m sitting here with you?” Jaehyun said confused. “I know. He’s lying to me.” You looked at them with a sad smile. “Why would he lie to you?” she asked you. “He doesn’t want me to know about his affair.” You said casually. “W-What? Taeyong? Our Taeyong?” Jaehyun couldn’t believe what you just said. You nodded.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked.

You nodded again, scared that you’d break out in tears.

“Do you know who-“

“Miyeon, they’re working on a track together, I don’t know If that is true though.”

“But that’s impossible! I was with them a couple weeks ago, they were just talking about the track and they were so distant, and I-I just can’t believe that-“

“Jaehyun calm down, you’re not helping her.” His girlfriend said. “It’s okay.” You whispered. “I’m sorry that you had to find out about it.”

“What no! Why are you… Why are you still with him?” she asked you. “Because I love him. It’s okay, I understand that he needs to satisfy his needs… with someone else.” They looked at you with shocked expressions. That night, you talked to them about everything, you even told her about the night you wore the lingerie when Jaehyun excused himself to go to the bathroom. Her eyes widened in shock as she heard about the way Taeyong treated you. “I hate him so much right now.” She said. “No don’t hate him. Even I don’t hate him, so you guys should forget about what I told you and act like this never happened.”

They looked at you with sad eyes, “Are you still coming to the company dinner with him?” Jaehyun asked. “If he wants me there.” You shrugged your shoulders.

I can see her body rushing into you Crashing on your skin, burning within Burning so deep, deep on your skin, skin Next to me She's crashing on your skin, settling in Burning so deep, deep on your skin, skin While you sleeping

You looked breathtaking, but you didn’t know that. The dress you were wearing, hugged your body perfectly but you didn’t dare to look at the mirror, scared that you’d need to change again. Scared that you’d find another failure, no matter If it’s on your face or on your dress.

Taeyong looked perfect as always, his tuxedo was made for him and his hair was styled up, exposing his pretty forehead. “You look really handsome.” You told him as you entered his car. He muttered a thanks and focused on the street.

Taeyong’s colleagues and his group members didn’t know about Taeyong’s affair, so he had to take you with him since everyone thought that you were happily dating.

When you arrived, he didn’t even open the door for you. “Hurry up, it’s cold.” He said as he walked to the entrance with you trailing form behind.

It was a great atmosphere, everyone was laughing or sipping on their champagne. It felt like the first time Taeyong introduced you to his members, the first time he took you to such an event, but of course, your happy memories were destroyed by Miyeon who glanced at you and Taeyong.

You were chatting with Jungwoo, when you noticed Taeyong looking back at her with a small smirk.

“I’m going to the restroom.” He excused himself and you just nodded, knowing exactly where he was going. When he was gone, you saw Miyeon following him. You told Jungwoo that you had to talk to Jaehyun for whatever reason and went after them.

“I missed you.” You heard her voice. “I missed you too.” And then their bodies and lips crashed. They were so bad at hiding, anyone could see them making out If they just went to the restroom. “You’re so hot tonight, yongie.” She called him yongie. You called him yongie. “I need you inside me now.” She said loud enough for you to hear. “Patience, you need to keep your hands to yourself. She’s here.”

“I don’t care about her-“

Jaehyun accidently bumped into you. “Oh sorr-“

You hushed him, he looked to the direction you were looking at. He was about to move but you stopped him. His eyes were full of anger. “Please don’t.” you asked him. “Let’s go back.” The image of Taeyong kissing her was burned in your mind and now in Jaehyun’s too.

Taeyong came back and took his place next to you. Jaehyun was angrily playing with his food in front of him, as someone who was also cheated on by his ex-girlfriend, he felt so much empathy for you and you were his friend after all, he cared for you. “Jaehyun, you good?” Taeyong asked him. “Mhm…” Jaehyun mumbled. “You sure? You look like you saw a ghost.” Taeyong joked. “Not a ghost, no. I’m fine.” He whispered the first part, but Taeyong still heard it. He just couldn’t figure out what Jaehyun was talking about.

After a couple hours of fake smiling and acting like you were in a happy relationship, Jaehyun’s girlfriend asked you to stay with her for the night, she was worried and didn’t want you to feel alone.

“Yongie, I’m having a sleepover with Jaehyun’s girlfriend tonight.” Taeyong’s eyes light up. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow?” you nodded.

You left the party with Jaehyun’s girlfriend and talked to her about the thing Jaehyun also witnessed.

You woke up and your heart missed Taeyong. Did he arrive home safely? Was he alone? Was she with him?

Questions were floating in your head and you just wanted to go home and take a long hot bath.

You unlocked the door and entered your apartment. The second you stepped in, you knew what was waiting for you in the bedroom.

You slowly opened the door and the first thing you saw, were clothes messily on the floor. Your eyes stopped at the black lace bra, it definitely didn’t belong to you.

Your eyes wandered to the bed, she was laying on your bedside, naked.

They were both naked under the sheets, still asleep after last night.

He fucked her in your bed.

There was a wine bottle on the floor with two wine glasses.

It was over, you held onto something which was over for a long time now. Your luggage was in your closet, you pulled it out and started packing.

Taeyong woke up to the sounds of your sniffing and packing. He rubbed his eyes and looked to his side, Miyeon was next to him but the sounds didn’t come from her. He sat up and looked through the room and his eyes finally landed on your small figure. “Y/n?” he stuttered. You ignored him and when he finally understood what was happening, he got up and put on his clothes. “I-it’s not what it looks like… I-I… what are you doing? Y/n? Please listen to me.” He begged you as he bend down to you. “Stop packing… don’t do that please, just listen to me.”

“I’m not even saying anything, Taeyong. I am listening. You can say whatever you want, it’s just that you don’t have anything to say because it is as clear as water.” You still didn’t look at him as you continued packing.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry okay, it’s just a one-time thing, I was so drunk last night-“ he lied to you, nothing new. You scoffed, “And you still choose to lie. I’m not dumb, Taeyong. I know everything.” For the first time in weeks, you looked him in the eyes. “Y-you knew? W-Why didn’t you say anything?” his body trembled after your confession. “The actual question is: why didn’t you just break up with me?”

“I can’t break up with you- I need you! Please believe me.” He begged again.

“You don’t need me. Look at me Taeyong, I’m not angry. I understand. You deserve so much more than me. I tried to be like her, I really tried. But you don’t want me. You want her, and I understand. I’m sorry for holding you back-“

“No! Don’t- just, don’t say things like that! You’re so pretty and cute and…” he stuttered, it was his last chance to tell you that. “I need you please, please, don’t go. Don’t leave me.” He started crying. “Why are you crying? I’m not going to hold you back anymore. You finally got what you wanted.”

You left the apartment with all of your things that day. You didn’t even know where to go. The first thing you did was crying loudly in your car, the next thing you did was driving to Jaehyun and his girlfriend.

Two weeks later, you found a little apartment, far away from Taeyong. You moved in with the help of Jaehyun and his girlfriend.

Two months passed and you were hanging out with Jaehyun and his girlfriend again, even Jungwoo Mark and Johnny came to visit you. They were on your side and supported you fully. They never mentioned Taeyong, for which you were thankful.

But if you only knew how much Taeyong was suffering right now.

That day you left Taeyong, Miyeon listened to your conversation and knew that Taeyong would never love her like he loved you. He begged you to stay with him, even though he had promised Miyeon to leave you. Miyeon and Taeyong’s relationship ended the same day.

Every night, Taeyong looked at your pictures and cried himself to sleep. Your side on the bed was always cold, the space on the couch was always empty and even at work, he felt lonely.

One day, he and Jaehyun got into a fight. “You have no idea how much she suffered because of your stupid ass. You can’t act like you got cheated on!” Jaehyun yelled.

“I know that! I know that I hurt her- that I cheated on her… but I miss her, Jaehyun.” Taeyong cried out. “It’s not just about the cheating, Taeyong. You didn’t value her. She did so much for you but still, she wasn’t enough for you.”

“She’s more than enough- and I don’t deserve her,” he sobbed, “I’m a heartless jerk, and she’s perfect.“

SEQUEL: die for you

#taeyong #lee taeyong #taeyong angst #taeyong x reader #taeyong x you #nct angst #nct #nct127 #nct2020 #nct taeyong #nct scenarios #taeyong scenarios #taeyong smut #selena gomez #nct songfic #nct 127 taeyong #nct127 angst

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sirensmojo · 3 years

Text

"Low lows"- Hubby! Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: ANGST, mention of losing a baby. It gets better in the end.

gif of @mayzkaban {here is the post}

Summary: You and Tommy drifted apart after the loss of your baby. It’s the first time in months that you visit him.

A/N: I'm SO sorry for this... I was listening to Dermot Kennedy - Lost and got carried away with sad stuff...

*Masterlist*

*House of Commons, London*

“Mr Shelby, your wife is here. Should I let her come in or tell her to wait?”

Tommy’s icy eyes lift to his assistant in a hurry, confusion mixed with curiosity all over his face.

“Let her come.” He succeeded at wording, waving his hand. He leaned back in his chair, getting rid of his glasses and clearing his throat.

It has been five months since the last time he saw her, and six since their little daughter died.

A day hasn’t passed when he didn’t think about her. She looked a lot like himself, she loved horses and the more she could be outside in nature, the happier she was.

He remembered fondling her long and soft hair while she was squeezing him as hard as her little arms allowed her to, and whenever he would come back home, she was the one to welcome him. In those times he was less stiffened, he was content.

Tommy tried to free his mind from painful memories by pressing his thumb and index on his eyes when he heard the door opening.

Here she was, the woman who gave him his wonderful lost loved one. The woman he still very much loves regardless of the complicated situation, the woman he needed the most in those times.

But she was also the woman that refused to see him considering it was his fault if their Sophia lost her life.

Y/N seemed well, light makeup on her face, finger-wave Y/H/C curls with a deep brown hat at the top of her head. Her long brown woollen coat on top of a cherry red dress. It was her favourite, and he wondered why she was wearing it?

She walked into the office slowly, joining the chairs in front of his desk. Y/N sat down and finally raised her gaze to her husband, who was staring at her already, “Hi, Tommy. You look terrible.” She ultimately said, worry in her voice.

He was surprised to feel like she cared, which Y/N didn’t miss noticing.

“How’s work?” She continued as if he wasn’t ignoring her.

Tommy coughed, abruptly getting up. He couldn’t do it, he wouldn’t sit here and talk with her as if nothing had happened. She wasn’t wrong to think it was his fault, and he knew it the most. Even looking at his own reflection in the mirror stopped his lungs from getting oxygenated, he would always glimpse, at the back of him, the ghost of their daughter, pointing at him with her little chubby fingers...

Drinking and smoking were all he knew at one point, but even that he couldn’t continue to do as life kept going on, business needed to be done, and he had so many people relying on him, and his wife wasn’t there to keep him sane.

It was easier that way anyway, he didn’t need to be reminded of his mistake every time he’d look into her eyes that were darkened by the bereavement.

In this battle, he didn’t only lose his wife and daughter, he lost himself a little more.

If he was fully honest with himself, Tommy would admit he didn’t even know how he could still make it to the end of the day, shaking hands and going to sleep.

Sleep.

It was another thing he lost. The first weeks after the loss of their daughter, the couple didn’t even see each other, Tommy being too filled with rage, he tracked down Father Hughes and took his time torturing him and every single one involved in the abducting and killing of his daughter. But when the hunt was finally over, he had to come home, and face his other half hurting. Or should he say, he had to hear her whimpers, every day, every night, before losing her too.

Y/N wasn’t even sleeping by his side anymore, but how surprised he was that one day, he woke up to Frances waiting outside his bedroom door, fear and worry filling her dark eyes.

He opened the door after preparing himself for another meaningless day and bumped into his maid, she was standing straight, head down, “What is it?” His grumpy voice echoed on the corridor’s walls.

Frances lifted her face to him, her eyes staring into his blue ones. She seemed worried, but she couldn’t say anything for some reason.

Tommy raised his brows, waiting.

“It’s your wife, Sir…” She crossed her fingers together, “She left early this morning... told me not to wake you up... she left a note.”

Tommy looked to the end of the corridor, to the guests' rooms. It wasn’t the truth, right? She couldn’t just leave like that.

He walked past the maid without saying anything and went downstairs, “In your little girl’s room, Sir” Frances added, assuming he was looking for the note.

As soon as the words reached his ears, Tommy stopped, his body stiffened. He slowly looked up the stairs, he hadn’t been in this room since…

He exhaled deeply and went up again, walking reluctantly to his daughter’s room before pushing the door.

Everything was still in place, even the sweet perfume of candy was still present in the air. He blankly blinked a couple of times, glimpsing a folded paper on the perfectly made bed.

He walked into the room, his heart tightening at each of his steps. He ultimately grabbed the paper and unfolded it,

“Tommy, my sweet love,

I don’t understand how it happened although I’m aware of business risks and I regret happier circumstances, our family moments.

She looked so much like you, both physically and mentally, so whenever I see you, I see her, which is too much at the moment...

Though, I don’t hate you... I could never.

But I need time.

Keep business in place, take care of Arthur. Visit Polly and, most of all, take care of you…”

After that, sleeping seemed impossible and even breathing cut him deep. Every time he would close his eyes, he would see the face of his daughter handing her hands to him and calling “Daddy! Come look at my horse.”

“Tommy?” Y/N’s voice led him to look up to her. Her head was tilted to the side, he must have been lost in thoughts for too long.

His back was flat on the wall when she got up. A faint smile on her lips, she got closer to him, raised her hand and reached for his cheek that she tenderly fondled.

Tommy’s eyes were deeply rooted in hers, and he felt it to his core, here she was, his Y/N.

“I’m back now, we’re going to get through this.” She reached for one of his hands and squeezed it. “Together,” she added, trying to convince him.

He intertwined their fingers together.

#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #husband tommy shelby #hubby!Tommy Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader

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moons-and-stars-and-shit · 3 years

Note

Okayyyy so here’s what I’m Thinking. Bokuto was well known in Tokyo and everyone knew not to mess with him. He met reader at a book shop she worked at. He found her very interesting. The reader is a bit shy. They became friends and started liking each other. She didn’t know that he was in the maifa until she saw him kill someone. He then tired to tell her it’s not what it looked like but reader was afriad of him and ran home. She avoided him for weeks until he showed up at her door with flowers and a bunch of gifts and begged her to talk. - 🍒

𝙼𝚊𝚏𝚒𝚊! 𝙱𝚘𝚔𝚞𝚝𝚘 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝙲𝚆: 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙼𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛/𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑, 𝙶𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍, 𝙺𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚘 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2.5

Oh god

It was moments like these where you wish you could just travel back in time...or at the very least erase your memory...but life won't give you those options, so the only option you have now is to run.

6 Months Ago…

"Ah yes there's nothing quite like this" you thought to yourself flipping to the next page of your favorite book. You really loved working in the local bookshop. Your friends would always joke around how it fitted your “aesthetic” so well. Not that you could disagree though, you couldn't deny that you loved evenings like these, where the rain was pouring outside while you were inside the building reading a book. The faint smell of coffee from the coffee shop next door being the cherry on top to this little vibe you had going on. “Y/n! Do you think you could close up shop for me? I gotta go pick up my brother from practice before this rain gets too crazy". You were brought back into reality by your co-workers request. “Oh for sure! Go ahead.i'll take care of it” you said putting down your book. She thanked you before grabbing her coat and heading outside. You looked up at the clock making a mental note to start closing up in about 20 minutes. Suddenly your train of thought was interrupted by the shop's door opening, causing the little bell on top to jingle. Thinking it was your co-worker you turned around to ask what she had forgotten only to be face to face with a man.

Uhm...Hey! Do you mind if i stay here until this storm dies down?” the male asked you. Giving him a quick look up and down you took notice just how drenched he was, from his grey and black hair dripping and sticking to his face, to his clothes that might as well have been dunked in water with how wet they have gotten. “O-Oh of course! Please come in'' you stuttered after realizing you had been staring at him just a second too long. You quickly ran to the back to grab the blanket you and your co-worker use whenever it gets too cold in the store. Running back to the front you hand the mystery man the blanket. “This won't do much for the clothes but maybe you can at least get your hair dry” you say as he takes the blanket. “Thank You so much!” he said beaming. There was a bit of awkward silence as he dried his hair off, but the silence was broken when he handed you back the blanket. “You're not much of a talker are you?” he said with a light chuckle. He made his way over to one of the reading chars and took a seat, motioning for you to do the same. “Yeah uh...sorry I'm a bit shy! Especially around strangers who just happen to walk into my bookshop” you said making your way to sit next to him. Once you had sat down he looked at you with shining eyes and a oh so bright smile “Well if that's the problem” he said holding his hand out to you ”I'm Bokuto Koutarou!”. You laughed a little at his enthusiasm before grabbing his hand “Well Bokuto, it's nice to meet you, I'm Y/n”

That night was the first of many that you'd be spending with Bokuto, in fact after that night he had become a frequent customer at the bookshop, always coming at the later hours, and always keeping you company whenever you started closing up. Hell he's even taken you out for drinks a couple times after your shift. You have never been one to trust strangers, let alone become good friends with them but shockingly enough, you felt rather comfortable around this strange man. Maybe it was his bright personality, or the way his eyes seemed to sparkle wherever he laid them on you, or even the way that his laugh caused a giggle or two to escape from your own lips. Either way you liked this Bokuto Koutarou, and if only you knew how much Bokuto liked you as well. Lucky both of your feelings would come to light on a night similar to the night Bokuto magically waltzed into your life...

Here you both were, sitting on the very same chairs you had introduced yourselves in. Only this time, you were both reading your respective books. However this peace was soon interrupted by a whiny Bokuto. “Y/nnnn I'm so boredddd” Bokuto said slamming his book shut. You put your bookmark in your book before closing it and looking at his puppy dog eyes ``Y'know for someone who comes into a bookshop so often, you're not that interested in books are you?” you told him with a smirk. “Hey! I'm smart enough without the help of your stinky books'' he said tapping the book against your head.. You grabbed the book from his hands and stuck your tongue out, watching as he plopped back on his self proclaimed “personal reading chair”. “Besides, I only ever really come to this shop to spend time with you”. You blushed at his small comment but not wanting your feelings to get the best of you quite yet, you decided to “test” these waters you were trending in. “What? You got a crush on me or something?” you said giving him a playful nudge. Now it was his turn to blush. It was silent for a beat to long and you were about to take back what you had just said, but you were quickly cut of when Bokuto took your hand, looked you dead in your eyes with a look that sent shivers down your spine “Would you hate me if I did?” he asked you in a soft tone, almost like a child admitting they broke something to their parent, a big contrast from his usual loud and confident voice. Instead of responding you simply squeezed his hand and cupped his face with the other “I would never hate you, especially if i feel the same way about you” Not being able to hold back anymore he simply grabbed your face and pulled you in for a soft but passionate kiss.pulling away he looked at you with all the love in the world “Y/n, I really want to be with you, but… there's a part of my life that you've never seen and I don't want to lose you over that” he told you, his eyes beginning to gloss over. Still pretty confused about what he was talking about you only took his face in your hand once more “Kou I will love you no matter what. Even your ugly parts”. Bokuto pulled you into a hug, trying to hide the tears that were falling freely from his eyes now. “Y-You promise?”

“I Promise”

Present Day

Thinking about that night still caused butterflies to flutter in your stomach. But now as you were running towards your apartment as if you were running from the grim reaper himself you couldn't ignore the feeling of dread that was sitting next to those butterflies. Had you really just seen that? Did you really just see your loving goofball of a boyfriend kill someone? It was supposed to be a normal night. You had closed the shop and were beginning to walk back home when you saw familiar spiky hair across the road. Curiosity had got the best of you, so… you decided to investigate. What you didn't expect to see was your boyfriend holding a gun to a man's head. It had all happened so fast first the crack of the gun, then your scream, then Bokuto's horrified expression as he turned and saw you standing there with your hand over your mouth. Before Bokuto could even try to explain what he had done, you ran. You ran away as if he was going to point the gun at you next.

Finally. Finally you were safe in your apartment. Your lungs felt like they were on fire, and your legs felt like absolute jelly. All you could do was collapse to the floor and break down crying. The scene from earlier replaying over and over in your head, causing you to get even more hysterical. Suddenly your phone started buzzing. You picked it up, as if you didn't already know who it was calling. The image of your boyfriend's face appeared on your screen, he looked nothing like the man who you had just seen commit that heinous deed. Suddenly anger took over your senses and you threw your phone across the room, returning to your fetal position to cry all your emotions out, eventually crying yourself to sleep

When you had finally awoken the sun was rising and the birds outside were singing their spring songs. You pulled yourself off of the floor before making your way to your phone across the room. "Damn it" you thought. Of course you had cracked your screen. Turning the phone on you was bombarded by hundreds of missed calls and text messages from your boyfriend. Could you even call him that any more? Would you really look at the man you saw kill and call him your boyfriend? Opting not to answer any of his messages or return any of his calls, you blocked him and went to go make you some tea, hoping to calm your still frazzled nerves”

The next few days were pretty quiet you hadn't even dared to leave your apartment, let alone even show up at work. You had called out telling your co-worker that you came down with a terrible cold and wouldn't be in for a couple of days. Sitting alone in your apartment during this time really gave you time to think about the events you had witnessed that night. Is this what Bokuto was talking about that night he confessed to you? Is this what he was afraid of losing you over? you couldn't really blame him if it was. But still, he could have at least warned you about this part of his life, or at the very least act like he was a cold blooded killer! You still couldn't bring yourself to think that the man you had cuddled in bed with, the man you had taken walks in the park with, the very man who opted to release a spider instead of killing it, would actually have it in him to kill an actual person. Suddenly your thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Still a little on edge you jumped at the sudden sound before that familiar sense of dread flooded your stomach. “Well gotta face the music some time” you breathed out slowly walking towards the door.

When you had opened the door you were practically tackled into a hug by a very hysterical Bokuto. You froze at the sudden contact “How could a man hug you with the very same hands he took someone's life with?" You thought as you gently pushed him off you. “Y/n I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now but-” he was interrupted when you raised your hand. “You have 10 minutes to explain yourself then you either need to leave, or I'm calling the cops” you told him motioning for him to come inside. Bokuto practically jumped at the opportunity to finally explain himself to you and hopefully make you understand why he did what he did.

Each of you took a seat at your dining table. It was time for you to get answers... “Ok for starters, why are you here?” you started staring at him coldly. “Well you weren't answering any of my calls or texts and whenever I stopped by the bookshop you were never there, so I got worried” he replied fiddling with his thumbs. You slowly nodded at his answer. “So are you gonna tell me what the hell happened that night or are you just gonna sit there” you spat at him almost angrily. He flinched at your words before taking a deep breath “Well what did you see?” he asked. That was it for you. You slammed your hands on the table, not able to control your anger any more. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN WHAT DID I SEE?!?!? I SAW YOU FUCKING KILL SOMEONE KOUTAROU!!” you screamed at him standing up from your seat.”I DID IT TO PROTECT YOU!” he shouted back at you, throwing his hands up in the air. You both stared at each other in teary silence. “Y/n please let me explain… then you can hate me or kick me out i don't care! Just please…” you huffed before sitting back down, doing your best to hold back your own tears. “Ok” he said, trying to find a way to tell you everything “My family has always been a part of the mafia” he started, “When I turned 18 it was time for me to “take over” the family business” your mouth fell open, since he was 18? He's been doing this since he was 18? “When I first met you, I never ever wanted to tell you how much you meant to me because I never wanted you to find out about this part of my life, or even worse...I never wanted this part of my life to find out about you” he continued. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean “find out about me”” you asked him. “I mean, that if my rivals found out about you and I, they would start to come after you”. Your eyes widened at this. “S-so that guy you shot-” “was trying to kill you” he said finishing off your sentence. He then looked up at you, visible tears in his eyes. “I'm so sorry Y/n I never wanted to put you in any sort of danger but-” you had cut him off when you smashed your lips against his. All this time you had thought he killed that man out of cold blood. Not once did you even consider he was doing it for you. He kissed you back before pulling you into the tightest hug. “Y-your not mad?” he blubbered out. “Not anymore,” you said, smiling at him. “ I just wish you would have told me,” you said. “But I didn't want to lose you…” he whispered in your ear. One last time, you took his face into both of your hands. “Bokuto Koutarou I love you” you said, letting the tears fall from your eyes. He laughed a soft laugh “even the ugly parts?” he asked you

“Even the ugly parts”

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herherteartear · 3 years

Text

blanket kick

précis— Peter's not the suave man he would hope to be in front of his crush. instead, he's a blushing mess that haunts his memories and causes him to take out his frustrations on his blanket. luckily, you prefer cherry cheeks over smooth lines any day.

pairing— Peter Parker x enhanced!maximoff!reader

a/n— this is my first standalone written story and my first time writing for marvel! i hope you guys enjoy thisss<3 i'm also open to creating drabbles to continue this if anyone's interested????! pls enjoy and pls comment and let me know ur thoughts!!!

there are many ways to describe Peter Parker, but none could ever wholly capture the true essence of the boy

besides the obvious stuff,, his intelligence , his insanely good looks , his teenage awkwardness,,

it was a hard feat to string along words to describe the way he carries himself , the way he is with others , the way his heart loves with the same ability a sponge soaks up water and soap

Peter's had crushes before

perhaps more than he'd like to admit

(can't blame the boy, who gave Ty Lee the right be that cute!?)

but when he sees her, his heart begins to swell and suddenly, he forgets how to breathe..

or how to think... talk. y'know normal human stuff

in all honesty, Peter has tried his absolute hardest to block out their first meeting from his memories

he doesn't regret meeting her, of course not! never would he even repent that embarrassingly wonderful day

he only wishes it would've gone a little differently

let's set the scene, shall we?

the sun was shining brightly, the sky was a Carolina blue, the clouds were the prettiest porcelain color, rimmed with lace

Peter was riding in an awfully silent car that Happy was driving to the airport. despite being terrified of what's to come,, the fight Mr. Stark had recruited him for,, the boy was thoroughly enjoying this adventure.

the car came to a stop, which did little for Peter's nerves. he gathered his courage before stepping out, eyes squinting at the brightness of the yellow sun. once his eyes adjusted, they landed on the prettiest head of hair he had ever seen

(although he did think the same for Hermione Granger)

Peter had never been on a plane before that day. but even then, his sparkling eyes stayed trained on her,, completely ignoring the brilliant private jet behind her

"oh? Happy, i thought it was just us?" her voice made Peter's ears burn. he swallowed thickly. you blinked at Peter, curious but also intrigued , you smiled.

to which Peter choked. on air. your eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"a-are you okay?"

"god, kid, get ahold of yourself."

"i-i'm okay! it's– i'm– i'm fine!" Peter quickly stuttered out.

"well, Yn, this is– uh,, what's your name again?" Happy turned towards the boy who's cheeks were now redder than a firetruck.

"oh! i'm Peter– Peter Parker. it's nice to meet you- not that i don't know you. well i don't, y'know not personally. but like from the news.. not that i believe the news! they're awful to you, but i mean i guess i do sometimes– but never about what they say about you–"

"i'm Yn Maximoff. it's nice to meet you too, Peter." you cut him off before Happy strangled the cute boy. you had an amused smile

he was cute

finally getting on the plane, Peter had hoped he would be able to sit far away from you and wallow in his embarrassment,

maybe sneak a glance or two.. imagine a couple of scenarios where he wasn't a doofus,

but that's not quite what happened.

after witnessing just how much the new kids was able to ramble,, Happy was not about to spend a whole ass plane ride remotely close to him

so he took it upon himself to make the kiddies sit together.. much to Peter's dismay.

like!!? did Happy not see how Peter crashed and burned in font of you?!

you, on the other hand,, had the opposite reaction.

being the youngest avenger, you don't get to be around people your age too much,, which isn't something you're complaining about!!

you totally made the decision to be an avenger and you happily welcomed the consequences..

that didn't mean you didn't get lonely at times. especially now with the accords and the team breaking up., things got a whole lot more lonely

your sister, Wanda, had made her choice to leave the compound. you completely understood why, but a part of you had hoped she would've taken you with her

although, staying at the compound did ensure your safety.

it was a weird time for the avenger's , it felt wrong for you to say some of your teammates were criminals

it left a sour taste in your mouth

you glanced from the window seat to see Peter nervously wringing his fingers. you frowned.

"are you okay?" you asked, gently. Peter's eyes widened and his heart jumped to his throat. he wanted to say something, something cool or aloof, something that would make up for his ranting earlier

"i've never been on a plane before." Peter squeaked out. he dropped his shoulders, rolling his eyes at himself. that was the highest pitch he had ever heard his voice. you took in his clearly anxious posture.

"lets switch seats? maybe looking out the window will help you." you stated. before Peter could quickly shake his head, because how rude would it be of him to take your seat?, you were already stood up.

"oh god!" Peter breathed. he quickly shifted over to the seat you once occupied. he wanted to put up more of a fight, but the way you were swaying due to the turbulence, made his palms sweat in fear for your safety.

"you, like, swing from buildings and stuff, right?" you asked. he turned to you with a nod. "are you afraid of heights? or do you just not like planes?"

oh god. oh. no. you thought– you thought he was scared of being on the plane. Peter wanted to shrink in a hole and hide. you probably thought he was such a baby! that he could handle swinging from hundreds of feet in the air, but a plane is where he drew the line?

but what else is he supposed to say? 'oh, no! it's not the plane I'm scared of. it's just your beautiful smile and the way you smell like cocoa that gets me sweating'

wtf.

that was so wrong in so many ways.

"um, no, no. i'm okay, just– just a little nervous, is all." Peter tried to force out a chuckle. but it come out more like a cough. you mouth formed an 'o.'

"ohh, okay." you paused before your eyes lit up. "how about we play a game? to distract you?"

"o– okay.."

"can you talk with spiders?" Peter lifted his eyes from looking at his hands hovering above yours,; he let out a much more relaxed laugh than earlier.

you took advantage of his distraction to swiftly bring your palm from underneath his and slap the top of Peter's hand. he jumped.

"ouch!" he playfully pouted. you eyes glanced down at his lips. you giggled nervously. your hand went to hover over his, him now being the one to do the slapping. "of course i can't talk to spiders! i– i feel like i should probably be able to shape-shift into a spider in order for that to happen, y'know?"

you nodded thoughtfully. "that's true.. you didn't hear this from me, but i heard there's an Ant-Man going around." Peter looked at you with wide eyes.

"no way! that's crazy! does he like turn into an ant?" you bumped his hand with yours in order to get his attention back to the game. his hand burned at the feeling

"i don't know-" you said in a singsong tone. "it's just what's being said around the compound." you quickly slid your hands to avoid Peter's attack. he huffed.

"how are you so good at this?" he knitted his eyebrows to focus on how to attack quickly without hurting you.

"it's a game i used to play with my brother and sister." you answered. Peter finally took his chance to slap your hands, to which you squealed excitedly as you had tried to move in time. Peter and you fell into a fit of giggles.

you both leaned against your seats, still facing each other. your hands fell on top of Peter's.

the brown haired boy quickly slid his hand out from under yours, not because he didn't enjoy the contact, but because he was worried you'd feel how clammy his hands were

you frowned slightly at the loss of contact.

"a– are we really fighting your sister?" Peter wondered out loud, without a second thought.

you shifted uncomfortably. Peter quickly noticed; his heart sped up and he mentally scolded himself for being so inconsiderate.

"not because i think she's evil! i mean,, i know that's what the news says.. but they also think Spider-Man's like thirty. and i'm not thirty! its just everything's crazy right now.. with the accords., i can't even imagine how you're feeling! probably terrible.. oh, g od wait, not terrible, i'm s–"

you had been watching with an endearing look in your eye. you had come to find that you enjoy watching Peter ramble.

his eyes would become unsettled and shaky, his body would begin to become more and more animated, but his voice

gosh, his voice was something you wanted to listen to for the rest of your life

but you could tell he was getting more and more skittish. so you put him out of his misery

"terrible probably wouldn't be my go-to word, it's up there though.. at least i got to meet you." you smiled softly.

Peter's eyes ran over your soft features. night had fallen, so the windows of the plan displayed an almost picturesque display of the moon and stars. the light hue of color the moon provided painted your face in a way that clouded Peter's thoughts.

with your comment of being grateful to have met him, Peter wasn't in control of his mouth for much longer.

"so pretty." he breathed. both of you guys froze.

Peter's face quickly morphed from love-sick to mortified. you blushed violently.

deciding you didn't want Peter to fall into another rant-like apology (because if you got to listen to him talk for that long in this setting, you might just drop the 'L' word) , you said,

"let's watch a movie?"

the two of you sat, shoulder to shoulder, watching Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World, but being too hyper aware of their thighs pressed together and brushing hands to actually pay attention

upon arrival, both teenagers walked off the plane, sleep deprived , but with thumping hearts and dazed grins.

Peter threw himself on his hotel bed that night,, hiding under the covers

his thoughts replayed your interaction over and over (and over and over) in his head

the boy shoved his head, face first, into the stiff hotel pillow and let out a muffled groan

Peter flipped himself over, stared at the ceiling, before remembering his spouts of unnecessarily long explanations

he thrashed his body, kicking his poor blanket in frustration but most of all, out of embarrassment

he calmed himself down once his memories refreshed themselves over your gentle giggles and how soft your hands were

Peter fell asleep with cherry red cheeks and a blissful grin.

because despite those small mess ups, despite the futile way he beat his covers in humiliation, Peter treasures that day like no other.

#peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x yn #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #tom holland #peter parker headcanon

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deniigi · 3 years

Note

A fic from Boba’s POV as a babysitter seeing Din’s family dynamics isn’t self indulgent it’s indulgent to your readers - fuck, that sounds like the best, most hilarious thing ever?!? (With peppered in bits of Boba’s identity crisis/diaspora feels)

I say you release babysitter boba fic ;) It sounds hilarious

Ask and you shall receive, anons. Beware. It’s like 11k of world building lol.

(I will post here and not on Ao3 because I’m not ready for that level of commitment rn lol)

Title: in the plains of Zeffo

Summary:

“I don’t like him,” Karren told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

(Din’s original finder’s old crush on the Armorer is rekindled after he helps her reunite with Din. He tries to win her favor, but keeps getting tripped up by Din who knows she’s not interested. Boba Fett’s POV.)

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

There was little more entertaining than watching Djarin snap.

Boba ten years ago would have spat at the very idea that such meagre fare would suit his humor, but he was getting old, man. You had to take what you could get, and Djarin’s bared rage was a sight to behold.

Currently, he was locked in combat with Urro Bojzka. The Urro Bojzka. The one who even Boba had heard of, growing up on Kamino.

Dad had had some pointed feelings about Mr. Bojzka. Mainly, they revolved around how it was unfair that everyone called him an opportunistic traitor when Bojzka continued to exist and thrive in the universe at large, but Dad also had more specific feelings about Bojzka that bordered on jealousy.

Urro Bojzka was said to be the ideal Mandalorian man.

He was big. He was strong. He sounded like he’d smoked six different kinds of spice for forty years, and nothing and no one could take him down.

The cherry on top was that he was notorious for rescuing kids. The man had snatched nearly two hundred up out of smoking ruins and battlefields. A good twenty or thirty had become foundlings and then Mandalorians themselves, and counted among their number now, to Bo-Katan’s absolute glee, was their sweet, precious Din Djarin.

They should have known. Din was the epitome of Mandalorian; it figured that Urro Bojzka himself would have picked him up as a child.

Din however, had little appreciation for this fact beyond that which was only polite. He made it very clear that he’d already thanked Bojzka for taking him out of his childhood hellhole. He’d done that bare minimum and so no one could ask anything more of him.

Bojzka had other plans.

It turned out that Urro Bojzka had a thing for Din’s covert’s Armorer. God, did he have a thing. And not only did he have a thing, but he’d had it for decades.

Apparently, a thousand years ago, when Boba and Din and all the others around them had still been rolling around on dirt floors trying to eat beetles and shit, Bojzka had attempted to court Din’s Armorer. He’d gone as far and wide as a young Mando could. He’d tried flowers, perfume, credits, displays of strength and courage. He’d tried gifts of food and offers of travel. He’d even stooped so low as to read a book.

None of it had gone well for him. And that was probably because Din’s Armorer had recently proven herself to be no less than one of the heiresses of the Katzkai clan.

The Renda Bears. Those people were hard-fucking-core.

When Bo-Katan found out that Din’s ‘Goran’ was, in fact, Nomri Katzkai, the second daughter of Lanlee Katzai and the official apprentice of Fii Katzkai, the imperial Armorer himself, she threw up her hands and declared all endeavors hopeless now.

Din was one of them; he just didn’t know it. And his buir, who had removed herself from her family to be even more hardcore than anyone would have thought possible, didn’t seem overly excited to start explaining shit to him anytime soon.

So here they were. With Din about to kill one of the most famous war heroes in recent Mandalorian history over a crush that wouldn’t quit.

Bojzka smiled at him with dark eyes with scars through both of his eyebrows.

“Just a message,” he lobbied. “One letter.”

Boba would’ve fucked him. Yeah, why not? Just look at him.

“She’s busy,” Din said. “You’ll have to submit it to Eegang Quodo. That’s E-e-g-a—”

“Yeah, see. Here’s the thing, kid. This letter’s gonna be kinda personal, if you catch my drift—”

“Q-u-o—”

“—probably not great for the eyes of anyone who ain’t, you know, in on this whole relationship—”

“—d-o. He’s usually busy, too. So you probably should submit it to Paz, instead. He’ll lose it for you forever. That’s P-a-z—”

Fennec hid a razor-sharp grin behind a clenched fist. She flashed it at Boba.

‘I love him’ she mouthed, pointing at Din’s hiked-up shoulders. Even his cape seemed to have gone stiff in Bojzka’s presence.

“Din, honey. Listen to me,” Bojzka crooned. “I know you’re protective of your mama, but—”

“She’s not my mother. Don’t you fucking dare call her that, you hulking piece of—”

“Ah-ah-ah. You’re not listening. Come on. Chin up. Ears open.”

Bojzka tapped at the bottom of Din’s helmet like a CO with a teenage recruit, and Fennec just about screamed when Din went completely still and silent.

Bo-Katan met Boba’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. She mimed a syringe. Boba shook his head. If this fucker got bit, he deserved whatever infection it brought.

“Atta boy,” Bojzka said to Din’s rigid silence. “Here’s how it is: your mama and me go way, way back. And you know, after your touching reunion the other week, she even went and had a drink with me, and we got to talkin’ and started to reconnect, the old folks do. And I could read her body language, Din-Din. She wants a man. And that man’s me. So instead of actin’ like a child over all this, why don’t we—”

“She wanted Naseem,” Din snapped. “But Naseem died. Twenty years ago, he died. You just wear similar boots.”

Get ‘im, Djarin. Get ‘im.

“I—who?” Bojzka snapped.

“Naseem,” Din repeated like he was an idiot. “Traditional, bantha-sized, green armor. He worked all the time to keep all the kids in the covert fed.”

Bojzka processed this.

“Naseem what?” he asked stiffly.

“He’s dead,” Din said. “And Hajka left. So no. Goran needs neither a man or a woman, and especially not you. What she needs is a break and for Karren to stop fighting people on sight.”

Bojzka backtracked like a champ.

“Karren, that’s her youngest, right?” he asked. “Well, I bet Karren could use some sisters. I bet he’s lonely over there on, uh.”

“Zeffo,” Din gritted out. “And no. He’s not. He has three sisters. One of which is still at the covert, terrorizing him left and right.”

Even Bo-Katan could only empathize so much with Bojzka, war hero or nah.

“Why’re you all up in arms, Din? What’d I do to you?” Bojzka finally asked. “Don’t you want your buir to be happy?”

Din’s shoulders finally came down from his helmet.

“Of course, I do,” he said. “Which is why if you set so much as a toe on Zeffo, I’m taking both of your knees with me to Yavin.”

Any parent would have been proud to have Din as their child. He took family honor to a level that even the Katzkai clan would have had a hard time sniffing at.

He had to have learned this from the wayward heiress. Although, if Boba was honest, he didn’t really think that the wayward heiress was all that wayward.

She’d come to visit Din on Tatooine. She was short and stocky and not terribly interested in the court or anyone outside of Din.

She wasn’t nearly as hostile as Bo-Katan expected either. She didn’t appear to love anything that she was looking at, no, but Din had explained that that was mostly because she wasn’t really a fan of him having become Mand’alor to start with.

When she came to visit, anyways, she was far more interested in getting a good fuss in to give herself peace of mind that Din was okay. That way she could then go back to dealing with the apparently endless series of crises at the new covert.

She was a great parent in that way. She even brought along her youngest, so that he could see his big brother.

That kid was fuckin’ adorable. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Barely, barely, barely in armor. He was strapped into his leathers so tight, he looked like he was stuffed with straw.

He had medium-brown skin with yellow undertones and huge, nearly-black eyes. Coarse black hair poured into his face and curled around his ears—and if he thought he was going to stuff all that in a helmet one day, he had another thing coming.

He bopped after his buir when they entered the palace and stopped occasionally to stare up in awe at the palace’s high ceilings. Upon realizing that he’d lost his escort, he scampered along to catch up and did the whole thing again and again until buir had enough and snatched his hand.

He didn’t like that. He was fourteen-fifteen years old. He was too big for hand-holding, buir.

Never too old to be ignored, though.

“Goraaaaaan.”

“Hush,” the Armorer told him. “Keep up.”

He was handed off to Boba outside Din’s personal quarters, mostly because he was making such a fuss at the Armorer that she began contemplating leaving him at the palace forever. Din intervened and the kid latched onto him instead until Din convinced him that he’d be available talk just as soon as he and their buir were done speaking.

The kid’s name was Karren.

He and Boba were now best friends.

“—so Goran said, ‘I’m not having that idiot in my rooms.’ But then Eegang said, ‘we already have Paz in these rooms,’ and you’re not supposed to laugh, Mr. Fett, but we all did because we’re all stupid. So we had to do like, a thousand chores for eavesdropping.”

“So she’s not into him, then?” Fennec clarified. “He’s really into her, you know.”

“Of course, I know,” Karren lamented. “But Goran’s picky and the last person she was all close with was Hajka and we’re not allowed to talk about her anymore or Din’ll make you do two hundred push-ups while he watches.”

Amazing. Say more about Din’s oldest-child syndrome, little one.

“No, I like Din,” Karren sighed. “Now that Digo’s gone, he’s even nicer.”

Oh?

“What happened to Digo?” Boba asked as Bo-Katan joined them in curiosity.

“Digo’s a jerk is what happened,” Karren huffed. “She wanted Goran to give over the forge and join the elders, but Goran isn’t even that old. So when she said ‘no,’ Digo got mad and said that the only foundling Goran respects is Din. Which is bullshit because everyone knows that Goran has always been the nicest with Digo and Nasif—she made all sorts of excuses for them, Mr. Fett, like when they went out and got caught stealing parts like Jawas, she did four whole hunts to raise their bail. When Din gets in trouble, he takes care of it himself. He doesn’t ask Goran to do that kind of thing. And me and Shimmol just don’t get in that kind of trouble to start with—but no. Digo had to be all ‘if you don’t treat us as equals, then we’re gonna leave and start our own forge.’”

“No kidding,” Fennec said. “So they left?”

“Yeah, both of them ‘cause Nasif does anything Digo tells her to,” Karren said, kicking his feet. “And good riddance.”

Too many sisters, this one had. Boba felt for him.

“So Goran’s still recovering from that betrayal, I take it?” he asked.

Karren frowned and chewed a lip.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “No one tells me anything. I think that Goran’s been more worried about Din than them after all that happened. We thought he got crunched by the jedi—or at least I thought he got crunched. Paz says that Jedis compact Mandalorians into cubes of armor and Din’s got the best armor.”

Do not laugh at the child. Do not laugh at the child.

“I don’t think Jedis crunch Mandalorians,” Bo-Katan said generously, having snuck into the bare antechamber while everyone was distracted with the kid’s story.

“Well, I do,” Karren countered, with zero conception of who he was talking to.

Fennec beamed.

“Do you like this Urro guy?” she asked.

“No,” Karren answered immediately. “He’s sent Eegang four messages and they’re all gross.”

Yep.

It was gonna be a late puberty for this one.

“What makes them gross?” Bo-Katan asked.

“The mush,” Karren said expertly. “Bojzka calls Goran ‘Nomri.’ That’s a bad word at home. No one says that word. Goran is ‘Goran.’ The only people who call her anything else are the elders.”

“And you and your siblings, no?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karran cocked his head at her.

“Yeah, and ‘buir’ I guess, if we aren’t in trouble,” he said.

Bless him.

“Are you in trouble a lot?” Bo-Katan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I got a temper or something.”

“Is Din in trouble?”

“With buir? No, not like me and Shimmol. He’s too old to be in that kind of trouble. His trouble’s like ‘help, I fell a hundred feet off a cliff’ kind of trouble. He gives Goran indigestion, but she can’t make him reflect on falling a million feet out of a ship—Eegang says that’s called ‘rehashing trauma.’”

The covert on Zeffo sounded like it was holding itself together through sheer force of will and that alone.

Where did Boba sign up? It sounded like a fantastic experiment to pass the time.

“Are you a foundling, Karren?” Boba asked.

The kid lit up.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been with Goran for five years now. Six in a few months. My dad’s a piece of shit. He killed my mom, and Goran got him arrested for that and for what he did to my auntie.”

Well, fuck. That explained a lot.

“And you like it there—on Zeffo?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karren shrugged.

“It’s cold and wet,” he said. “I liked Nevarro better. Din was home more on Nevarro.”

Awww.

“Aren’t you proud of Din for becoming Mand’alor?” Bo-Katan asked as gently as she could manage.

Karren’s frown eased up finally.

“No,” he said. “Din should just come home. He doesn’t need to be Mand’alor or married to some jedi. He should just come home. It’s stupid; his foundling should have stayed with us from the start. We always have room for more foundlings. I dunno why he had to leave with his foundling at all.”

Bo-Katan sat back and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If it helps, I think he just wants to come home, too.”

“So let him,” Karren blurted out to her.

Tough tits, kid. That wasn’t how it worked.

“I think we should perhaps focus on one thing at a time,” Bo-Katan said. “What do you think, Fett?”

What did Boba think?

Boba thought that he had a great idea to distract this kid from missing his big brother.

---

Karren was perhaps a little too small still to reach the brakes in the crawler, but you know what? So was Fennec sometimes and she did just fine.

“Gas,” Boba said, pointing. “Neutral. Brake. Park.”

“Gas, neutral, brake, park,” Karren repeated to him with his hands on the wheel and his knobbly wrists peeking out from the gap between his gloves and his leather braces.

Bo-Katan had refused to be present or responsible for this. Fennec had told them to wait while she went and took a shot first. ‘For safety’ she said.

“What’s neutral for?”

“You’re about to tell me,” Boba said, adjusting the rear view mirrors down to kid-height.

The sound of Fennec throwing herself onto the back of the crawler rattled through to their compartment.

“That’s our signal,” Boba said. “You ready to jam?”

“Jam?” Karren asked him.

Hm.

Punch it?

“Punch what?”

The fuck kind of slang did they use at the covert?

“Rock?”

“OH. Yeah, I’m ready.”

There we go. Onward march then.

---

An hour later, Din sighed with Karren whining under his arm.

“There is a reason he’s not trained yet, Fett,” Din said as Karren started chomping on the bunched-up flightsuit in his elbow.

The Armorer pressed both palms into the forehead of her helmet.

The crawler had perhaps seen better days. But it had also seen worse days, and Fennec was still going through little loops of cackling at the memory of having to chase after its open tailgate. Boba didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The kid had done amazingly well for his first time at the wheel.

“I’m leaving all of you,” Karren grated out, trying miserably to escape Din’s elbow-prison. “I want to be Mr. Fett’s foundling.”

Bless him.

“You don’t,” Din told him forcefully. “Fett can’t handle a foundling.”

Ay, Boba would drink to that. He was happy to be a foundling-sitter and borrower, though.

“Buir,” Karren pleaded.

“You make me tired, child,” the Armorer told him. “Say goodbye to vod.”

“NO.”

Din sighed. The Armorer sighed. Karren, in a beautiful 180, latched onto Din’s ribs again.

“Come hooooooome,” he pleaded with Din.

“I caaaaaaan’t,” Din drawled back at him in a delightfully uncharacteristic tone.

“These people don’t need you. We need you. Shimmol took your bed and if you don’t take it back, she’s gonna keep it.”

Din’s shoulders dropped.

“I told Shimmol that she could take my bunk, Karren,” he said. “I’m not using it—”

“BUT YOU COULD BE.”

Boba took it back. He could take on a foundling. Fuck it, why not? This one was great.

“Come here,” Din said, dragging the kid up to his toes. He knocked the front of his helmet against Karren’s forehead with enough force that the bump was noticeable. That made the kid shut up and stand up straight on his own volition again.

“Soon,” Din told him forcefully. “Behave for buir.”

“Promise,” Karren demanded.

“Ehn.”

“Din, promise.”

“I dunno, kid. I’ve got a husband and all these damn kids to worry about.”

“Bring them. All of them.”

“No room,” Din said without missing a beat. “You have no idea how much space the husband needs to thrive.”

“Well, if you don’t come, then Urro’s gonna try to move in,” Karren snapped.

Din actually paused at that. The Armorer shook her helmet.

“Territorialism becomes neither of you,” she said. “If Urro wishes to join our covert, then we will treat him as we treat any other who wishes to.”

Din’s helmet seemed to squint at her. Karren glared outright.

“I don’t like him,” he told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

“Carry on with your work and give my best to the jedi and the child,” the Armorer said with an air of dismissal. “Come, Karren. Thank you three for looking after him. Apologies for the vehicle. Come.”

Boba missed that kid already.

--------

Bojzka, Boba had to say, really had no shame and he could almost appreciate that. Either that, or Din’s buir was a catch that the rest of them were failing to appreciate.

“How bad can it be?” the guy mused at Din’s stiff, furious hands mere days after the Armorer and Karren’s departure. “It’s a helmet, right? You can take it off with the people who matter, no?”

“We do not take it off,” Din said from between clenched teeth.

“Right, I got that. But there are exceptions for kids and spouses,” Bojzka said. “Or did I misread that part?”

Din was going to start shaking at any minute now. Bo-Katan assigned Boba the task of making sure he didn’t commit War-hero-homicide while she went off to find a calming device. It was only polite. It wasn’t Bojzka’s fault after all that he’d come in right after a tense meeting with a dissident group from Mandalore itself that made even Bo-Katan’s jaw jump.

“I think the rule is more important than the exceptions here,” Boba pointed out on Din’s behalf. “Joining the Children of the Watch isn’t something to take lightly.”

Din pointed at him wordlessly. Bojzka lazily followed the finger and then pointedly ignored Boba.

“What I’m hearing is that if we marry first, nothing changes,” he said.

Din’s index finger curled in with the rest of his knuckles until it was a fist.

“She is not looking to marry,” he said.

“What, so you speak for her now?”

“She is not looking to marry.”

“I can repeat things, too. Wanna see? You don’t speak for Nomri, Din.”

Boba was getting the feeling that Ms. Katzkai sort of did let Din speak for her in these types of situations. He was, after all, her oldest. And it sounded like he was the most loyal of her foundlings, too. If she shared anything personal with anyone besides her second in command, then it was going to be Din. That was just how these things worked.

“Did you call Eegang?” Din asked.

“I did,” Bojzka said. “He’s not especially helpful, I have to say. He keeps sending my missives back to me with grammar corrections.”

No. No. Keep it in, Boba. Keep it stoic.

“Eegang is the second CO at the covert,” Din said. “If you won’t take my word for it, then you’ll take his.”

Bojzka arched a fucked-up eyebrow.

“Eegang, the same guy who is allegedly secretly married to his partner? That Eegang?” he asked.

Din balked. Boba felt like electricity had just rocketed through him.

“Eegang is—” Din started.

“Nomri told me about him,” Bojzka said off-handedly. “She seems to think that he’s bitten off more than he can chew with taking on his last kid.”

“Eegang—”

“Something about baby being blind? Funny, did you not think that she trusted me enough to talk about her people?”

Any more of this and steam would start rising from the lip of Din’s helmet.

Thankfully, Bo-Katan returned with the jedi, AKA the calming device. Skywalker even came equipped with Grogu. They both appeared very confused and innocent, what with Skywalker drowning in his formal robes. They looked like they were going to absorb Grogu at any moment.

A+ distraction work, Kryze. Well done making yourself useful.

“Who’s Eegang?” Skywalker asked.

The line pulled taut across Din’s shoulders began to loosen.

“A comrade,” he said sharply in Bojzka’s direction.

“Is he nice?” Skywalker asked. Grogu chirped at him and resumed trying to dig into his multitude of collars.

“Very nice,” Din confirmed, staring deep into Bojzka’s eyes.

“He’s got foundlings, too?” Skywalker asked.

“Two,” Din confirmed. “Who he adores. Regardless of all challenges.”

Ah. It wasn’t just Eegang Din was protective of. It was the baby. Bojzka had really stuck his foot into that one.

“I’m sure the foundlings are fine,” Bojzka said. “It was just Nomri’s concern that—”

“Stop calling her that in my presence,” Din said. “In fact, let’s drop the whole thing now.”

--------

Boba wanted to meet secretly-married Eegang. He sounded like he had a rich interior life. Din gave him a strong look and said that if the Armorer had left the covert, Eegang would not. One of them had to be there at all times.

Bo-Katan asked what Eegang’s speciality was.

Surprise, surprise: it was diplomacy.

Kryze was now invested. She followed Din around on his heels and suggested that if the Armorer gave words to Eegang to deliver during a formal meeting with the Mand’alor, then Bojzka might finally get the picture that Katzkai wasn’t interested in him.

Din thought about that.

He asked if this was not just a ploy for Boba and Bo-Katan to rally his covert comrades against him.

And it honestly wasn’t until he phrased it like that.

-----------

Eegang was tall, sea-green, and in Bojzka’s face without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Three tests,” he threatened Bojzka with a baby on his hip. “One: stop sending transmissions. Two: get Elder Fayrz to approve your presence. Three: make even one of Goran’s foundlings like you. If you pass all three, your admission will be taken into consideration.”

The baby was very pink with curly hair so pale it was almost white. Its blue-gray eyes moved rapidly back and forth as it cuddled into its buir’s teal armor. Bojzka glanced from it to Eegang’s chipped helmet.

“Where did you find him?” he asked.

“Please give confirmation of your understanding,” Eegang said mechanically.

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Please give confirmation of your understanding.”

“Are you a droid or somethin’?”

“Please give—”

“Alright, alright. Fuck. This is confirmation of my understanding.”

“Excellent. This conversation is over,” Eegang said. “It is your responsibility to contact the elder and earn the approval.”

Bojzka jerked.

“Wait, what?” he said. “How am I supposed to do that if y’all won’t even let me through the door?”

Eegang’s helmet tipped so daintily to the side that Boba could have shed a tear.

“That sounds like a you-problem,” Eegang said.

-----------

Eegang thereafter blocked Bojzka out of his mind and heart. He introduced himself with a dipping motion to Kryze and Boba that probably would have been more dramatic if he’d opted to wear a cape, which he did not. He revealed himself to be exceedingly polite and very fond of Din, though—if the gentle armor tapping and the use of the word ‘little brother’ was anything to go by. Din was usually receptive to gestures like that, Boba had learned, but not this time.

No, no. Din cared not for his ‘big brother.’ He cared only for the attention of Eegang’s baby.

“His name is Mesa,” Eegang explained after Din had kidnapped said baby. He introduced Mesa to Grogu who was stationed nearby, stuffed in the sleepy jedi’s shirt this time. . Grogu waved from Skywalker’s chest, but Mesa didn’t register the motion.

“His grandmother was quite ill, and it was her dying wish to see the child placed into the care of someone trustworthy. I have to admit, though, I may have made the decision a little rashly,” Eegang hummed as he watched Grogu lean as far as he could out of Skywalker’s clothing to try to make contact with his fellow foundling.

“Is he your first?” Bo-Katan asked.

Eegang winced.

“No, uh. I’ve got another,” he said. “She’s a huge fan of certain someones.”

“Me,” Din said without hesitation.

“And Paz,” Eegang said. “Which is a deadly combination.”

“She will be a mighty warrior,” Din informed Mesa and Skywalker. Skywalker twitched awake and didn’t understand anything that was happening. He noticed the baby, cooed, and waved with his gloved hand.

“She’s declared this one goat her nemesis and I cannot—I cannot—get her to just leave it alone,” Eegang said.

“A goat clan in the making,” Din said with approval.

“I’m hearing unnecessary commentary,” Eegang said without looking at him. “Please rephrase or shut up.”

Din seemed to gloat at the scolding. Skywalker glanced between him and his tall, teal comrade. He made his move and carefully came in to extract baby Mesa from Din’s arms to add him to his ever-growing collection. Grogu cooed again, closer now. He offered Mesa a hand, and this time, Mesa perked up and tried to grab at it clumsily.

“You manage the covert in the Armorer’s absence?” Bo-Katan asked Eegang. “You must be very dedicated to the Children of the Watch.”

“Define ‘manage’ and then ‘dedicated,’” Eegang said. “I prefer ‘accidentally charged with responsibility one too many times’ and ‘in too deep to turn back now.’”

“He’s being humble,” Din said. “Eegang has brokered peace between our covert and locals on numerous occasions.”

Eegang’s shoulders started to raise.

“Stop telling people that, they’re going to expect things from me,” he said, then popped back up like flipped switch. “Oh, I totally forgot why I even came. Jedi?”

Skywalker looked up from the conference of baby talk happening in his arms all wide-eyed, as though he’d been caught in the act of stealing imperial property.

“We did not welcome you into our covert,” Eegang said, “You must allow us to present you with a gift of welcome and entry.”

Oho. Very formal. Boba folded his arms and watched Skywalker for his reaction.

“A what?” Skywalker asked.

-------

Bojzka was somewhat justifiably upset at the double standard going on here.

Skywalker was a jedi and yet welcomed into the covert with open arms and no admission requirements. He was, in fact, measured against his will for a set of armor. This was what Din’s buir had actually been after when she’d sent Eegang along to say hi.

Boba found that he enjoyed the reciprocation of ulterior motives that they were getting from Din’s covert. Kryze had never been happier. This was a game that she knew how to play.

“Wait no, hold up,” Bojzka interrupted. “I deserve a chance. Din, at least give me the name of one of your siblings so I can track them down with the elder.”

Din didn’t want to; there were foundlings happening and another meeting soon, but eventually even he had to give the guy something.

An honorable battle required at least two willing bodies.

-----------

Din and Karren’s remaining sibling at the covert’s name was Shimmol. According to Din, Bojzka had next to no chance of gaining her favor because she did not leave the forge and therefore Bojzka had no access to her. Eegang corrected Din and said that Shimmol did, in fact, leave the forge, but never on her own volition.

She was preferred the dark. She hated social interaction.

To circumvent that, the Armorer had refused to induct her into the trade until she proved herself able to coexist with others. But Shimmol was eighteen, that fun age where no incentive or punishment was effective and digging your heels in was far more preferable to doing a damn thing your elders mentioned.

She’s announced that very weekend that she was officially becoming a recluse. Her present aspiration in life was apparently now to become a forge spider.

Bojzka, along with everyone else, had no idea how to receive this information. Kyrze took it upon herself to pat Bojzka on the shoulder and tell him to start with the elder. He might actually have some luck that way.

-------

It took two weeks for Bojzka to re-emerge from whatever hellhole he’d had to walk a tightrope across to locate the covert’s elder Fayrz. He climbed in through Din’s personal quarters’ window and interrupted him and the Jedi in a moment of infrequent intimacy.

The sound of a body being throw over a bannister had a special kind of thud to it. Boba was up on out of his quarters in an instant.

Din flung Bojzka’s helmet after him. Skywalker had the grace to cover Djarin’s face with his shirt and walk him back into the room before anyone caught sight of it, telling Boba and Fennec, who had also emerged from her bed, prepared for drama, that all was fine. There was just a misunderstanding.

His bare torso was covered in scars. Boba found himself somehow surprised and impressed as the jedi unsuccessfully wrangled his furious husband back in the direction of bed.

He and Fennec peeked over the banister to see what had become of Bojzka. He was fine.

Fennec informed Boba that she was claiming part of his bed ‘in case anything else good happened’ since he was closer.

-----

In the morning, Din was in marginally better spirits. Skywalker was to be found at his side, walking backwards and tripping over his cloak every four paces. He truly knew how to hit all Din’s ‘endeared’ buttons. If not to the earnestness and the near-miss of a disaster on the stairs, it would have looked like manipulation.

Bojzka attempted to rectify the peace by breaking into the court through one of the windows high up on the wall outside the second floor’s conference room. This time, to ensure that he had Din’s full attention, he removed the jedi from the equation. Or he tried to anyways.

The jedi, in a split second, decided that, all joking aside, today, he would not be moved. His green saber managed to glow even in the sunlight pouring in to the hall.

“Do not touch,” he ordered, with both feet planted and Din and Grogu securely at his back.

Bojzka cocked his head at the saber pointed right at his nose.

“That’s a fun trick,” he said.

“Do not touch,” Skywalker repeated. “Me, him, or the child.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bojzka said. “Stand down before you regret it.”

“Luke,” Din said testily. “He’s not worth it.”

“Make me regret it,” Skywalker said to Bojzka.

Bojzka’s eyes widened slightly in interest. He used the back of his wrist to try to nudge the saber’s tip away and snapped his hand away from the burn.

“Do you expect me to be afraid of you, jedi?” he asked, trying to play it off.

Skywalker’s eyes reflected the light of his saber.

“Ask him what the glove’s for,” Fennec called from the far hall. Bojzka scoffed. Skywalker didn’t move.

“What happened to your hand?” Bojzka asked.

“My father cut it off,” Skywalker said. “But not to worry, I got a new one. Now step back. Sir.”

Bojzka didn’t move for a long time.

“Does it feel good to walk in the presence of these people?” he asked. “Is it a kink for you the way it was for your master?”

Boba had officially lost the plot. These were old politics now. Kryze would know what Bojzka was talking about, if only she deigned to come out from wherever she was hiding, which she wouldn’t. Of course.

“Does it offend you? My presence here?” Skywalker asked back without emotion.

“It doesn’t,” Bojzka said.

“I’m glad. That’s very convenient for me. I’d feel terrible if you bled out on these tiles,” Skywalker said. “So move.”

And goddamn. The mountain finally yielded to the sky.

-------

Skywalker spent the rest of the day on high alert, with one hand on the hilt of his saber and his full concentration tied up with making fierce eyes into the palace’s corners to keep Bojzka at bay. It was really something to see. Din looked about ready to lay his fingers on his heart and swoon, and that was more than fair. If Boba’s spouse threatened to kill a man for looking at him wrong, he’d be touched too.

Fennec told Boba that she’d protect him from a man the size of a bantha but no larger, and it just didn’t have the same kind of ring.

She apologized and he told her it was fine. It was just in the delivery--and also, he’d murder anyone so blinked at her wrong, too.

She was pleased. Boba was glad they were on the same page.

“Let’s go find Kryze to negotiate,” Fennec said, “I need to know why Old Faithful’s back.”

--------

Kryze’s commanding voice wrang out of Bojzka the real reason for his presence. The truth of the matter was that, War Hero aside, he was having a hell of a time getting the covert elder to grant him a second look.

Din told him that that was the point. Elder Fayrz was like that all day, every day and he’d change for no body, spiritual or physical. He bothered people when he wanted to bother them, and the rest of the time, he liked to pretend he was senile. He only really ever showed up if someone was buying a round or their life was in the balance.

Skywalker said that he sounded a lot like his late master.

Din agreed and said that Elder Fayrz had dedicated his life to two things: the covert children and fungi. Somehow, he made those two interests overlap. Din recalled being twelve and being taken out on a ‘mission’ by the old man who had informed him that he required his nose.

Elder Fayrz had no sense of smell. For a man with a fungi interest, he called this ‘very dangerous business indeed.’

Kryze demanded to know if all the weirdest Mandalorian elders still living had congregated at Din’s cohort which he quickly confirmed. Bojzka, however, demanded to know what would make this elder look him in the eye.

Din told him to go find a deathbed and lay on it.

He remembered belatedly to add ‘nearby Elder Fayrz’ to that statement.

----------

After about a month of this kind of back and forth, the Armorer decided that she’d had enough. She did not come to the Dune Sea. She sent a missive to Din informing him that he was coming home.

‘To talk,’ she said.

Boba vaguely remembered Karren saying something along the lines of ‘Din doesn’t get into trouble anymore,’ and was pleased to find that that was not the case. Din already knew what awaited him at his home covert and anyone with slightly more than a rock for a brain could see that it wasn’t going to be hugs and kisses.

Bojzka volunteered to accompany Din as a guard when the jedi made himself conveniently unavailable. Kryze and Boba flipped a coin while Din resisted stabbing him, and of course Boba won. Kryze flipped it again to be sure, and Boba told her sweetly that he’d send her a postcard.

“Have fun with the schmucks lounging around this place,” he gloated at Bo-Katan’s rolling shoulders.

She gave him two naughty fingers.

Whatever, girl. Sucks to suck. Bye, bye, now. Come on, Fennec. There’s adventure to be had.

---------

It was a ways to the new covert on Zeffo. Several hours, in fact, many of which were spent playing ‘I spy’ with Fennec while Bojzka gritted his teeth and asked them if they were always like this.

Fennec got Din to join in at that comment.

Eventually they ran out of white dwarfs and capes to identify and settled down into silence until the ship declared landing to be imminent.

Karren remembered Boba and the second he set foot inside the curiously constructed covert entrance. The kid came hurtling up to tackle him and wrap arms around his middle. It was endearing. Boba checked the doors to see if a guard would notice a kidnapping.

Fennec reminded him of child-based expenses. Her wisdom was invaluable as usual.

Karren scrambled away from Boba and, for a moment, made like he was going to attach himself to Din’s armor, but instead wriggled past Din to go tearing down the hallway. He skidded, crashed, and then clambered into a different room at the dead end of what appeared to be a row of barracks. Seconds later, Eegang exploded from one of the rooms adjacent wearing no armor but his helmet. He flung himself through the same doorway Karren had vanished through.

Din tilted his head.

“It’s fine,” a voice said behind them.

Their small party turned to see a woman wearing a cool purple helmet with only her flakvest on. Eegang’s pale baby was sat on her hip, pawing at her chest, trying to find purchase in the vest.

“Sotra,” Din greeted.

“Welcome back, brat-child,” Sotra said. “We missed you.”

This had to be Eegang’s secret-wife; unless she’d stolen that gurgling foundling in the night or something.

“Electrical?” Din asked, pointing at the far room.

“Loft,” Sotra said. “There’s hay, so of course all the kids have to be in it.”

“Just hay?” Din asked.

“And goats,” Sotra said.

Ah.

“We raise goats now?” Din asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Sotra said, sashaying past him towards the room her husband had abandoned, “It’s either coexistence or war, I’m afraid. The forge is past the hangar, keep going through the kitchens. Voxie knows you’re here—he’s awake, by the way. Welcome home, Din.”

“Thanks,” Din said. “This is my advisor, Boba Fett and our friend Fennec.”

Sotra splayed her whole, tall body into the doorway of her and Eegang’s barracks just as a fearsome battle cry sounded out on the other side.

“Hi,” she said.

“RELEASE ME,” a child in front of her about hip-height with serious bedhead shrieked in Mando’a.

Fennec’s eyebrows launched up to her forehead. Boba felt like he needed to record this so that Kryze understood what she was missing.

“Vod Din is home,” Sotra told the child.

“DIN.”

“Shhhh.”

“RELEASE M—mmf.”

“Shhhhh. It’s quiet time,” Sotra said with her free hand over the child’s mouth. “We’re being quiet.”

Din chuckled.

“Hey, Samo,” he said.

Samo let loose an ear-piercing scream behind her buir’s hand and ducked under Sotra’s legs. She ran at Din like there was a bomb behind her. Din caught her and swung her up to perch on his arm and she kicked relentless at his tassets in excitement.

“Shhh,” Din said. “People are sleeping—”

“YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE—”

Doors started opening all down the line of barracks. A few curious, hazy, and lopsided helmets poked out from some of them, and from others, calls of ‘EYYYYYYY’ and chats ‘ALL HAIL THE MAND’ALOR’ started up, to Din’s immediate mortification.

This, Boba was delighted to realize, was not a cry of honor.

These half-asleep fuckers had been waiting months to embarrass Din. And he’d known that this would happen.

“Be quiet,” Din snapped all around him. “The elders are sleeping, you’re going to—”

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally home,” a taunting voice rang out on top of the rush. “If it isn’t the Mand’alor himself.”

“Paz,” Din sighed. “Not now.”

“When could there possibly be a better time, your liege?” a huge Mandalorian wearing full blue armor despite the early hour drawled from the doorway he’d attempted to casually lean in. Samo’s braids flew as her round cheeks snapped his way.

“Paz, don’t be mean,” she told him from atop Din’s arm. “Or it’ll be to the goats with ya.”

“Fuck me, the goats, what ever will I do?” Paz scoffed.

“BUIR, PAZ SAID A BAD WORD.”

“I heard him,” Sotra said scathingly, right at Paz’s visor.

“To the goats,” Paz’s neighbor hissed at him.

The hissing was taken up just as quickly as the earlier ‘all hails’ had been. Paz told everyone to shut up and mind their own asses. He was publicly booed until Eegang emerged from the loft room with Karren stuffed under an arm and demanded to know why people were congregating in the halls. He reminded everyone that that shit was a fire hazard, and in doing so, his tone changed completely from easy-going to Commanding Officer and the effect was immediate.

People scurried back into their rooms like frightened mice until there wasn’t a single open door left in the whole line.

Eegang huffed and traded Karren to Din for his daughter. Samo happily climbed onto his shoulders and held onto his chin. Karren grinned mischievously up at her, winked, and then thumbed back to the goat loft.

“Not the welcome you deserved, but the one you got. I’m afraid nothing has changed here,” Eegang told Din compassionately, wrapping his fingers around Samo’s ankles. “I see you brought friends.”

“And foe,” Din said, gesturing at Bojzka who beamed.

Eegang’s visor contained a grimace that would otherwise have wracked his whole body.

“You got in,” he deadpanned.

“Sure did,” Bojzka said. “Lovely place you have here.”

And honestly? Yeah. It sort of was. Maybe a little ramshackle, what with all the scaffolding and haphazard support beams thrown into the walls to keep the wet earth above ground from crushing everyone below it, but for all the unsteadiness, it was oozing with comradery. Family.

Behind each of those doors was a little unit like Eegang and Sotra’s or perhaps a tired body, barely extracted from its boots, taking comfort in this honeycomb of tunnels and rooms.

Boba couldn’t help but wonder how he and Dad would have done in a place like this.

“We try,” Eegang said flatly. “I’ll let the Armorer deal with you herself—if she’s awake, I mean. Otherwise, you’re condemned to Shimmol. I’m going back to sleep. Vok is waiting for you, keep going straight through the kitchens, Din.”

“Thank you,” Din said. “Sleep well, Vod.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Monster. No goats for now.”

Samo waved at Boba and Fennec with a smile as bright as the sun. She ducked expertly as Eegang passed through the doorway to their quarters. He closed the door behind them.

------

“You don’t see families like that much anymore,” Bojzka hummed as Din led their troop down the hallways, through a series of ladders into a kitchen and then from there into a surprisingly neat, up-to-date hangar with concrete floorings. Six crafts were parked inside, tucked into the tight space like fish in a barrel.

“We have a few,” Din said. “I don’t know how many people are living here now, though.”

Given the size of the place? Maybe fifty or so, if Boba had to take a guess. There had been several sets of boots lining the wall outside the barrack doors.

Din picked his way through the crafts to two tarps covered in piles of spare, rusting, and grease-covered parts. At the end of the aisle between the tarps was a rectangle bordered by wooden benches and to the left of that was a little box that a mechanic presumably operated from. The box, however, had no windows. Its door was slightly ajar.

Din knocked and a snort and a slurp answered him.

“Jus’ a mo,” a thick voice said inside.

Fennec looked at Boba with intrigue.

“Tool gnome,” she said.

No, friend. Just a grease-monkey.

“Tool gnome,” Fennec insisted.

The door opened and a man at least six feet, two inches peered out of it.

“Tool giant,” Fennec amended in a whisper.

“Is that you, Din?” the mechanic asked. His helmet was rusty red and gray. Its visor had a yellow tint to it.

“It is,” Din said. “It’s been a while, Vok. These are my—”

“Forget them. Goran told me what you did to Razor.”

Din cringed.

“I—”

“AH. No. I don’t wanna hear it,” Vok said. “I just—I’m glad you’re safe, but you ain’t touching any more of my children, you hear me, boy?”

Din sunk into his shoulders in shame.

“I hear you,” he said.

“You’re damn right you do,” Vok said. “Man, I had a whole speech written out and shit, and here you are, early as the fuckin’ dawn. Did you miss Paz?”

“We did not,” Din said.

“I tried to have him do an inventory, I did,” Vok said sympathetically. “But he wasn’t havin’ it. Took an IOU and everything.”

Din sighed.

“Thanks for trying,” he said. “Is the forge...?”

“That way,” Vok said, gesturing to the far end of the hangar, where a series of scaffolding led up to a dark hole in the wall. “Mind your step. Stairs are next on my list. Who’re your friends?”

Din introduced them. Vok considered Fennec and after a moment of thought, saluted her. She tipped her jaw to the side and gave him a once-over.

“Din’s got my number if you’re not busy,” Vok said.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Fennec said.

“I hope you do, my darlin’. You? Boj-whatever? I heard about you. You can go fuck yourself.”

“Thanks, Vok, we’re going now,” Din intervened.

----------

Fennec said nothing on the way up the scaffolding. She didn’t need to. Boba applauded her.

---------

The forge was the least finished part of the covert, and Boba could respect the Armorer’s dedication to looking after the flock before her own needs. Not that the forge wasn’t a comfortable place. Upon entry, Bojzka whistled at all the equipment inside. There were steel beams crossing in hatches along the ceiling. It appeared as though someone was working on a ventilation mechanism up there. Ropes and pipes hung down from the beams as though a pulley system had been recently removed.

The forge itself was a huge circular structure with a high wall around its exterior. It was built of a slick-looking black material. There were three water troughs set up in a line behind it and two rudimentary wood blocks with anvils set on them. Benches littered with iron tools sat next to the anvils.

Din appeared very at home in this place, despite not having even been in it. He wove around the accoutrements of the room towards a wooden door that had been placed on hinges on the far side like an afterthought.

He knocked.

“We don’ want any,” a sleepy woman’s voice drawled.

Boba jumped as a something brushed his elbow and discovered that Karren had followed them all the way down to the forge. His soft boots had hidden his footsteps, but, like Din, he was now in a place that he knew like the back of his hand. Din grabbed the scruff of his neck as he went for the door with both hands.

“You’re supposed to be in the nursery,” Din told him. “Shoo.”

“Shimmol, Din’s home,” Karren said through the door. “Goran, Din’s home.”

Very cute. Karren wanted to be the one to shared the news. Din pulled him back as shuffling started up on the other side of the wooden door.

It opened to reveal a fluorescent pink helmet with floral patterns painted down the edges in white.

“Din?” the young woman, who could only be Shimmol, asked.

Din’s brain stuttered.

“Uh?” he said.

Shimmol’s flightsuit was once white, but it was burned and smudged to gray all over. Her heavy gloves were half-burnt on both hands, too. She surged forward into Din’s chestplate. Din hugged her back awkwardly.

“Hello, sister,” he said. “This is, uh.”

“Do you like it?” Shimmol asked, pulling away from him to touch the edges of her helmet. “I thought it was cute. Wait til you see the pauldrons. They match.”

“They’re hideous,” Karren said.

“Did anyone ask you?” Shimmol flung at him. “No, I didn’t think so. Get gone, womp-rat.”

Wow. No wonder Karren was desperate for Din’s attention.

“I’m not a womp-rat,” Karren said. “I’m a Tooka. Goran said so.”

“You know, what you actually are is a ‘nuisance,’ so it doesn’t matter what—”

“Children.”

And lo and behold. The lady herself. Gold helmet and everything.

“Din,” the Armorer said, placing a hand on Shimmol’s side to move her. “Welcome home.”

Din accepted the helmet touch with grace.

“Bojzka,” the Armorer said next. “I didn’t expect to see you in my home so soon, or at all.”

Bojzka beamed.

“You’ve grown a beard,” the Armorer noted. “It does not become you.”

Boba coughed into his elbow to hide the bark of laughter screaming to escape his throat. Fennec thumped at his back.

“Let’s move somewhere with more light,” the Armorer said. “Karren, Shimmol. You’re dismissed for the next hour. Go eat breakfast.”

“But—” Shimmol started.

“Up, up, up,” Karren chanted, getting behind her and shoving hands into the small of her back. “It’s people-time.”

“Leave it. I hate people-time,” Shimmol said. “I thrive on darkness. It sustains me better than food.”

Din looked desperately into the Armorer’s helmet. The Armorer ignored him and told Shimmol that she knew this to false and to stop whining. Upstairs, now.

The kids relented and left the forge. Din pointed after them.

“I know,” the Armorer said. “Let her work through it.”

Din pointed even more insistently.

“No, no. It’s true,” Bojzka said. “Mine went through the same thing.”

--------

The Armorer sat them all down at a ‘u’ shape of benches on the far side of the forge. She turned on some overhead lights. They lit up the forge and threw its equipment’s shadows harshly against the floor.

“Thank you for coming,” she said lightly. “It takes a long time to get to Zeffo, even in the Outer Rim.”

“It suits you,” Bojzka flirted.

“It does not,” the Armorer countered unrepentantly. “And your flattery remains aggravating.”

Bojzka didn’t seem to process the meaning behind those words, too busy he was with basking in the Armorer’s presence. She ignored him to turn to Din.

“Eegang tells me that you have been aggressive towards Bojzka, ad’ika, is this true?”

Din hunkered down into his shoulders. He didn’t want to answer. The Armorer didn’t make him.

“This is unnecessary,” she said. “Bojzka does not bother me.”

Bojzka rounded a gloating grin at Din.

“He is delusional, but I’m afraid that head trauma does this over time,” the Armorer said lightly. “There is no need to defend my honor—I’ve already had this conversation with Eegang, so know that it is not only you who I’ve spoken to about this. And Bojzka.”

“Yes, dear?” Bojzka hummed.

“I would appreciate it if you ceased in antagonizing my foundling and second.”

“I’m not trying to, Nomri.”

“I know,” the Armorer said. “And that is where I believe this tension arises from. Din, you and your advisor may leave. I’ll handle this. In future, know that it is not your place to speak on these matters in my stead, yes?”

“Yes, Goran,” Din mumbled.

The Armorer waited.

“Buir,” Din corrected.

“Thank you. The last thing I need is the Mand’alor becoming invested in old-standing relationships. You may go.”

Din stood and Boba and Fennec stood with him.

“He is not Naseem,” Din said right at the doorway.

The Armorer’s helmet turned slowly his way.

“No one will ever be Naseem,” she said. “It’s okay. Go.”

-----------

Boba need the full story on this Naseem guy approximately yesterday, but all he had at his disposal in the kitchens where he, Din, and Fennec had been banished was a collection of foundlings all staring up at their party looking guilty as hell.

In the midst of their group was a ten-year-old holding a glass jug absolutely brimming with frogs.

Boba had never seen this many foundlings together at once before, and he had to say: these traditionalists knew exactly what they were doing. There was nothing quite like a whole mass of youths to shift the mood.

The kids made a break for it.

Fennec was the fastest of all of them, but even she was not as fast as the bodies that popped their heads out of the rattling back room and launched themselves without warning over the few rows of tables set out in the main space.

Din’s covert collectively looked after the little ones, he explained when one of these bodies returned with the wrist of a shrieking Twi’lek child in their grip. The shrieking cut off when the nurse dropped down into a crouch and flattened both of the child’s hands against their helmet so that they left splotchy prints behind.

Two of the folks who filed back into the room covered in mud did not wear helmets. Din didn’t recognize them until they spoke and said their names. They’d removed their helmets back on Nevarro, apparently, and they had not to put them back on. Now, they wore veils and headscarves—neither of them comfortable with their whole heads and faces on display.

One of these was a woman named Madda. She saw Din’s helmet and froze by one of the long tables.

“Din, I’m so glad you returned,” she said with hitching breath. And then she took her newly-acquired jug of frogs and went tearing back down the hallway towards the covert’s main entrance. Din watched after her, confused.

“Is the transition difficult?” he asked one of the other Mandalorians next to him.

Their helmet showed zero emotion, and yet Boba gleaned from it everything he needed to know. He put a palm on his forehead.

“Djarin, come here,” he said.

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

Din chased after Madda to apologize for fucking up what was probably a years-long infatuation at this point. Fennec watched after him with a sly grin. But the Mandalorian with the flat helmet turned to Boba with far more open shoulders.

“You got through to him like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“It’s his secret talent,” Fennec told her.

“What was your name?” the Mandalorian asked.

“Boba Fett,” Boba said. “And yours?”

“Jhuvac.”

“Nice to meet you,” Boba said politely.

“Aren’t you the clone-guy?”

Welp.

“I prefer ‘Fett,’” Boba said.

“Nah, I feel that,” Jhuvac said, tossing her scarf over her shoulder. “Paz calls you the ‘clone-guy’ is all. That shit’s wild, by the way. But you can’t help your dad’s decision now can you?”

What was this? Understanding? From a traditionalist? Kryze would lose her shit.

“I can’t, although everything after that was totally me,” Boba said.

Jhuvac glanced back at him.

“Including the Solo stuff?” she asked.

Boba lifted a brow.

“Is there something you would like to know?” he asked.

“No,” Jhuvac said. “I know everything I need to. But you know what’ll make Vok’s life miserable?”

---------

The mechanic was a huge fan of Han Solo, and he had a list of reasons why Boba should cease hunting the man about as long as one of his lanky arms. He listed them out one by one in his hangar full of metal scrap. Jhuvac was very correct when she said that the mere mention of Solo meeting his maker would cause Vok immense misery. Boba could see how it could be entertaining.

Fennec made it even more entertaining by poking holes in each of Vok’s carefully laid out arguments.

He kept asking her why she was hurting him like this. Was this a domination kink?

Fennec asked him if he wanted it to be.

Vok walked it all back and told her to do her worst.

Jhuvac decided that she suddenly had other things to do and invited Boba to accompany her on these things. Boba assented and left Fennec to her business.

----------

In the end, Boba found himself outside in a group huddle with a handful of covert people, two with no helmets, watching the feud between the foundlings and the local wildlife. The covert, he learned, broadly did not like Zeffo. They hated how wet it was. They hated how cold it was. 90% of them had grown up in desert climates, the remaining 10% in ice climates.

Zeffo, as far as they were concerned, was a backwater hellhole that they’d had little choice in selecting.

“It was this or breaking up and forming two coverts,” Sotra explained, removing Mesa’s captured snail from his face area for the third time. She gave the snail to the guy next to her who got up and took it down to the edge of the nearby river. He stooped to set it in the grass, then froze in shock when a fish’s wide mouth erupted from the water and encapsulated his whole glove.

It left the glove wet and empty.

“But you didn’t want to do that?” Boba asked.

“No, if we separated, it would be Eegang at the head of the new covert,” Sotra said. “And that’s just not in the cards for us right now.”

Gotcha.

“The children didn’t want to be separated either,” one of the Mandalorians with no helmet said. “Goran gave them the option, but things were frantic, you know. They cling to each other when they’re young like this.”

More than understandably, in Boba’s humble and correct opinion.

“What do you all think of Bojzka?” Boba asked them.

“Who?”

“The bull with no helmet? Beard?” someone said.

“The one trying to court the Armorer?” Sotra asked.

Everyone clambered back onto the same page in the face of this descriptor.

“He’s supposed to be some kind of hero,” Jhuvac said. “But I dunno, man. He seems a little, uh.”

“Goran’s too good for him,” Sotra interjected simply. “Imagine stooping so low after a life of respect and service.”

“He’s not ugly,” the Mandalorian who’d lost the snail pointed out. “I’d bang him.”

“You’re not a good bar, Ban.”

“I could be.”

“You’re the lowest bar, Ban.”

“Can’t be disappointed if your expectations on the floor.”

“Go bang him for Goran then,” Jhuvac said. “I can’t tell if she thinks he’s kinda cute or if she wants to stab him in the heart.”

“For the good of the covert, I will endure this hardship,” Ban said.

He was unceremoniously yanked back down when he started to stand.

“Din mentioned some guy named ‘Naseem?’” Boba asked.

The name alone sent the group into titters.

“Naseem was so nice.”

“Naseem was great, you have no idea. So respectful.”

“He wanted to take Din on so bad, it was almost heartbreaking. He and Goran were perfect for each other. He was so happy around her; I don’t think he ever talked in front of anyone else.”

“God, when he died, I cried so hard. I cried for days.”

“Same.”

“Kind of a tough reputation to beat, then?” Boba asked.

“Oh definitely,” Jhuvac said. “I mean, there was Hajka after him, but she was just so explosive. Like, she made Goran laugh a lot, I remember that, but she was kinda awkward, too. There was a battle on her home planet and she left everyone here to defend what was left of her people.”

“Goran collects the awkward ones, they’re her favorite,” Sotra said.

“You can’t judge her, you collect Eegangs,” Ban pointed out.

“There is only one Eegang.”

“Girl, we know.”

There was a pause while Sotra handed off her child so that she could beat the shit out of Ban on the lumpy grass. Jhuvac handed Mesa over Boba’s lap to the quiet person at his right. They took the baby without question and laid him on their chest.

“Where did you grow up, Boba?” Jhuvac asked. “Sorry, Fett. Do you like Fett?”

Boba was taken aback. It had been ages since someone had called him by his first name—and a Mandalorian no less.

“Boba is fine. I grew up on Kamino,” he said.

“With a covert?”

No, no covert. No anyone, really. Boba was what people in white coats tended to call ‘under-socialized.’

“That’s sad,” Jhuvac said. “It must have been lonely.”

It was, actually. Especially after Dad had died.

“That’s so sad, I’m gonna cry,” Ban said. “Join our covert.”

All helmets and eyes rounded on Boba and he felt like his collar was suddenly digging into his neck. He shook his head.

“I’m not really a Mandalorian,” he said. “It’s not right—”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Jhuvac, let ‘im talk.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Listen, Din has ‘don’t trust people’ syndrome. If he trusts you enough to bring you with him here, then you’re Mandalorian enough for us,” Jhuvac said. “And anyways, being a Mandalorian is about what you do, not who you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re clone-guy so long as you follow the Creed in a more or less northernly direction.”

Boba stared at her and realized that everyone was staring at him again. He cleared his throat but found that he didn’t have any words trapped back there like he’d thought.

“Or easternly,” Ban offered to break the awkwardness.

There were still no words on Boba’s tongue. He struggled to say at least something.

“I—th—that’s kind of you,” he eventually managed. “I don’t think I could cut it here, but that’s really kind of you.”

The Mandalorians exchanged looks and shrugs.

“Know that the offer stands if you feel any pull towards it later,” Sotra said. “We have a number of reformed who converted and who move in and out of our covert. Not recently, but when we were children, there were more. Goran, too, was once a reformed Mandalorian.”

“My buir, too,” Jhuvac added.

“My ba-buir was reformed,” Ban said. “But she might have caused a public riot. Or two. Or three.”

“Speaking of which,” Sotra said. “Elder Fayrz has emerged from his cave.”

“I’ll get him,” Jhuvac sighed.

Boba frowned and looked from them out to the hill the foundlings had selected to gossip on. A Mandalorian in black and white with a green cape was, indeed, now kneeling among them. Every face was turned towards him in wonder.

“I’ve heard of this guy. He looks fun,” he noted.

At least one hand from every body came up to clutch at their face.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Ban said.

------

Din rejoined Boba in the midst of Elder Fayrz’s attempt to recruit him into the covert. He somehow knew Dad. That in itself was a little disarming. At first, Boba hadn’t believe that the elder was speaking the truth, but then he started up with alarmingly specific training corp numbers and mentioned off-handedly that he used to work in the corps, training kids from six to fourteen.

It made sense now why, in old age, he was considered the most dangerous person in the covert to have around the foundlings.

Grandpa was a serial spoil-er and mischief-instigator. The children saw in him everything they wanted out of life and were loathe to be separated from their most favorite old man.

Din got between him and Boba and informed the Elder that he’d just gotten married.

The Elder’s attentions went rocketing in the opposite direction. He wanted pictures, he wanted to know all about the reception, he wanted to know why Din hadn’t brought his partner home with him, what color their armor was, where they were presently based—the whole barrel of spotchka.

Boba appreciated the save.

He also appreciated the moment when the Elder fully realized that Din had, in fact, married a real jedi.

“YOU STUPID BOY.”

There it was.

The children bustled and whispered.

“This is what happens when we do not teach them to read—where is your buir? I told her, I told her that you needed more lessons. Always with the dogs, I knew it would have some effect—”

Din couldn’t even argue. He and Kryze had been over the very same deficit about sixty times. If they were lucky, Bo-Katan gave him a day or two off in between scoldings.

While the old man was outraged, Din signaled to Boba that they would be leaving soon.

--------

Bojzka joined Boba, Din, and Fennec at the ramp of their ship about ten minutes late. The Armorer personally showed him out of the covert and told him to return only if the galaxy began to collapse in on itself. She was at least cordial about it, which, in hindsight, was probably why Bojzka was having a hard time reading the glaring ‘please desist’ sign flickering over her head.

“Be safe,” she told Din while Karren made sad sounds behind her.

“Will do,” Din said. “Next time, I’ll see if Luke will come.”

“We would like to have him,” the Armorer said.

She dipped her helmet to Boba and Fennec and they returned the gesture.

“I hope you were well-received by the others,” she said. “Bojzka, good bye.”

“Talk to you later,” Bojzka hummed.

“We shall not,” the Armorer said.

---------

Back in the Dune Sea, Kryze was waiting in one of the conference rooms. Din avoided her and all her probing questions. Boba did not. He was in a sharing sort of mood and Fennec had a ‘thanks for the lay’ message to compose to Mr. Vok.

Kryze crossed her legs and gestured for him to join her at the table.

He did and crossed his legs right back.

“So?” she asked.

“Shocking peaceful,” Boba said. “Violent mostly towards their own members. Tried to recruit me at least three times.”

Kryze’s eyebrows did a little dance.

“Surprising,” she said.

“Not very,” Boba corrected. “Din is one of the more reserved members. He resembles his buir more than I expected.”

“And Bojzka?” Kryze asked.

“Soundly rejected, but somehow optimistic about it,” Boba said. “The good news is that Din’s been forbidden from trying to kill him.”

“That is good news,” Kryze agreed.

There was a long pause.

“Are you thinking about it? Joining, I mean?” Kryze asked.

“No,” Boba said, “But it is nice to occasionally be around Mandalorians who don’t have sticks up their asses.”

“Unicorns,” Kryze said.

“A whole covert of them,” Boba told her with a smirk. “Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you all.”

“I beg to differ,” Kryze said. “If the issue is resolved, then I suppose we’ll have to move back on to official business.”

That was no fun.

“Why is Fennec so smug?”

Oh, that was more fun. Sit back down, Lady. This is going to be a bawdy one.

#the mandalorian #the armorer #din djarin #boba fett #dinluke #ficlet #don't mind me I just need answers #and in their absence I make them myself

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

The Servant and The Prince | One

I did it-- I wrote something. Was it what everyone wanted? Gods no. But it is something. So do enjoy my lovelies-- a break from my not so regularly scheduled content.

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: violence but very minor, emotional abuse, some strong-ish language

Tags: Angst but you can imply fluff

Word count: 3.8k

Master List

“Did you pack my dress!” A shrill voice assaults her eardrums as she scurries towards the door.

It comes from a tall, thin, young woman. Her face and fingers are boney, her blonde hair falling in perfect waves down her back. The faintest aroma of honeysuckles and violets wafts off her creamy skin. She is beautiful, her step sister Anna. At least in theory. The sneer on her cherry lips and the hatred in her cerulean eyes, unclouded and accusatory, can’t be hidden by any length of silky dress or ruby lipstick, though. She is ugly, even if just on the inside.

Y/n almost drops the bags in her hands- almost. She only flinches inwardly. She is used to the constant demands. Clean the house, cook the meal, wash my clothes. This and that and more. So much more. She’ll never flinch though. No matter what. That is a promise she made to herself too long ago.

“Yes milady. It is already in the carriage alongside the rest of your requested belongings. Is there anything else I can do for you before we leave?” Her own voice is gentle in comparison; a breeze trying to hold its own against a tornado.

Anna’s sneer deepens and she huffs, spinning on her heel, her dress spiraling around her in a show of pink tulle. She does not say anything as she storms away, most likely on her way to her mother’s ornate carriage. That’s another thing that is more beautiful on the inside than out. If only everyone else knew that Y/n’s step family is poorer than dirt. Estrid, Anna’s mother, hides it well under the last remains of her father’s hard earned money. Gold encrusted carriages and a large home and clothing dripping in jewels. He is gone though, Y/n’s father, and the money will soon be completely gone as well. If only people glanced a little further and saw her dress- not terribly tattered but hand sewn out of the plainest fabric- and the overwhelming lack of staff in the big home. The signs are all there, sitting in plain sight.

That is exactly the reason Y/n is loading the carriage- a last ditch attempt for her step mother and step sister to rise back to the wealth they once enjoyed. There is to be a ball. A royal ball. Apparently it is supposed to be much grander than the solstice festivals her small village holds. She always thought those were magnificent; the dancing and the feasts. She loved attending them before her father had died. He would take her and her mother every year and they would find their seats under the stars, eating and dancing to their heart’s desire. Her chest squeezes painfully; she misses them both dearly. Now that they are gone those few days of the year are her only escape- the nights where she can pretend she is anything but a lowly servant.

She blanches wondering how much grander the ball will be. Surely it will be more than turkey under the stars and the ribbon dances of her youth. It will be in the castle- in a ballroom bigger than her house and the neighbours combined. Bigger even. She has never been in a ballroom. Sometimes the village hall holds weddings but they are small and serve vegetable stew and play music composed of fiddles and flutes. All the things she is most familiar with. The castle will have things she does not understand. Clothes worth more than her life and the richest foods and music that is so intricate that she wonders if her ears will be able to withstand it. She has heard stories of how wonderful it is- and how magnificently out of her element she will be.

Y/n sighs, pulling her shoulders straight and hiking the bags further up her body. This is no time for dawdling- there is no time that can be wasted now. She drags herself and the bags out the door, sparing a quick glance over her shoulder at her family home. It used to be filled with warmth. The kind that comes with baking bread and knitting beside an open fire and laughter. Now the halls are bare. Almost all traces of her mother and father are gone. She wears them across her chest in her mothers old leather satchel. Along the side of the bag, little green Dahlias are sewn into the worn material. She brushes her finger over the side, taking a deep breath. Maybe the ball will be a new adventure- even if she is not to attend. She will still be visiting the capitol.

“By Odin, what are you doing? We have to go now or we will miss the opening festivities! Move you little wench!”

Estrid’s nasally voice sounds from behind Y/n seconds before a hand connects with her back, shoving her forward. The bags on her shoulders and arms add to the momentum from the push, the uneven weight more than enough to have her stumbling over her feet. She tries to catch her balance, rushing down the steps as though being led by the bags themselves, but it is useless. Her heel catches on the last step and she falls backwards, her back connecting with the cobblestones, her elbow piling into the stone step. White hot pain blossoms through her body, pooling like fire in her injuries. She swallows the scream in her throat. It tastes like iron on her tongue- like eating the burnt chips left in the pot after the meals are finished being served. It tastes familiar.

A red heel stomps next to her, crunching on the cobble stone the same way her spine had. It lands inches away from her hand, narrowly missing her pinky. Y/n looks up, her features as schooled as possible, greeting Estrid with a bow of her head. Even that small action causes pain to spike through her lower back and she has to hold her breath to keep from crying out. She does not look at her step mother for more than a few seconds- she knows better than to do any such thing- but it is enough time to catch the familiar sneer. It is the same one she has passed on to Anna but more hateful. Honed. Estrid has had years to perfect her evilness, even if she does not look a day over thirty. She too is beautiful in her own dark way.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Elstrid spits down at Y/n, already on her way to the carriage as she passes by the crumpled girl. “It is as though you are trying to ruin your sister’s chance for happiness. You can never just be grateful, can you? It must always be about you. How pathetic.”

Y/n could laugh. She can almost feel it there in the base of her throat, bubbling with the scream and cries which are also locked away. Neither are forgotten yet- they never are. They just build and build and build like the wind that blows through her village in the spring, gaining enough speed to wipe out entire fields of crop. Now there is laughter on top as well. The cruel kind that makes her insides twist and burn.

What a perfect way to describe how she feels; pathetic. She forces herself to her knees, followed quickly by her feet as she gathers the bags, mulling over the word. Pathetic. She hauls them onto her shoulders once again, trying her hardest to ignore the way her back and arm aches and the flood of fresh tears that rush to her eyes. She loads the bags into the back of the carriage, nodding at the driver. He looks at her with pity but remains silent as Estrid climbs into her plush seat. The word rings again, louder. Pathetic.

Y/n tugs the satchel across her body as she climbs onto the back of the carriage, folding her cloak over her lap. Yes, indeed she feels pathetic, cast to ride to the capitol backwards with her skin exposed to the elements and her hair doomed to be a windblown mess. Pathetic does not even begin to cover everything she feels in this moment. If her step family is poorer than dirt than she must be something even worse than dirt as well. She feels so at least.

Somehow, though, beneath it all, she also feels a touch hopeful. She is going to the capitol, after all. Her fingers scratch over the green Dahlias, thinking back to the night her mother had sewn them.

“Little dove did you know that you are like a Dahlia?” Her mother’s voice was sweet and soft- the kind of voice that made Y/n want to lean in until she could feel the words in her soul.

“What do you mean, mama?” She was not really asking to hear the answer, rather speaking in order to hear her mother keep speaking.

The glow from the fireplace warmed Y/n’s cheek as she leaned further. Her mother smelled of yeast and berries. She could still taste the jam on her lips, warm and sweet from desert. Strawberry pie was her mother’s specialty. The warmth combined with her full belly made her eyes close slightly, her body sagging against her mother’s legs.

“You are so strong my little dove. You are so soft and so elegant,” her mother’s hand smoothed over her cheek, her fingers as soft as silk. “But you are so powerful too, I can sense it. You are overflowing with it and kindness. So much kindness. How did I create such a magnificent little girl, hmm?”

Y/n giggles when her mother tickles under her chin lightly, pulling her hand away to continue on the pattern. Her stitches are meticulous and perfect- just like her mother. She watches as the vibrant green thread weaves below the fabric before reappearing. It happens over and over again, disappearing and reappearing like a little trick. She always loved tricks.

“Why are the flowers green, mama? I have never seen any green flowers in the meadow.”

It was true. There were pinks and blues and the most wonderful oranges. Never greens though. Only the stems were green.

“Oh my darling, you will one day. They do not grow here. They grow in the capitol by the hundreds, though. They surround the streets, growing high into the sky. They are beautiful, my little dove. Just like you are. You will see them one day, I promise you.”

Y/n blinks away the image of her mother, letting a few of the tears drop as she does so. Nobody can see her here so it is okay now. It is times like these, in the midst of the worst and best moments of her life, when she misses her mother the most. She would do anything for one more gentle hug. One more whiff of berries and rising bread. She shifts on the stiff seat, her spine jostling against the metal frame of the cart and flaring in pain. She lets out a tiny cry, hoping it is masked by the sound of the wheels bumping over the stoney pathway. Her throat aches, squeezing at the stream of tears threatening her system. It is in this moment that she feels something foreign- something that will inevitably and unknowingly change her life as she knows it. Something that she is sure is not her own.

She feels angry.

* * * * * * * * * *

Loki strolls over the castle grounds, his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders straight. The sun is shining on his face, warm and soft. The air, like always, smells like pine trees and fragrant flowers. That is partly the cause of the woman next to him. She is beautiful, there is no doubt about it. From her golden hair, knotted in bands across the crown of her head, to her gown, a soft blue silk. It flows behind her as she walks, like a river carving from each step she takes. One of her dainty hands is curled around his arm. Usually he would mind the touching- contact with other people is not his thing. More so Thor’s, his untamed brother. With her, though, he swallows his pride every time. He would do most anything to keep his mother happy.

He peers down at Frigga, his face stoic in comparison to the bright smile she wears. She still looks as young as she had when he and Thor were mere boys. Her cheeks and nose are slender, her skin unblemished by age. The only difference is that now he stands taller than her, looking down at her blonde hair instead of up at it from under her arms. He has no doubt that his mother will remain beautiful for a long time- even when her age finally catches up with her.

“You are staring, dear.” Frigga’s voice teases and his neck snaps straight, his eyes flicking back to the gardens of green around him. “You only stare when you have something on your mind. I presume I do not have to inquire to know what it is. I will anyway, though, if that is what you would like?”

Her voice drips into a worried tone that only she can muster. It is sincere. It makes it harder for him to be angry at the small, beautiful woman.

“You will anyway and we both know it.” He muses, reaching a hand out to brush one of the green flowers.

The petals are impossibly soft. Dahlias. He remembers when his mother had them planted all those years ago. It was a week’s affair- the castle had smelt of earth and new flowers for days afterwards. He remembers playing in the mud with his brother. The laughter. It seems like a lifetime ago. That was when everything was simple; when he was not about to get married to a princess he would meet at a ball that he does not even wish to attend.

Frigga sighs, pulling her son to a gentle stop. He obliges with a sigh that matches her own. “It must be done. By decree your brother and you should have been married a year ago. The royal ball is the way it has been done for many millennia. I have tried to slow tradition- to give you two as much time as possible- but there are some who watch us closely. They wait-”

He turns away from her, a scowl on his lips. “I know mother. They want us to show weakness. I understand the premise, I promise you I am not an idiot. I suppose I just do not see how a wife would make me seem less weak.”

He is a god- a powerful one at that. It is hard to believe there are many people out there able who are able to strip him of that power. It makes no sense to get married because of an outdated tradition- especially not for some sort of ruse. He is strong enough on his own; he always has been. Quiet and capable and strong. Independently so. He has never been much for teams. Besides, he doubts there will be many women attending with the hopes of meeting him. Not when his brother will be standing right by his side. The god of thunder. There are many things Loki can do- most of which are quite impressive. Tricks of the mind and the ability to create fire at will and so on. One thing he cannot do, however, is spout lightning from his fingers. He cannot compete with that level of visible godliness and thus there is no reason to attend. He is not second best and will not treat himself as such.

Frigga catches his chin, pulling him to look at her crystal eyes- the same crystal eyes which she rolls at him. “She will balance you, dear. The point is not to make you appear less weak. You are not weak. It is to make you appear happy. A happy prince means a happy king. Happy means powerful, Loki. it is power.”

He tenses and her eyes soften. “I am happy, mother. I am happy on my own.”

She lets her hand fall to his arm, shaking her head. Her knotted hair bounces slightly. She is giggling again in the way that only mothers can- the kind of giggle that is all knowing. It makes his skin itch, his hands secured behind his back again. How is it that she always makes him feel seen even when he does not wish to be?

“Is there something you wish to say?” He grumbles to the woman, wishing he could hate the way she grins up at him with a twinkle in her eye. He cannot though, even if he tried.

“My dear,” she hums gently, squeezing his arm, “I think perhaps you will come to revoke your words. That is all.”

Oh she is truly infuriating. There she goes again, so freely sharing her mind even when he has made it clear time and time again that he has no wish for a wife. Not only because he does not want to marry a woman he has never met but for other reasons too. The tips of his fingers turn to ice against his palms at the thought. He does not have to look down to know they are the brilliant blue that he so loathes. There is much he wishes to remain a secret beyond the confines of his household. He would rather not be married to a woman who thinks him a monster for the rest of his life. He will pass.

He opens his mouth, ready to fire back at her annoying laughter, when suddenly he cannot speak. Not just that, though. He cannot breath, either, or stand for that matter. Soon the trickster god is on his knees, his hands digging painfully against the cobblestone path. His nails bite against the stones, his icy fingers now burning. It is nothing near the pain in his back though which flares as though he had just been kicked. Moments later his elbow erupts into pain as well, searing down the entire length of his arm. He grinds his teeth through the pain, his eyes screwed shut.

“Loki?” Frigga’s voice holds none of the teasing it had only moments ago, only pure worry as she kneels next to her son. “Dear what happened? What is wrong? Shall I call for someone?”

His eyes snap open at that, his head shaking frantically. “No, no. I am fine. Do not call anyone.”

Even as he says it he knows that it is not true. His whole body aches as he rolls onto his feet, rising shakily. His mother’s eyes watch him closely, the blue clouded with something he does not recognize. He straightens after a moment, forcing the pain out of his mind.

“Did you trip, dear?” Her voice this time is guarded, concealed with a falsely loose tone.

Loki narrows his eyes. “No, I do not think so. It felt like someone pushed me. Do you know something about that mother?”

The scowl on her face is genuine this time, her golden brows creasing. “I sure hope you are not insinuating that I pushed my own son, Loki.”

He sighs again, guilt flooding his aching body. “No, mother. I am sorry-”

The end of his sentence drops into the space between them, cut off by an overwhelming feeling of agony. Not the physical kind, though. Yes, his back is screaming in pain as he stands on those dreadful cobblestones but that is not why he stops speaking. It is the wave of self loathing that hits him out of nowhere. It is hot and angry and cold and desperate all at once.

It feels like when he was little and his brother had thrown him into the sea to teach him to swim. He had not been ready and he swallowed a mouthful of the salty water. It had been like cold lead in his lungs, weighing him to the bottom of the surf. He had been so scared, clawing towards the faint light of the surface with no luck. Everytime he got close the light seemed to shrink further back. Soon the icy lead had turned molten when he could no longer breathe, his chest constricting under the weight of the water. The fear had turned him into some sort of crazed animal until finally he had kicked his legs hard enough to break the surface and suck in a breath of air.

It is the exact same way he feels now; panicked- like he has no clue how to get to the air again. He claws at his chest, his eyes blown wide. The world around him begins to spin. He is breathing- he knows he is, he can feel his chest heaving up and down- but he cannot taste the pine on the air anymore. He can only taste iron and salt and hatred, brash against his lips. It turns his vision red, his muscles tensing as though preparing for a fight in which he cannot identify the threat. Like the waves that pushed him under, the enemy is everywhere and nowhere. The only thing that makes it subside is his mothers hand on his cheek, warm and soft through the panic eating away at his chest.

He meets her eyes, squeezing his hands into fists at his sides. He grinds his words through his clenched teeth. “I have no idea what is happening to me.”

The small blonde swallows, her throat bobbing slightly. Her face is not the picture of shock like Loki’s is. Of course she is slightly panicked, he can see it in the way her fingers tremble as she brushes them down his shoulder. Somehow he knows that it is not the same kind of panic he feels. His all-knowing mother is stalling. It only serves to heighten the drowning feeling.

“I think I know what it is, dear.” She tests, her hands folding against her chest, clasping to hide the tremors.

Frigga’s response does little to ease the panic- if anything it makes it worse. Usually his mother is the only thing that can calm him. If he had to close his eyes and picture the person in which he feels most comfortable around- it would be her. Today though, that is to change. She seems scared. He pushes himself through the pain, biting through the iron and salt on his tongue.

“What do you know, mother.” It is not a question- it is a demand.

She straightens as well, sucking in the air that he cannot seem to find for the life of him. It makes him jealous- angry.

“Well,” she flicks her eyes up to the sky, avoiding the next words out of her mouth. “I think you might have a soulmate, my dear.”

#Loki #Loki fic #loki x y/n #loki x reader #mcu #mcu fic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #the avengers #the avengers fic #the avengers imagine #prince of asgard

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meliorist-midoriya · 4 years

Text

the meaning of “i love you”

synopsis: bakugou tries to learn the meaning of “i love you” long after it’s been told.

pairing: bakugou x reader

genre: fluff with a touch of angst and lotsa pining

warnings: brief hospital setting, mentions of injury, bakugou is bad at feelings™

glossary: Y/H/N - your hero name

word count: 4.3k

a/n: dedicated to @katsushimaa, the reason why this blog exists. in other words: HI YSSA IT’S YOUR ☀️ ANON (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ♡ update (1/6/2021): this fic is also read on peachy can’s youtube channel! this is with full permission and credit, and the only work with only this channel.

“I love you.”

Bakugou stared, speechless, as you confessed to him under the cherry blossoms, diplomas in hand. His throat locked and his tongue stalled as he wordlessly gaped at you. Around words? No, he didn’t even know what to say. The wind blew the petals off the branches, shocking him out of his stupor once they obscured his vision for one precious moment. He still couldn’t find the words to respond.

He didn’t know how.

All his life, he hadn’t cared for affection. Only victory. Anyone vying for his affections soon ran crying (humiliated, if they were lucky), the unread love letter crumpled in their fists as he moved on with his life without a care. But this, he couldn’t bear letting go.

Bakugou didn’t know how to hold on, either.

For the past three years, people came to know you as his other half. The one who kept him in line, yet helped lift him to even greater heights. The one who could withstand his withering glare with a smile. The one he kept by his side. For the past three years, your relationship remained ambiguous, this ambiguity becoming the open secret of your year. Too close to be just friends, yet not quite lovers either. A deeper connection that neither of you dug into, content with your dynamic.

Until now.

A part of him loathed that you were the one to make the leap when he didn’t even know what to say, but a little voice in the corner of his mind told him that maybe, just maybe, this would finally get his ass moving.

You smiled. Softly, slowly…

Knowingly.

He had to remind himself to breathe.

“You don’t have to answer me right away, I’ll wait for as long you need.”

And with that, you were gone. Bakugou was left staring at your back as you walked away from him and, as he would later discover, out of his life for the next two years.

“Hey, Bakugou! How are you holding up? Who knew Y/N took an offer in America? Did you know? None of us did.”

Ugh, Dunce Face. It’s been a month since graduation, and three weeks since you revealed you were entering America’s pro hero scene the day before you left. You’ve always been terrible at goodbyes…

Was that why you decided to confess at graduation? Because you knew you were leaving?

“No, I didn’t know, now fuck off.”

“Rude!”

The cherry blossoms have long since fallen, slowly unfurling verdant leaves replacing the pink blooms under the shining late spring sun. Of course, not even this beautiful scene could improve his mood when he was stuck on patrol with this idiot. Their agencies were working together, so he had no choice but to go along with it.

Once he gets his own agency, he swears…

“Bakugou-senpai!” A pair of second-years clad in the U.A. uniform called out to him, waving.

Ah. He recognized these two. Stuck to him like leeches after he spoke to Class 1-A as one of the Big Three, pestering him endlessly about all the crazy shit that happened his first year and asking him to mentor them. You were the only buffer that kept him from blowing up in their face.

“Ground Zero to you, extras!”

They laughed him off (these brats) and walked up, jokingly asking for their autographs. Kaminari took them up on it, shoving the paper in his face after.

After (admittedly very little) bitching and glaring, he snatched the notepad from Kaminari’s hand, signed it, and sent them on their way, letting his gaze linger on the pair as they elbowed each other and geeked out over the signatures they just got. In a brief flash of curiosity, he tried to imagine you two during your first year, walking back to the dorms after class, but something felt… off. The atmosphere wasn’t right, the image he tried to lay over the two students ending up washed out and misshapen.

An empty feeling sunk into his bones at the thought of having that same… disconnect with you.

“Ah, feels nice, doesn’t it?” Kaminari went ignored, Bakugou still staring at the retreating backs of the excited second-years. A devilish grin split Kaminari’s face in two once he followed Bakugou’s line of sight, “What’s this, Kacchan? Reminiscing over the old days already?”

Kaminari’s teasing tone ripped him out of his thoughts and Bakugou growled, shoving the blonde’s face away as he continued stomping down their patrol route.

“I won’t say it again, Pikachu, fuck off!”

Y/H/N DOMINATES HERO CHARTS FOR THIRD TIME IN A ROW

It took Bakugou a second to translate the headline from English to Japanese in his head, but he found himself smiling down at his phone once the words clicked. He expected nothing less, it was you after all. The U.S. Hero News logo faded away with the click of his phone locking, pocketing it as he swung open the door with a loud bang.

“Would it kill you to visit more, brat? And how many times do I have to tell you, stop slamming the door open!”

“Whatever, hag!” Bakugou snapped back, dropping the box of pastries on the counter before slumping into his seat at the dining table. Masaru looked up from his laptop and smiled at his son, something behind the mirth in his eyes that Bakugou couldn’t pick out.

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

Was he…?

Yeah, you could say that.

It’s been a little over a year since that day, and the both of you have paved your own paths in the hero industry since then. Bakugou finally, finally, after a year of busting his ass and making connections, went independent and started his own hero agency. Now, he only answered to himself (and, well, the Hero Public Safety Commission) and didn’t have to be held back by any hierarchy. An added bonus was that summer was always good to him (to villains? Not so much).

You? The headline spoke for itself.

“…I guess.”

“I’m glad. Your mother’s making your favorite for lunch, since this is your first visit ever since you opened your agency,” Masaru said, and there was that damn look again.

The soft clink of the plate being set down in front of him cut Bakugou off before he could question him, and the flow of the meal swept away any opportunity he would’ve had. He found himself silently watching his parents’ interactions as they unfolded in front of him. An easy back-and-forth, flowing smoothly from years of practice.

Bakugou nearly dropped his bowl as an old memory blindsided him. An image of you, offering him food in the U.A. cafeteria with a smile flitted across his mind’s eye.

He shoved another piece of tofu into his mouth before the thought had the chance to linger.

The rest of lunch went smoothly (as smoothly as it could with him and his mother in the same room), and he bid his goodbyes once the dishes were done and the end of his lunch break inched closer.

“I’m rooting for you, Katsuki,” The man in question shot a perplexed look at his father before shutting the door behind him. First, the weirdly knowing look, now this? Confusing old man...

He started down the path back to the agency for patrol, letting his gaze sweep over the bustling lunchtime traffic. Normally, he would’ve been keeping an eye out for any trouble since apparently, people loved starting shit when he was conveniently off duty. Instead, his mind wandered as he observed the people around him.

People watching, was that what this is called?

He found himself doing this more and more often lately, as dangerous as it was to let his mind wander when he was out and about. An elderly couple tottering their way out of the corner store with their arms linked, the married couple further ahead swinging their squealing child in between them, a young pair giggling like lovebirds on a honeymoon as they walked down the sidewalk. His eyes skipped over the other pedestrians and bounced from couple to couple, subconsciously trying to make sense of the three words that had stubbornly stuck themselves to his mind for the past year.

Normally, he would’ve brushed off the thoughts plaguing him for the sake of his work, but these just wouldn’t leave him alone. They left him in a confused haze, a void slowly eating a hole in his chest and leaving him feeling incomplete.

To top it all off, he kept seeing you, in every couple that passed his line of sight. Every time he saw you two instead of the couple on a date or the married pair holding their child’s hand, the void closed for a brief moment before expanding even wider the second the image dissolved, leaving him with only a deep sense of longing making a home for itself in the void. Except he had no idea what he was longing for. He knew you were okay, and that was enough.

Was it really enough?

It was like he was trying to cobble together a puzzle with no reference and some of the ends cut off, blindly slapping pieces together and hoping it worked out. Loosely forming ideas, certainties, what-ifs, all trying to be linked together by a single man that, as much as he hates to say it, had no idea what the fuck he was doing (and it would be a cold day in hell before he asked for help).

Shouts and screams snapped him out of his daze and he glowered at the villain crashing out of a nearby store. Sparks crackled and burst into blazing heat in his palms, evaporating the melancholy haze in his head to focus on the poor soul that had crossed his path.

The half-finished puzzle slunk back to the corner of his mind, waiting for the next time he would pick up the pieces and try again.

“I would like to get to know each other more, Bakugou-san. On a date, maybe?”

He paused mid-stride and stared at his colleague in barely concealed shock, who was too busy hiding her flushed face in her scarf to look back at him. He’s known this woman barely two weeks, then she suddenly hits him with this. Yes, he was caught off guard, sue him.

They were on a coffee run, for God’s sake!

“I mean, I know our agencies are only collaborating for this short time, but I think we could make it work, don’t you?”

Whatever else she was trying to say was cut off by a strong gust of wind nearly blowing the scarf off of her neck. The autumn chill the wind carried along with it wasn’t what made Bakugou feel oddly cold despite the scalding coffee in his hands, though. No, the chill had seeped into his being the moment she had opened her mouth, a certain dread at the thought of what would happen if he said yes.

If he said yes, he would lose you.

Suddenly, he was 18 again, diplomas in hand and wearing a uniform he had cast off long ago instead of his coat. He blinked, and he was back, still staring at the flustered woman next to him as the dying leaves fell around them.

Why? Why? Why can he only see your face? Why could he only see the pink cherry blossoms of a time past, instead of the blazing red leaves the wind had kicked up? He didn’t know the reason, he only knew that this wasn’t what he wanted.

“…No, I don’t.”

What did he want?

Walking into his office to see four people staring back at him with unreadable expressions was the last thing he expected today.

“Oh, Bakugou… I’m so sorry.”

What? Why was Mina looking at him like that? Kirishima, Kaminari, and Sero too. Did he miss something?

“Look, I just came in, so whatever the fuck happened, you need to spit it out, and you need to spit it out now,” He slammed his bag on his desk and glowered at the group staring at him with- was that pity? He didn’t need fucking pity! He needed information! What the hell was going on?

“It’s all over the news, bro.” He stared at Kirishima for a second, two seconds, the dots taking longer than they should’ve to connect.

News…? News…

He hasn’t checked the U.S. news yet.

Ignoring the foreboding feeling bleeding into his soul, he rushed to take out his phone from his coat pocket, nearly dropping it from his fumbling, and he pulled up the U.S. Hero News website as fast as his numb fingers would let him. That little loading bar was testing him, he swears-

Oh.

Suddenly the snow soaking into his coat and hair wasn’t so cold, compared to the chilling horror that froze him to his very core. The world stopped moving for this second, his eyes burning from how long he was staring at those little pixels spelling out his world crumbling.

Y/H/N CRITICALLY INJURED IN BATTLE. RECOVERY UNCERTAIN.

Almost immediately, his eyes zipped through the article, over and over and why were there no details? Did no one really know anything? He’d have to make calls, send emails, pull strings, there’s someone in the U.S. he knows, maybe they would-

“-kugou? Bakugou! Snap out of it!”

Was he being shaken? Oh. He was.

Suddenly Kaminari’s face was up in his and he almost headbutted him from the shock.

“Dude, we lost you there for a second. You read that article like twenty times! Are you okay?” He growled and actually headbutted Kaminari this time, glowering at him as he stumbled back with a bump on his forehead, “Should’ve expected that…”

“I’m fine. What happened was unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do. Now get to work, we have a case to work on.”

“That’s… cruel, man. We all know how close you were with Y/N, don’t you think you should care a little more-” Kirishima shut up with a single glare, valuing his tongue more than whatever message he was trying to convey. Care? He did care! There were so many things that had to be done, and he had no idea how much time he had left. But this… this was his problem, and no one else’s.

“Maybe you should dry off and warm up first to make sure you don’t get sick…?” Sero waved in the direction of the locker room, and Bakugou shouldered past him wordlessly, snatching up his bag and ignoring the water stains it dripped into the carpet.

“Is he really okay…?” Kaminari whispered the moment he saw Bakugou turn the corner.

“I think we already know the answer to that.” Everyone in his office nodded in agreement with Mina.

This was going to be rough.

Several hours later found him in a hospital of all places, speaking with a doctor about one of the patients that was involved with the case his agency was tasked with.

Wait outside her room, they said, I’ll let her know that you need to speak with her.

Waiting was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Waiting meant he had to sit still, which meant that he had time to think. Waiting meant worrying. His mood was already sour from seeing all the happy couples cuddling up under the pre-Christmas snow on his way here. What would’ve usually left him with a gaping hole in his heart, instead made dread curl in his core and send a million and one what-ifs rattling around inside his head.

He needed to calm down, he couldn’t question anyone when he’s in a mood-

“Please, whoever’s listening, hear my prayer…”

Bakugou looked up at the sound of someone praying, his eyes stopping at the sight of a man kneeling at someone’s bedside with their limp hand clasped in his. The wedding bands on their fingers gleamed in the bright artificial light. He quickly cast his eyes back down to the linoleum at his feet, but it was too late, the headline running in his head for the hundredth time today.

The image of the man praying for his wife’s recovery kept playing in his mind like a broken record and, against his will, slowly changed to the image of you. Limp and wounded in a too-big hospital bed, connected to tubing and wires with too many machines beeping.

He felt sick, the dread climbing it’s way into the void in his chest and ripping it open to make a home for itself.

Of course he would hate seeing you in a hospital bed, just like he would Kirishima or anybody else-

No. This wasn’t the same.

He was scrambling for the puzzle pieces now, his mind going into overdrive to figure out if this wasn’t the same then what the hell was it?

“Ground Zero, sir? She’s ready to see you,” The physician pulled him out of his speculating and he nodded, clearing the sudden lump out of his throat and slipping into the patient’s room. A puzzle piece clicked into place the moment he saw her sitting up in her hospital bed, awake.

He wanted you to be okay.

He wanted you.

Bakugou found himself praying as he laid in bed that night.

The steady ticking of his clock roused him before his alarm did, a rhythmic metronome that dug into his eardrums and yanked him out of his deep sleep. Bakugou sat up with a groan, glaring holes into the damn thing like it had personally offended him for waking him up so early, mocking him with the time he was not supposed to be up at.

4:27 AM.

Wonderful.

Is going back to sleep an option…?

The restless energy that threatened to shake him out of his skin if he so much as held his breath was answer enough, and he swung his legs out of bed with a frustrated huff to go about his morning routine. An early start it is. The minutes passed as he went through the motions, coming back to his senses as he pulled out his phone while the coffee brewed and opened an app with practiced ease. Ease gained from opening it almost thrice daily for months.

He normally wasn’t a coffee drinker, but he would do anything if it pulled the void from his bones.

New hero, villain arrest, villain arrest, hero scandal, villain arrest, crime ring bust, hero scandal…

No news of you.

There hadn’t been news of you for the past four months, and Bakugou was slowly losing it. All the people he reached out to gave him vague answers or dead ends and only confirmed one thing: you were alive.

At the time, it felt like Atlas had taken the sky back to carry on his own shoulders so Bakugou could finally breathe, only to dump it back on him the moment his relief wore off and he started trying to fill in the blanks.

You were alive, but were you okay? Were you in a coma? Wounded beyond repair? Put out of commission?

He shut off his phone, cutting off his train of thoughts, and filled his mug before making his way over to the balcony. Calloused fingers slowly traced over the books neatly placed on the bookshelf next to the balcony window, the early dawn light bathing the titles in a soft glow. He paused as the sunlight glinted off of a certain title printed in gold. Another memory rose from the depths as he read the title over, this time from that hellish first year at UA.

He let it, this time.

“I don’t want to read some fucking romance story.” He spit the words out like they were foul, scowling into thin air as you walked beside him, the book in your hands.

“Come on, Bakugou! It’s really good! You don’t even know what it’s about!” A glance down earned him your puppy eyes, and he begrudgingly conceded.

“…What is it about, then?”

“It’s a story about a girl that had to learn what emotions were, and the one that waited for her.”

You had shoved it into his hands anyway, and he never found the chance to give it back.

A hesitant pause, then he slipped the book out of its space, wincing at the dust that billowed off of the cover. No harm in picking this up to read along with his coffee as long as it kept him from checking the news again.

His subconscious laughed at him as it picked up the puzzle again, slowly trying to piece it together as he opened the book to the earmarked page.

There was time for a quick read, right?

Wrong.

So, so wrong.

He ended up becoming immersed in the book, so drawn in by something about the story he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that he nearly ended up being late to work.

Nearly. Bakugou Katsuki didn’t do late.

He swung the door open right as the clock struck 8:50, brushing cherry blossoms out of his hair with a quiet grumble as he walked into his agency. He stopped short at the familiar (too familiar) sight of his friends grouped together, whispering to each other urgently.

“What do we do?”

“Just…tell him?”

“And get blown up because he decides not to believe us? Yeah, right!”

Secrets. Again. The last time this happened…

Nope, not going through that fucking song and dance again.

“Decide not to believe what?” They stiffened in shock and turned toward him with sheepish smiles. His scowl deepened, the scene reflecting one from this past winter too closely for comfort.

“H-Hey, Bakugou, what’re you doing here?” Kirishima, Mina, and Sero all groaned in unison as Bakugou cocked a doubtful brow at Kaminari’s godawful cover-up. He’d indulge him, for now.

“I fucking work here. What the fuck are you dumbshits doing next to the receptionist’s desk?” They floundered for an answer, and the receptionist himself stepped in with a polite, paper-thin smile.

“You have a guest waiting in your office, sir. I sent them in ahead of you.”

“That’s all you idiots-“ A pointed look, “-needed to say in the first place,” He resisted the urge to sigh at the people he begrudgingly called his friends. Fixing the bag on his shoulder, he turned on his heel to start in the direction of his office, “Probably that patient from the winter case again. See you.”

He made a mental note to give his receptionist a raise, especially since he had to deal with those idiots on the daily.

They watched him disappear into the hallway in stunned silence, Sero eventually breaking the silence to weakly voice the one question they all knew they were thinking.

“Who’s going to tell him it isn’t Mrs. Nakamura?”

The receptionist heaved a quiet sigh as he sat back down at his desk. He didn’t get paid enough for this.

“I already told you, Mrs. Nakamura, we’ll let you know if there’s any upda-” Bakugou’s words died on his tongue once he stepped into his office, his bag dropping to the ground with a dull thud that he didn’t acknowledge, “…You’re not Mrs. Nakamura.”

“I’m not.”

A soft laugh. How long has it been since he’s heard it last?

He watched as you slowly stood up from where you had been watching the cherry blossoms outside, not missing the slight wince and the bandages you were swathed in as you did so. It was the only thing holding him back from crushing you in a hug right then and there-

Wait, a hug? Since when?

Bakugou had the sense to get himself together and picked his bag up from off the floor, kicking the door shut as he did. Heart beating out of his chest, he walked over to meet you in the middle of his office. He felt the void in his chest filling, but there was something that was keeping it from completely healing over. He knew what it was, but how would he-

“You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

His head was spinning. You were here. You were more bandages than skin but you were here. You were okay. The weight lifted off of his shoulders again and, despite the relief flooding him, he managed to choke his response out, wincing at his tone.

“Why now?”

“Well, you probably saw, but I got my ass handed to me-” Bakugou couldn’t help the incredulous snort that slipped, tossing his bag onto the table. That’s putting it lightly, “-and my contract with the agency was almost over anyway, so I got sent home for the rest of my treatment and physical therapy.”

“That’s…good.” There were words he had to say. What were they, what were they? Hurry up you idiot-

“Um, I know this is sudden, but do you remember… at graduation…”

Of course you would beat him to it again.

“I remember, and I… think I have an answer.” His ears felt hot as you laughed again, but this time he saw the tenseness in your shoulders, wound up from nerves. A step closer (it felt right), and suddenly he was in front of you, nearly buzzing with anticipation.

“You think? Lay it on me, then,” You (tried) to give him a reassuring grin, the sight of you with the cherry blossoms outside painting an all too familiar image. His breath caught before he could get his words out, his heart beating the breath he would’ve used out of his lungs and no not again not now-

This time… This time he would have the words to answer.

“It took me two goddamn years to get this far, so you better fucking listen, and listen well.”

“I’m listening, Katsuki.”

How three little words could feel so foreign on his tongue was beyond him, but deep down, he had a feeling that it was right. Your brilliant smile after made everything worth it anyway, and he felt the longing void in his chest finally knit itself together. Another puzzle piece clicked into place, placed by your own hands this time. The picture was far from finished, but at least now he had you by his side to help him put it all together.

He still wasn’t entirely sure what love was, but he was sure of one thing.

He wanted to learn with you.

#from the typewriter #bnha oneshot #mha oneshot #bakugou oneshot #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki is bad at feelings #press f to pay respects for kaminari #ily yssa!

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lillupon · 3 years

Note

I've noticed that Mingyu has never called Mr. Jeon "baby" before and I wonder what Mr. Jeon's reaction would be, the first time that Mingyu will call him that 💕💕💕💕

Hmm, maybe the first time Mingyu calls Wonwoo baby, it’s after Wonwoo has had a god awful day at work.

(lmao this snip is called "Wonwoo and the the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day". We get to see angry and frustrated Wonwoo for the first time! It also ended up being canon-divergent, oops. I almost didn't post this, but then I was like... it's not even part of the actual fic, what am I worried about???)

Wonwoo barely got any sleep the previous night, stressed by all the assignments and tests he has to mark, and all the deadlines he has to meet in time for reporting. Pressure from admin, pressure from parents. Every time a student fails, it's his fault. Apparently, he "doesn't actually teach". So what the hell am I doing in front of the classroom, four hours a day, if I'm not teaching? he wants to demand. Picking my nose? Doing stand-up comedy? The cherry on top: he has a teaching evaluation in two days. His anxious mind keeps him up all night.

He ends up sleeping through his alarm. He jolts out of bed when he realises what time it is. A quick splash of water on the face is all he has time for. He brushes his teeth while relieving his bladder. He loses his balance while trying to jam a leg into his trousers and nearly face-plants. He sacrifices breakfast and his morning drip. Even then, he barely makes it to Pledis on time. It’s not a good start to his morning, and the day only gets worse from there.

A senior class first block is usually a gentle start to the day. But prom is coming up soon, and everyone is talking about who is going with whom, who’s going to be riding in so-and-so’s limo. Students chatter about after-parties; there’s more than one, apparently, and one of them is far more exclusive than the other. There’s gossip about relationships and cheating. One girl bursts into tears in the middle of his lesson because another girl is going to be wearing the same dress as her. She’s a loud crier. Maybe Wonwoo would have handled all of this better if he wasn’t so irritated, but he is irritated, so he doesn't.

He stops dead in the middle of a sentence, lips tightening, teeth grinding. He clenches his fists. He's shaking, he realises. It takes physical effort to unclench his jaw to speak. “Are you serious? You interrupted the entire class because of a stupid dress?”

That makes her cry harder. “You don’t understand, Mr. Jeon. I posted a picture of the dress I was going to wear to my Insta first.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand. And I don’t care, either,” Wonwoo responds coldly. “I need you to leave my classroom. You’re disturbing everyone.”

She swipes a forearm across her eyes and does as she’s told. She makes for the door, wobbling on coltish legs.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Wonwoo thinks. His eyes flicker to the ceiling, halfway to an eyeroll, but not quite there.

Jihyo stands to go after her friend.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Wonwoo demands.

Jihyo casts a forlorn glance toward the door. “I was just--”

“No, you’re not. Sit down.” Once Jihyo settled, he says, "As I was saying, you have a test next Fri--"

A boy cuts in: "Mr. Jeon, no, that's evil! That's the day before--"

"Don't interrupt me while I'm speaking," Wonwoo says. "The test is next Friday. You are seniors. Get your priorities straight." He turns around the write the test date on the whiteboard. That's when someone mutters under their breath: "Wow, Mr. Jeon needs to get laid."

And that--an indirect insult to his alpha, who is sitting right there--has his anger exploding. He can't hold back the snarl when he whips around and says: "Get out of my classroom."

It's the loudest he's ever raised his voice, and it shocks the entire class silent and motionless. The boy who made the comment gapes at him. Wonwoo glares him down, seething. He holds his body so tight that it quivers with tension. Mingyu is taking care of him, dammit, as best as he can given their situation; he knows Mingyu would do more, if asked, if allowed. Wonwoo jerks his head toward the door. "Get out," he says again. The boy listens this time.

Wonwoo sweeps his eyes over his students, taking stock of his class. He avoids looking at Mingyu.

His entire body feels hot. Sweat prickles at the nape of his neck, under his arm. He wonders if this is a sign of pre-heat, or if he is just this fucking incensed. He draws in a breath, holds it in his chest, and then exhales it slowly.

Already, embarrassment is welling up to replace his anger. He wishes that Mingyu didn’t have to see him like this. There were a million ways he could have handled this situation. Why did he have to react like this?

His grade 9 class doesn't go much better. There’s a group of students that he can't stand, even on the best of days. He finds them rude and disrespectful and entitled; they are popular enough to influence the classroom environment--usually for the worse. Today, they are even more oppositional than usual. They insult him and his teaching, not even bothering to lower their voices. They undermine his authority at every turn. It’s stupid that fourteen year old kids are able to get under his skin like this, but they do.

It's bad karma, he thinks, for the way he acted this morning.

Finally, the lunch bell goes. Students clear out immediately. They don't loiter the way they normally do, chased off by his waspish mood. Wonwoo goes to close the door. The sounds of the hallway are blotted out, leaving his classroom in blessed silence.

Wonwoo's throat feels tight all of a sudden. His eyes blur, hot and stinging. He drops down onto his chair, tears off his glasses, and then puts his face in his hands. Digs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. His chest deflates with a wet and shuddered exhale.

Three knocks sound at his door.

Wonwoo ignores it. Maybe if he doesn't answer, they'll assume he isn't in, and they'll leave him alone.

His phone vibrates in the pocket of his jacket, the sound muffled. Wonwoo ignores that, too. It isn't until his ringtone goes off with the unique chime that he assigned to Mingyu, that he fishes his phone out of his pocket.

"Hi," Wonwoo says.

"Hey, I'm at your classroom door. Are you inside?"

Wonwoo wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Yeah."

"Can I come in?"

"Is it just you?"

"It's just me," Mingyu confirms.

Wonwoo goes to unlock the door, cracking it open just enough for Mingyu to slip inside. He knows he shouldn't be alone with a student behind closed doors, but he doesn't want anyone else to see him when he's this pathetic. He doesn't want Mingyu to see him this pathetic either, for that matter, but his desire to be comforted outweighs his shame. He closes the door.

Mingyu takes one look at his face, makes a soft crooning sound, and gathers Wonwoo into his arms. Wonwoo goes easily, melting against a warm chest. His nose instinctively finds the hollow of Mingyu's throat even though he's on blockers and can't actually scent anything.

"Oh, baby," Mingyu whispers, pushing his face into Wonwoo's hair and pressing a kiss there. "I'm sorry. We were such fucking idiots this morning." He goes on talking, alternating between soothing Wonwoo and cursing out his classmates.

The words, spoken in Mingyu's low tenor, wash over Wonwoo without registering in his brain. His mind is still turning over those two carelessly spoken syllables: baby, baby, baby.

Wonwoo tightens his arms around Mingyu's neck and lets out a small whine of need. He wants Mingyu to call him that again, but he doesn't know how to ask. It's a little weird, isn't it, wanting to be called that by someone so much younger than him?

"Hmm?" Mingyu questions with a hum. He runs a palm up and down Wonwoo's back. "What's wrong?"

Wonwoo, face still hidden in the curve of Mingyu's neck, shakes his head.

Mingyu nudges his temple with his nose. "What is it? Tell me, babe," he urges.

It's a long moment before Wonwoo can bring himself to admit it. "I like it when you call me that," he mumbles.

"Oh," Mingyu says, sounding surprised. That obviously wasn't what he expected to come out of Wonwoo's mouth. "That's good." He swallows. Wonwoo can feel his throat bob up and down as he does so. "I wasn't sure how you would feel about it. But that's good, because I like calling you that."

#asks #aev bonus

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hueningshaped · 3 years

Text

★ good friend | k.sy

▰ genre: implied spice/nsfw but barely angst AND fluff, the classic

▰ word count: 2476 hhhh

▰ synopsis / request #1: fwb to lovers! soonyoung since this idea has actually been on my mind before the ask came in (also HOORAY ASK :D) hehe

▰ possible warnings :: mentions of sex and vomiting and food

▰ notes: im lame also tmi but ive never had experienced anything romantic in my life so i tell u this - i am not good with romance and im not sure how any of this stuff is supposed to go so ur ever bewildered at what i postulate, u are not alone lmfao. i hope this isn’t too bad and i hope what i write in general isn’t too rough

Most nights offered the same routine and have offered the same routine for the past few months: nights of mottled yet complete love marks ridden upon your very feverish skin, long abandoned clothes of your weekly activities, and sweet and overwhelmed sounds that were evoked from pleasure that lasted hours. However, the fulfillment of satisfaction could no longer be quelled as the filaments of your heart now yearned for something more.

And while Kwon Soonyoung did you no wrong directly, only the knowing that there was nothing more besides sex despite your growing feelings furthered an irreversible damage that rested in your hands alone.

The reality was that you weren’t his and he wasn’t yours. It would never be that way. You and he had agreed to it, but now, the guilt and pain blossomed like a bruise in your soul. Your heart always hurt afterwards and beforehand.

Just two days had passed since the last time you allotted another rendezvous with Soonyoung and he had messaged you again. Of course, upon seeing that text, which you received during your lunch at work, you soon lost appetite and utilized the rest of your break to weep into your bag in the restroom.

The meetups with him did you no good as they had frequented and seemingly were no longer just for sex.

Soonyoung learned your body and the things that made your body pleasured and joyous. He’d walk in early to bring you your favorite snacks. Sometimes, he would greet with a kiss on your nose or cheek.

When your limbs were tangled and you were at his mercy, Soonyoung would plant kisses all across the expanse of your neck and chest. On more occasions than you can count, the love marks he’d left have been often uncountable. With each passing meeting, his lips journeyed to your own, swollen and bitten raw by the time you’ve both finished. Sex was more than sex; it became that way before you even understood. He held and touched you in the way one cherished and love someone else.

Soonyoung brought forth so much joy, laughter, albeit cries from pleasure, but you were now unable to continue.

Your friendship with him was something priceless and a treasure. For you to risk that and the one thing that nearly convinced you that you were more than that would be foolish. The shift from simple friends to friends with benefits had only began due to a joke. Nearly a year had passed and you often regret trespassing the fine line of friendship and more than that.

Good friend Soonyoung also wasn’t foolish; he knew you and knew how you could be when you didn’t want to be you at times because you were precious to him. He knew this much.

Pretending his message had never been glossed over twenty three times, you managed to get on with your day, ignoring the dropping of your stomach, the sooner the clock moved closer to the time you were set to return to your apartment, which Soonyoung also knew.

And Good Friend Soonyoung was good, indeed.

SOON(YO)UNG: y/n

SOON(YO)UNG: are you busy tonihgt bc i need you

SOON(YO)UNG: if not i understand but i still wanan be with you

SOON(YO)UNG: i might not be good at this whole technology thing but i hope u do know ur read receotps are on

Soonyoung had a way with words; Not only at times where you needed comfort but also during those when you were at the edge, legitimately clutching to his shoulders for mercy to his wicked moves.

You felt yourself losing more grip and composure of reality as you sped home, having forgotten which days he actually did have practice. Was it everyday? Would he be at your place before you knew it? Were you a good liar? Was this the first time you were so open about postponing your boning? Were you even open about everything?

Contrast to last week, your meetups and reality with Soonyoung were as they had been for the past few months: frequent, intimate as always, but as more time passed, he was nearly inseparable from you.

Soonyoung was more than enough of a single person than you realized. He’d always been by your side for years and the things he did proved that. He always went above and beyond to made sure you felt good, comfortable, confident, and healthy. The kisses he left on your shoulder, bruises from his grip on your waist, aftercare of sweet touches and whispers, dedication of feeding you whatever he thought or tried to cook were just a fragment of what he did for you and of what he meant for you.

Not to mention he knew how to read you so well it hurt. Soonyoung could understand the light of your eyes; the light in his own eyes were effervescent, embers glowing with the lights of places wherever he entered, and they were never cold to you, the best of all.

But he would never be yours and you would never be his.

Luckily, upon your return to your place, you discovered that Soonyoung was not home before you, after silently screaming and double checking each and every possible place any person could have been.

He indeed would be at practice today, hopefully, but painfully wrong, you thought that maybe he would be too exhausted to even think of coming here.

There was the factual prospect of Soonyoung entering as he had his own key; however, his entrances were never outside of your consent or comfort, nor were they all strictly for sex. He was your best friend, who you had mingled with the territorial line that keeps platonic from sexual relationships.

Confronting the boy you had dreadfully fallen for was last on your list; your body told you so. Oh, it had no trouble letting you know of the conflict within your heart, perspiration, and clamminess.

All things came to a heading stop — in the midst of you tidying up your living room to keep your thoughts and stresses at bay — when a knock resonated. A bouquet of flurries within the pit of your stomach sent the broom in your hands over, whipping about the surfaces of the area you were in.

So much for ever trying to take the “not home” excuse. Clumsy hands.

“Y/N, is it okay if I come in?” Even the ginger edge to his voice offered no cloying confection — a sharp intake of breath drew past your raw-bitten lips. He was sweet as always.

Despite the fact he now was present and, on top of that, knew of your fabricated absence or intentional silence, confrontation with Soonyoung was just about inevitable. The flurries in your stomach now equated to the punch of an avalanche with endless swirls that even hijacked the means of your vision.

Could the end of your friendship await on the other side of the door?

“Darling, won’t you open up? Not the door, heh. I... to me... Are you okay?” The final question loosened the ivory pronunciation of your knuckles against the wringing of your shirt’s hem. There was nothing more visceral or internal that surpassed the knowledge of Soonyoung’s proximity and love to you.

How you just wanted the kisses Soonyoung messily left across the edges of your skin, the goosebumps and crimson flushes in his plump lips’ wake to be because of love and not strictly from the other way.

“Soon...” you stammered, a familiar stinging threatening behind your eyes.

“If you don’t want me to come in, then this is it. You don’t have to force yourself,” a somber tone shadowed his words, which left you perplexed but all the more conflicted. Only the thicket of steel and wood separated you, but you could still successfully make out that loving voice of his. “If you want to talk, I’m right here. I’m literally right here — your neighbors keep giving me the side eye, so lovedoll, open the door if you’re ready so we can talk. If not, I’ll understand.”

An answer, even a mustered, broken out noise from the depths of your throat, would have sufficed, except the swirl of your stomach returned full blow, barreling you straight to the toilet.

“I’m sorry I — ” you all but yelped to the front door.

Esophagus stretching and lungs flushing, you knew well what was coming. Words were cut short before the terribly familiar, pungent acid pounded out of your mouth in spurts and nearly imprecisely in the bathroom.

Nausea was your body’s coping mechanism for much stress: just the cherry on top.

Tears peeked at the brims of your eyes. The burn of your throat was just about the peak of your overstimulation. On top of that, you wanted nothing more than to things be right, even if it meant giving Soonyoung up. And oh, how that pain would leave this minor, minor, minor one in the blink of an eye.

A set of footsteps neared you, just as you finally were reaching for something to wipe your mouth off.

“You could’ve just said you were sick, sweet Y/N,” he sighed and you sniffled, continuing your ministrations. Confessing a possible unrequited love here was not ideal, but it would be worth a shot...if you could even speak. “Here I was fearing the worst: imagining a horror film scenario, since, you know, one of the idiots, namely Channie, decided to have a marathon the other — Y/N?”

As you moved to sit back on your sprawled and folded knees, your eyes trained upwards: a position and person you could remember by muscle memory at the least. That silly grin of his slowly dissolved into a concerned clutch of his lips, eyes roaming past that of your own eyes.

Your heart was nearly leaping before the machinations of your head could compute exactly you wanted to say. The silence was shared by your staring contest and your ventilation system that constantly busted up.

No words were said — from you, really. Confessing your love was much harder than it looked.

With the help of Soonyoung, you were eventually put to rest, after an entire system of learned routines that followed familiar episodes of your countless seasons of your friendship.

You let him choose what to watch, which he did not hesitate to execute to his choosing. His warmth was no different, he knew this. Enveloped in his lap, your feet trembled at the same rate as your hidden fingers did.

“Do you want me to make you some herbal tea?” He chimed, flipping through the cast list of whatever show that currently caught his eye. The slant of his eyes desperately deserved a kiss.

“You don’t know how to make tea,” you stated, earning the gaze that weighed tons. He pouted comically. His cheeks still possessed a flush from earlier practice, where you’d seen first hand how he dominated the room and led the others, allowing them to shine with his practice and ministrations.

“Soonyoung, you know I get sick like this. It happens occasionally.” His eyes had trained back to the screen until you let the final word escape your mouth, shocked at the chuckle rattling his voice and shoulders.

Those constellations met your eyes again: a nebulous light that could have had your knees buckling had you been standing.

“Occasionally? You get sick when you’re nervous or angry, which, for that part, is a kinda funny rarity — but I know you, Y/N,” he let your name ripple off his lips, the equivalent of having shared the most fragrant and delicate fruit between your very lips. “Why are you nervous?”

The lump in your throat throbbed, leaving you with something more than a twisted tongue. Good Friend Soonyoung was good indeed.

He leaned down to close the proximity between you more and more, taking a strip of loose hair and curling it around his finger before swooping in like a hawk. His brisk scent enveloped you, of musk and some other herb of a lotion you had purchased for him from a Christmas gift just a few months back. Soonyoung brought the hair to his lips, as your own merely parted at the proximity, quite possibly electrifying the amorous feelings even more so.

A gasp was all you could muster last until he was nose to nose with you, lips just a hair away.

“Why do I make you nervous?” He spoke lowly. You could barely meet his eyes. He planted a shallow kiss on the corner of your mouth until warm streams trailed from the corner of your eyes and of course, he cupped your face.

Concern furrowed upon his expression. He was no longer kissing you, and you were no longer poker faced, a sob billowing from the depths of your throat.

“What’s wrong?” And of course, you cried more at that. So much for not letting him know your feelings.

“Y/N,” he implored softly. His arm was perched beside your head where you laid and he now moved back so you could sit up at the slightest, or to at least where you were able to since you were now sobbing.

“I love you, Soonyoung. I love you,” each word left more emphatic with a gasp for air in between. His face dropped and his hand retracted from your chin. You did your best to silence yourself, pursing your lips. “I'm sorry. That-that’s why I've been avoiding you and I know I’m full of crap for making it look like anything else, and I know I’m ruining everything we’ve ever had, but I just couldn't...couldn’t live like this.”

Nearly out of breath from your speech, your eyes fell to his hands, which rested on your blanketed feet.

“We had a great friendship. I’m—”

“Hey,” Soonyoung called out emphatically, earning eye contact that could have seared your soul. That same hand returned and again, your jaw dropped slightly. “Why did you assume I didn’t love you?”

His velvety mouth curled with a soft smile and his thumb rubbed your past tears into your cheek.

“I love you, Y/N. You’re just silly enough to convince yourself of the opposite,” with that, a popping kiss planted on your lips. “And this is also why you should talk to me about anything. Remember when we tried a different position and I thought you were crying about how it hurt, but you just felt—”

“Okay, okay,” you laughed with a sniffle as he rested his chin on your sternum, grinning, “so, you’re in love with me as I am with you?”

Soonyoung nodded hard enough to jolt a new yearning within you. Needless to say, he would spend the entire night proving it.

#im bad at writing angst wtf #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen hoshi #hoshi imagines #hoshi fluff #hoshi x reader #kwon soonyoung #soonyoung fluff #soonyoung imagines #soonyoung x reader

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