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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

care less, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, implied taehyung x reader

summary: There are countless partings in this world. People come in and out of your life, impacts large and small. But there is one where you could care less. You really could. And that’s Min Yoongi, your high school ex-boyfriend, the one who took something from you and promptly disappeared, only to come back with a furious declaration, on the night you’re supposed to teach Kim Taehyung how to eat pussy.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, discussions about adult topics; mentions of slut shaming; reader is pansexual; rough angsty smut (fem reader, slight dom/sub themes, m-receiving oral, overstimulation, hair-pulling, cowgirl); regrets everywhere; non-idol!AU; exes-to-lovers; pianist, softsub!Yoongi

inspired by “I get mad when I see you, and even madder when I don't”, wet-haired Yoongi in Run BTS! 131, ONEWE’s song ‘소행성 (Parting)’, and you’re probably wondering how these things go together.

–

"How do you eat a girl out?"

"I... what?"

"How," Kim Taehyung repeated, slower this time, emphasizing each syllable with his impossibly deep voice. "Do you eat a girl out?"

"Why are you asking me?"

Taehyung raised his eyebrows. "Because you've hooked up with tons of girls. You must have eaten out at least one of them." You blinked at him as he continued. "I figure you have a unique perspective because you're a girl whose probably been eaten out and whose eaten out other girls."

You put down your spicy chicken. "Is this why you offered to buy me lunch?"

Taehyung's giant brown eyes shifted around uncomfortably. "Look," he said in a hushed tone. "I took this girl on a nice date and then it got to the spicy bit–"

"Leading her on, yes, yes, continue."

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you but ignored your comment, barreling on. "And she asked me to eat her out, but I didn't know what I was doing."

"An absolute tragedy for sex god Kim Taehyung," you mocked. He growled and threw one of his chicken bones in your direction as you laughed.

"Oi, this is serious!"

You kept cracking up, taking a bite of spicy crispy meat. "Yes, seriously funny." He kept glaring at you, so you relented a little. "She didn't ask for the dick like everyone else?"

Taehyung pouted. "Well, she did, after I spent twenty minutes doing what she called, basically nothing," he scowled.

You shrugged. "Then you redeemed yourself, so what's the problem?"

Taehyung crouched over the table, stabbing your plastic tray. "The problem is, she's gonna tell other girls I can't eat pussy."

"Nah, she won't," you chewed, relishing the spiciness of the chicken. "She'll be too busy daydreaming about your giant dick."

Taehyung frowned, obviously not believing you. You casually are another piece of chicken, watching him contemplating. He was wearing cream slacks and a beige sweater, casually handsome with his dark brown hair, long enough to curl around his eyebrows. His fried chicken was already demolished into bones. He always got his not spicy.

You never understood that.

"Why didn't you ask me to eat you out?"

You shrugged. "We were only hooking up. I wanted to sit on your dick like everyone else."

"Teach me."

Your fingers were turning bright red with the crispy breading on the meat. You could feel the tingle of the spice on your puffy lips and throat, a measured fire burning. You didn’t bother to reach for your drink. Better to lull in the fire for a bit.

"Taehyung, it's just practice."

"Then let me practice on you."

You sucked out a bit of chicken from your teeth as you gave him a disbelieving look. "Thought your policy was to never fuck twice?"

He shrugged. "Not technically a fuck? Besides, you're the Sex Teacher," he added with a snicker.

You rolled your eyes. "Ugh, don't call me that. Some dudes started calling me that just because I took some guy's virginity."

"You've probably taken several virginities with your track record."

"Speak for yourself."

"Do you or do you not know how to eat a girl out?" Taehyung asked, brown eyes boring into you.

You picked up the toothpick the restaurant had provided you and stuck it between your teeth. Brushed the crumbs off your flannel dress and picked up your tray, standing up.

"'Course I do."

Thus, you were now in your apartment with Kim Taehyung, several days later, wondering why you agreed to this nonsense.

"Do I just whip off your pants or what?"

You rolled your eyes, keeping a firm grip on your gray sweatpants. He had arrived in a long black coat and brown turtleneck, black billowy slacks. Kicked his shoes off and presented you with said question.

"What do I get out of this?" you grumbled, turning around and heading into your apartment, shivering a little because of your loose white t-shirt that you had cut in half ages ago, turning it into a crop top. It had a stain at the bottom, so what better way to fix it than chop it off? Still, you should have opened the front door with your hoodie on, but it would warm up soon with the door now closed.

"What do you what? Money?"

"I'm not a prostitute, Taehyung," you muttered. "Even if you think I am."

"I don't," Taehyung said coolly. "But money happens to buy things, so maybe you want some to buy something for yourself."

You pursed your lips, grabbing your mint thermos of warm water. It was a bit weird, but you preferred warm water over most drinks, except soda. But you couldn't be binging on soda all day, unfortunately, so you tried not to buy it and stuck with the water. Kept you from getting diabetes. Damn you, weak human body!

"Nice nips."

You raised an eyebrow as you took a sip. You weren't wearing a bra. Your hard nipples were poking through the t-shirt thanks to the cold.

"Are they distracting your fragile mind?"

Taehyung smiled, dark curls around his teasing brown eyes. "No, I'm simply appreciating them. A lot."

You looked down. Taehyung opened his coat. You sucked in the side of your lip, seeing his bulge. Maybe he was too chill with you now. Ever since you two realized your sex partners overlapped, a strange friendship developed. You’d talk about it casually with him, as if you two were discussing Pokémon trading cards instead of one-night stands. He would advise you against so-and-so and you would warn him about who-the-fuck-ever. Of course, you two only figured that out after you sat on his dick, but, hey, it was a nice dick. Lived up to the hype.

Unlike Taehyung, you didn't really have any weird rules when it came to hooking up. You went with the flow, and if you were feeling it, then you did it. Didn't really matter who it was, what gender, if they wanted to be upside down on a park bench as you sucked their balls and they jacked off into their own face (happened once, was kind of interesting to be honest). Taehyung, however, had some kind of conquest thing going on, numbers and all that, and needed everyone to know he was good at it. Insanely good. Mind-blowingly good.

Taehyung closed his coat, tilting his head. "Whatchu want then? Not another fuck. Something else."

Your doorbell rang.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," you muttered, slamming your thermos down and marching to the door. "What is this, a fucking zoo, I swear–"

You wrenched the door open.

"Fuck you."

Slightly slurred, husky, deep.

Okay, well, yeah, sure, after I teach Taehyung how to–

The black head of hair raised and your thought disintegrated into pure shock.

"I get mad when I see you," the man growled. "And even madder when I don't."

He was holding a half-full bottle of soju.

"I... what?" was your incredibly weak reply, because you were staring at the hunched form of Min Yoongi. Black hair longer than the last time you saw him, styled over a clean undercut, wearing a torn-up black bomber jacket and a green t-shirt, acid-wash jeans with giant holes, revealing his pink, slightly bruised knees. He was breathing hard, glaring at you.

Accusing you.

Suddenly the years without him felt like an eternity.

"Hyung?!"

Oh right. Taehyung existed.

But you couldn't react, couldn't breathe, starstruck, awestruck, dumbstruck at seeing Min Yoongi at your doorstep. Yoongi cocked at eyebrow, looking past you, and Taehyung's body was suddenly pressed against your back, reminding you, yes, he was real, actually there, why was he there again? What was life?

"Hyung, holy shit! I haven't seen you in ages, since..." Taehyung's voice suddenly died, baritone vanishing into nothing.

"Why the fuck is he here?" Yoongi grunted.

"I... was going to ask her to–"

"He was leaving," you interrupted, shoving Taehyung from behind you to in front of you. "Taking his coat and leaving."

"What?" Taehyung sputtered, brown eyes wide, confused, blinking rapidly. "Hyung, why do you have a bottle of soju–"

Yoongi clicked his tongue, very loudly.

"Forget this."

He turned, but Taehyung grabbed his arm.

Not you.

Taehyung stopped Yoongi.

The world was so cold. Your arm outstretched but touching nothing, because Taehyung was faster, Taehyung was closer, and you were so very far away from Min Yoongi. Yoongi turned his head slowly, venom in his gaze.

"Hyung."

Yoongi's eyes locked with yours, making you breathless.

"I don't understand," Taehyung said quietly. "What's going on? I thought you didn't care about her."

Those cat-like eyes narrowed, expression cold and emotionless. "Is that what you told them?"

It was airless and then the world burst into flames.

"You didn't tell me until the last day," you hissed, curling your hands into fists, voice rising. "You told all your friends, but you didn't tell me until the last day, not until the very last second before you flew to fucking Europe to go to university for that fucking music program!"

Taehyung's eyes widened. "Y-You said she didn't care..."

"Fuck you, Min Yoongi," you snarled, every muscle in your arms tensing, remembering all the moments, the gentleness that turned to coldness, the last night and what he took from you, turning into years and years of not caring about anything, fucking everything in sight, anyone who said yes, trying to forget his kiss and his memory before he got on a fucking plane and flew time zones away, never trying to contact you after.

"Fuck you for thinking you can be angry at me for any reason at all, fuck you for thinking I did anything, fucking anything, to deserve that shit, taking my fucking virginity and leaving me!"

"I didn't take your virginity," Yoongi spat back, spinning around, hair bristling. "You lost it to that–"

"Maybe you should have fucking asked me instead of believing stupid fucking rumors!"

The human body was useless, but also driven by emotion, and you didn't even feel cold anymore, years of anger piled up, rumors that you were a whore, so you became that whore, owning it, doing it all, because why did it fucking matter when everyone already thought that? Sex Teacher they called you and your first teacher was standing in front of you, completely clueless.

Fucking idiot.

Yoongi glared at you. You glared back.

Taehyung stood there, gawking.

Yoongi's eyes dropped. He shoved the half-empty bottle of soju into Taehyung's arms and pushed Taehyung aside, Taehyung flailing to prevent dropping the glass bottle, and closed the distance between you and him, and now you could see, older, more tired, still handsome, still the same dreamer from years ago who traced your fingers and placed them on the keys, slowly helping you play the notes even though you didn’t know jack shit, and you enthralled with his smile, his laugh, his dream of becoming a world-renowned pianist.

Yoongi grabbed your face and kissed you.

The first was the scent of alcohol, a subtle sweetness on his lips, but alcohol nonetheless. The second was the softness, the faint flush of his cheeks paired with his lips on yours, dainty despite the strength in grip on your cheeks. The third.

Heat.

The years-old iceberg of 'I-don't-give-a-shit' melting faster than the polar ice caps, sheets and sheets of ice crashing into the sea of emotions, youth and stubbornness combined, melted in his kiss, you grabbing a fistful of his shirt and yanking him in your apartment, Taehyung calling after you both.

"Um, guys? Hello?"

"Go drinking Taehyung," Yoongi growled and slammed the door.

Taehyung held the half-bottle of soju.

What now?

What about his reputation?

He frowned.

Maybe he should call up Park Jimin.

Taehyung took a sip of the soju as he walked away. He made a disgusted face. Ugh. Why did hyung like such strong shit? The flavor was unique and rich, but his throat felt like a layer of skin was being sloughed off.

One would only drink something like this if they were depressed.

Oh.

"Your reputation precedes you."

"Fuck off."

"You became quite a woman."

"And you're still an insensitive shit."

You yanked his jacket off and dumped it on the floor, fists back in his green shirt, biting his lip, kissing him hard, him gasping in your mouth, his hands on your breasts, kneading them through the t-shirt, fingertips brushing over your hard nipples, sparks of pleasure crackling through you.

"I was trying to protect you," Yoongi snarled, just as angry as you, both frustrated at time lost, both knowing it was for the best, both realizing that his misunderstanding and your reaction was just shitty communication of stubborn youth and time past that couldn't reset.

But still.

Anger doesn't care about reason.

"Protect me, my ass," you scowled, dragging him into your kitchen, pinning him against the counter. "What do you think I am, emotional fragility queen?"

"You wouldn't have cared?" he shot back, gripping your shirt and flinging it up, sucking in a breath as he revealed your tits.

"Obviously! Why would I spend years being a slut to forget about your stupid hands?" you scowled, grabbing his wrists, planting said hands on your breasts, shuddering at the cold touch, chilled by night air, not exactly the same hands as back then, but better, rougher, strength of a man and not a high school boy, thumb and index finger rolling your hard nipples. Once again, fistfuls of his shirt, shaking him aggressively through heavy breaths. "You and your stupid mouth."

Kissing him, not the same, but better, stronger, more intense, stained with alcohol and regrets, devouring your tongue hungrily, intertwining.

"It would have ended the same," Yoongi murmured, the hurt creeping in his grating voice.

It would have.

And that was the shittest bit.

Knowing that even if he told you earlier that it would hurt no less, knowing that you would have gone and fucked other people anyway, because even if you tried to make it long distance, it wouldn't have worked. Some people could do it, but not young you and young Yoongi, too immature to know the meaning of wait.

"Still gives you no right to believe the words of others instead of asking me outright," you muttered, bending him backwards on the counter with your weight and he was letting you do it, hands still glued to your tits. "Why would believe that shit?"

"Because it was easier to leave you that way," Yoongi admitted, shame flitting in his dark eyes.

"Fucking shit, you're an idiot."

You already knew that. Guessed, after years of agonizing over it. Easier to be angry than understanding. Easier to feel pain than to acknowledge it. What could you do? Tell him not to go to Europe? Not when his parents, his family, his friends, his neighbors, fuck, the whole damn school was ecstatic and congratulatory for him, everyone except you, not because you didn’t want Yoongi to follow his dreams, but because you wanted him to stay.

With you.

Selfishly.

And so, it was so much easier to be mad, so much easier for the two of you to fight until he tumbled on top of you, kissing you, tearing off your clothes as you tore off his and the first time hurt, it hurt but not as much as you thought, maybe because there was so much adrenaline from the anger and because he was so careful and loving about it.

He really was.

And there was pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain you felt the next day and the day after, and the next month, years, numbing everything, agreeing to really stupid propositions like the thing with Taehyung, all because you knew and he knew, but you both chose to be mad over being reasonable.

You hauled Yoongi up onto your kitchen counter, him kicking the side of the cabinets to lift himself up, not speaking. One look in his eyes and you saw yourself reflected in them, so close to tears that you kept your mouth shut and he kept his shut, preferring the anger to the sadness.

Because deep down, you were so, so happy to see Yoongi again.

It didn’t discount any of the wrongs though.

You fumbled with the button of his jeans and his hands came to help, unzipping, fingertips tracing over yours, more agile than before, swifter than an amateur. You raised your head, locking your gaze with his.

Yoongi was panting, cheeks flushed, guilt consuming his features.

It stung.

You yanked his pants down unceremoniously, not caring right now about stupid young you and stupid young Yoongi, gripping his underwear and dragging them down, his hard cock springing up, bigger than you remembered, thicker, red tip twitching, still wanting it just as bad, not looking at his face and closing your mouth in on it, gripping his hips and pulling him closer for better leverage. His scent and moan encompassed you, your eyes shutting as your tongue circled around his hot length, swallowing it up, oh so good, so good, better than anyone else’s because it was the one you tried to forget, entranced by the way Yoongi’s cock slid down your throat and filled your mouth, hearing his ecstasy from your touch, gasps of pleasure as you began to bob your head up and down, tongue going from the bottom of the head, down the quivering veins, all the way to the base, nudging his balls with the tip of your tongue, a skill you learned from many, many blowjobs.

You opened your eyes and you knew your guilt was in them. Yoongi could see it with every mouthful of his cock disappearing into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and pupils dilated, empathizing.

“Yeah, so what if we’ve fucked other people?” he grunted, rolling his hips into your face and making you growl in your chest. “I could care less.”

Yeah, you could, and me too.

Faster and tighter, suffocating him with your mouth, hands flat on the counter, blowing him at the same spot you were eating a fucking salad two hours ago before Taehyung’s arrival and contemplating tongue techniques, back when your iceberg of uncaring was still intact but now it was part of the ocean of emotions once more, watching Yoongi unravel, rubbing his fists into the granite, crying out and arching his back, black hair fanning out with every harsh swallow and throat clench around the head, leaking pre-cum into your throat and throbbing into the roof of your mouth.

“F-Fuck me…”

He hissed out your name and snapped his chin to his chest, thrusting into your mouth, exploding, salty thickness coating your tongue and down your tight throat, you gulping it down with a choked gasp, his taste a part of you now after all this time, an edge of bitterness that you welcomed, who knew what the fuck he was eating before this, but you didn’t care, didn’t care, you had Yoongi’s cock in your mouth and every second was worth it.

Your tongue coated the head, collecting the dribbling cum and you swallowed that too, glaring at him. Lowering down once more, swallowing him to the base once again, him sucking in a pained breath at the sensitivity because your throat was unforgiving, constricting him as forcefully as you could, tongue sliding up, teasing right under the head, the thin skin that make Yoongi squirm and hiss under you, spreading the slit with the tip of your tongue. Yoongi slapped his palms onto the counter, clenching his jaw to avoid screaming.

But he didn’t stop you.

He simply watched you with pained eyes, letting you do whatever you wanted, thrashing under your merciless mouth, rutting the sensitive head against the roof of your mouth roughly, his body thrashing to try to get away, but still Yoongi said nothing, thin moans escaping his closed lips, even twisting his hips back and rocking them into your face to let you abuse him more, manhandling him to your heart’s content. You kept going, long agonizing minutes, strongly sucking the head, shoving it all the way to the back of your throat, teasing it with your tongue, swirling around and around, pressure, roughness, tightness, aggravating the sensitive skin until you saw Yoongi on the verge of tears.

He still didn’t stop you.

You retreated, your lips now only around the head, tongue ghosting over the pulsating, inflamed tip, drenching it with saliva.

“You deserved that,” you muttered.

“I deserve a lot of things,” Yoongi grunted, finally relaxing his shoulders and laying flat against the counter, panting hard, cheeks still flushed, staring at the ceiling.

Neither of you were saying sorry.

You gave him one last painful suck and he swore under his breath, but didn’t say anything else, biting his lip hard as you popped your mouth off his cock. For a few moments, there was nothing but oppressive, irate panting. Yoongi’s dick was still hard and sticking straight up, he himself spread out on your kitchen counter like a fucking buffet, still wearing his shirt and half-wearing his jeans. You were shirtless, tits out, gray sweatpants slung low on your hips.

“When are you going back?”

Yoongi was still staring at the ceiling.

“Don’t know.”

“Liar.”

Dark eyes flickered down.

“If you asked me five minutes ago, the answer would have been in two weeks.”

Your eyes narrowed, boring into his. “How many blowjobs have you gotten overseas, huh? One hundred? Five hundred?” Frustration, grief, vehemence, all rolled into one, turning your voice into ice, sheets of frozen water churning and reforming, snapping together one by one with each word, your hands coming up and digging your nails into his thighs, racking them down, bright red scratches in your wake. “How many people have you fucked? Do you think I’m fucking stupid, Yoongi?”

He gritted his teeth, screwing his eyes shut, fingers curling onto fists at the pain.

“I really thought you didn’t care,” was his distressed hiss.

You stopped; nails sunk into his pale skin, creating dark crescents with how hard you were pressing.

“I thought you would hate me forever.”

Your hands left his thighs, glaring scarlet lines of your pain on his skin now.

“And I thought it would get better, but it didn’t.”

His fingers uncoiled, one by one. Long, deft digits, practiced, trained, beautiful, crescents of pink from his own nails in his palm. Eyes opening, lash by lash, lifting, dark, pained, regretful, drifting down to you and his exposed, still-hard cock, just there, ignored, surrounded by scratch marks.

“I was mad that you didn’t try to contact me,” Yoongi mumbled. “And madder at myself for not trying to contact you.”

Ice cracking, melting off, crashing back down into the vast ocean of emotion.

You reached into your pocket.

Your name, tumbling from his lips, his eyes shifting to you.

“In between countless partings, the one I always remembered was you.”

You climbed onto the counter, sweatpants and underwear on the floor. Yoongi’s eyes widened in shock, so stunned that he couldn’t stop staring at you, knees, thighs, crotch – clean, you were always clean-shaven, but he didn’t know that, a habit you developed without him and now you felt weird with hair down there – and so he could see everything, wet lips glistening. Up to your waist, a pattern of small moles above your bellybutton that high-school Yoongi had danced his fingers over.

Saying, “My Milky Way, my galaxy.”

This was after you called him an insensitive bastard and he accused you of losing your virginity to some athletic jock kid, as if high-school you would ever have a chance with someone like that.

Up your tits, your collarbones, your face.

Determined.

Yoongi jumped, realizing you had wrapped your hand around his cock and pumped it a few times before rolling down the condom, angling your pussy above the purple-red head. He made eye contact with you.

“I can’t go back if you do this,” he whispered.

“Boo-fucking-hoo, shut your trap.”

You sank down and he clamped his jaw shut, veins on his neck popping out in strain as Yoongi tried not to cry, your previous ministrations amplifying the sudden hot, wet pleasure that overwhelmed him, you sighing in bliss as he filled you, nicer than before, better because you knew what to do now, relaxing your muscles before pulsing around him, his eyelids fluttering, whines in his throat, palms flat on the granite, such beautiful hands that you reached down and put them on your thighs, wanting him to touch you.

Dark brown eyes shaking, pupils dilated, fingernails digging into your skin.

“Isn’t that what you do? Use your hands all day?” you taunted.

He gripped your thighs tight, apology flashing across his features.

“You better not cum before I do,” you snapped, rocking your hips a little.

Yoongi sucked in a breath. “I’ll try.”

You leaned forward, one hand on the counter, the other closing in on his black hair. Twisting the black locks in your fingers, gripping so hard your knuckles were white, but you weren’t pulling on his hair, only holding it, but your eyes told him everything.

“You fucking owe me.”

Him staring into your blazing eyes.

“I owe you for the rest of my life.”

You rolled your hips into his crotch, hard, smacking your ass down on his balls and he whimpered, jerking his head to the side and pulling his own hair, whimper turning into a wounded gasp.

“Shut the fuck up. We both know you deserved that scholarship, you talented asshole.”

You began your pace, bruising and intense from the start, unforgiving, but you had already forgiven him, years ago, by yourself with no one else to know, now your hand in his hair with Yoongi writhing under you, causing his own pain flaring across his scalp because your grip was so tight, his hands on your thighs, his length sliding out and then shoved back in. You could feel him getting harder, swelling more, the sensation unbearable so he kept igniting the pain to prevent himself from orgasm. You made sure to let the maximum amount of your skin to hit him – clit on his crotch, pussy enveloped around his cock, the tip hitting your deepest, most pleasurable spot, ass smacking against his balls – so that even you moaned, shivers of ecstasy layering on top of each other, climbing notes of a song from long ago.

Now continuing.

From that night at your parents’ house that bedroom of painful and lovely memories, his hands on your wrists, telling you that he could go slow until you felt better, how could he not know? Yoongi just assumed it was because you weren’t aroused since you were so angry at him, and you never accused him of having any experience before you, and to be honest you didn’t give a shit; if that was society’s fault or your feelings for him, you didn’t know. It all seemed so foolish back then, stupid, why were you so attached to a high-school boy when there were thousands of other men and women out there, and you tried, you fucked them, but in the end.

In the end, it wasn’t the roars of pleasure or multiple orgasms or big dicks or sweet pussy that made you feel the same as you felt when you looked down at Yoongi, eyes rolling back, biting his lip so hard the skin was white, black hair bunched around your fingers, his fucking green t-shirt still on but you could tell every muscle was tensed and he was barely breathing, anything to prevent himself from orgasm, knuckles white on your thighs, clutching them so hard they would surely leave bruises, but you didn’t care.

Yoongi was a genius. He could play the piano like no one else.

Someone could be technically better, someone could be more experienced, someone could be more nuanced, but no one felt music like Yoongi felt music, no one loved piano like how Yoongi loved piano.

He deserved every cent, every experience, every year he spent overseas.

He seemed to feel your gaze on him and his eyes found yours, black pupils nearly overtaking the irises, sweating so bad that his t-shirt was soaking down the front.

“Hold on,” you breathed. “Hold on for me, Yoongi.”

He whined pathetically.

Did he love you as much as he loved piano or was it the soju talking?

Who are you kidding?

Yoongi would never love you as much as the piano.

You set your jaw and leaned down a little more, bending his cock the tiniest bit, more leverage to go harder, rougher, rolling your spine down, smack! Onto his crotch, Yoongi’s mouth flying open and crying out your name in shock, your knees screaming on the harsh granite but you didn’t care, fucking Yoongi for all you were worth, using every muscle and every technique you knew to apply as much pressure as you could, choking his dick. Yoongi’s hands jolted off your thighs, hitting your open thermos on the counter, both of your forgetting it was there this whole time, the double-walled, stainless steel, mint thermos.

It toppled and spewed warm water all over your thighs, your joined crotches, part of his shirt, probably leaking down his ass and onto the counter.

You yelped at the sudden unexpected wet warmth. Yoongi’s hips jerked up, wild moan escaping his lips and your pussy spasmed, orgasm plummeting into you, a sudden avalanche that made your eyes roll back and a guttural groan vibrate your chest, both hands inadvertently clasping and yanking on Yoongi’s hair, and he lost it, whining your name as he came, hard cock lurching and convulsing against your walls, shooting his load into the condom, his cries extending to wanton, pained moans. It took everything in you to at least loosen your fingers, spreading them on his scalp and holding his head as gently as you could, whole body shuddering, even your jaw, not able to say his name properly because your teeth were clattering uncomfortably against each other.

You closed your eyes.

Listening to Yoongi’s strained breathing. Hearing pain, sadness, his raspy voice from long ago, words in the seconds before you feel asleep in his arms from being worn out from anger and losing your virginity. All this time, wanting to believe it was silence, wanting to believe he said nothing, letting yourself believe in your lie to fuel your rage.

“I am sorry.”

You opened your eyes, lowering your chin. Yoongi’s dark orbs, glassy and spent, trying to focus on your face. His hand came up, still wet with the spilled water, and you realized you had pitched forward a little from the force of your orgasm.

His fingers danced on the small mole pattern above your bellybutton.

“My Milky Way. My galaxy,” he whispered softly.

Lovingly.

Guilt all over his face.

“I have to go back. I have performances, opportunities.”

You leaned down. “Stop lying, Yoongi.” Eyes locked with his and a smile. “You want to go back. Because you are an ambitious, talented asshole.”

You knew you were right. You could see it in his eyes, the quickness as he looked away, not wanting to face you. You slumped down, knees giving out, Yoongi’s cock half-buried in you, slowly softening, but it didn’t matter. You put your full weight on him, fitting your chin on his shoulder, not quite looking at his face, nose far too close to your fucking kitchen counter. Yoongi grunted uncomfortably, but didn’t tell you to get off. There was water everywhere and the mint thermos was on the tile floor and somehow neither of you had noticed. It must have made a very loud sound.

“I hate my job anyway. Might as well run away to a different continent for some stupid boy.”

“I can’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m not asking.”

He chuckled.

“You really have changed.”

“Sucks for you.”

You felt his arms wrap around your waist.

“Guess so.”

“Why was Taehyung here anyway?”

“I was supposed to show him how to eat pussy.”

Yoongi blinked at you, holding a damp rag. Both of you were kneeling on the floor, naked, attempting to sop up the mess. “How?”

“He was going to practice on me.”

“I can give a live demonstration instead,” Yoongi growled, an edge possessive.

“Yeah, no, I think my night is booked. Emergency appointment.”

You picked up your kitchen towels and wrung them out in your sink, looking down at him, raising your eyebrow. Yoongi’s hair was messy and curled, wet from sweat and water. He gazed up at you. You saw him shiver. You kept your expression neutral despite your heartbeat racing.

“Have some catching up to do.”

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles · 3 years

Note

May I request something where Leonardo and reader are really good friends and reader gets kidnapped and turned into a mutant. Leo blames himself, but reader reassures him it’s not his fault and they end up kissing. 💙💙

I'm To Blame [Leo x Mutated!reader]

Being turned into a mutant becomes the least of your problems when your closest friend believes it to be his fault. No one could have predicted what was going to happen; no one can control everything in their life. If only Leonardo would have realized that.

It started as leverage-abduction. The Turtles confront them, or you be pumped full of mutagen. Or worse.

The bait had been set, and the boys had no choice but to take it. Hook, line, sinker. You were held in a Foot-controlled lab, bound next to a glass canister of the ooze, a line in your arm and only the clan scientist in control of the drip standing between you and a possibly grotesque fate. You struggled and squirmed, but it was no use; there was no escape on your own.

There was a crash outside the lab doors, men shouting, guns firing, but bursting through the doors were your four saviors. Your friends, allies, and family. Leo fought his way to the front, a new kind of urgency consuming him as the gravity of the situation hit him. Any closer, and you would be mutated.

"Halt!" a soldier shouted over the clamor, a team of heavily armed men forming a semicircle around you and the scientist.

A hand grabbed hold of the back of your neck, yanking you toward him. He forcefully stretched your arm out and displayed the tube, making a note of their predicament, and the boys grimaced. Raph growled that deep, rage-fuelled rumble, while Donnie felt a shudder run up his spine seeing the canister of mutagen. What DNA the concoction was infused with, they had no idea of. There could have been anything in there. If the dosage wasn't carefully monitored, she could be killed!

"Weapons down, turtles, or this girl will be transformed right in front of you," the scientist said coolly. Leo stepped forward, blade drawn and teeth bared, but a warning shot was fired into the wall next to them. Mikey yelped and ducked into Raph, who blocked him partially with his huge frame. The scientist leaned down and inspected the canister, humming, "It seems like this batch is highly unstable. Is this a game you want to play, mutants?"

"You're bluffin'," snarled Raph, and his hands gripped his sais impossibly tighter.

The scientist raised his brows, his free hand wandering to the activator to the mutagen. One tap of a button, and your humanity would be ripped away. "Perhaps. But can you really be sure?" he inquired almost casually. "Only one flex of my finger, and we'll see."

Clenching his jaw, Raph shifted, lowering his weapons a little.

Leo mentally gauged the man power that was currently present. They could take them, he knew they could!

But Leo couldn't trifle with the canister currently attached to you. Breathing heavily, he dropped his swords, which clanged loudly on the floor. His eyes met yours, solemn, and you broke into a violent fit.

"Leo!" you cried out, lunging forward as he told his brothers to stand down. "Don't do this! Please, please, get out of here!"

He only shut his eyes, and with a wave of his hand, they all let go of their weapons in succession.

"We're not going to leave you!" Donnie yelled in return, his voice shaky.

There was a deafening silence in which it felt like a standoff, the boys panting, trying to formulate a battle plan in their heads. Leo stared at the scientist with one of the most hate-filled gazes you'd ever witnessed.

One of the soldiers in the back turned halfway around and whispered something into his earpiece.

The hefty metal doors right behind them flung open, a line of large men clad in black carrying what looked like modified cattle prods. The rods popped with electric currents as they closed in on the boys, who were only able to whirl around quick enough to meet the electrified weapons, and were instantly stunned. Currents no human could withstand brought them to their knees, Mikey shouting shrilly as he fell forward.

Groaning, Leo kneeled. He turned to the scientist at your side, his eyes darting between you and him. "You got us. Now let her go," he said. His voice was low and raspy.

Hand hovering over the button, the scientist spoke while he looked you in the eye, "You know, we were short of a healthy test subject."

Mikey gasped and planted his palms on the floor, "You can't do that, man!"

The scientist sighed and looked down at you, who was wildly struggling against your restraints. He muttered in a matter-of-fact tone, "But I can." It seemed that after a moment of contemplation, eyes going out of focus as they fell on your face and the tears running down it, he let out a reluctant groan, and motioned to one of the men behind him. "Take her elsewhere. We'll figure out what to do with her once we get these," he glanced back at the turtles, "squared away. Clear?"

"That wasn't the deal!" roared Leo, rapidly surging toward the scientist. Another electric shock was sent through him, but he kept on, and the brothers all followed suit.

You winced as the clamor rose and all hell broke loose, the boys ripping their weapons away from the men, guns being fired—your ears rang and a bullet even whizzed by your head.

Leo came at the scientist with his blade, the cowardly man trying to duck away in time. Two soldiers came up on their flank, one with a semi-automatic, and the other brandishing the electric rod. Except before they could get close to even shock him, Mikey's nunchucks landed a heavy blow on one of their heads, causing him to stumble toward you.

And fell right onto the button.

"No!" you heard both Donnie and Leo scream as the drip was activated, Mutagen flowing through the tube and into your body.

Everything became a blur. Within minutes you mutated, firstly writhing on the floor in agony as the burning liquid coarsest through you. Bones shifted, tissue changed, muscles spasmed. Your senses were temporarily blinded.

"Idiots!" snarled the scientist, backing away from you as you transformed. Raph was occupied holding off the soldiers. Mikey couldn't bear to watch. Donnie didn't know what to do, and Leo was...devastated.

Your strength grew. You broke free from your restraints. The firefight continued, this time aimed at you rather than just the Turtles. But the boys wouldn't let them hurt you. In your panic, you'd almost attacked them—your family. Leo hollered at Donnie and Mikey to get you out of there while they covered you, and seconds later, you were all barrelling out of the facility, alarms blaring, guns sounding, men shouting.

Yes, the Mutagen was highly unstable. You couldn't control yourself. And your body, it wasn't done reacting to the ooze.

You didn't know what happened next. You fell unconscious just after escaping. The last thing you can remember is Leo catching you in his arms. Him helping to carry you back home, to the lair. Your new home. You were one of them, now.

Breathing labored, you sat up on the metal table you had been laid on by Donnie. He'd checked your vitals already. Needless to say, so early in your mutation, things were not looking the best. But you would pull through; he was sure of it.

The first face you sas upon waking up was Leo's, worried. His eyes flitted all over you. You hadn't yet seen yourself.

"Y/N," he whispered, hands bracing against the edge of the table. "This...this is my fault," he said.

Donnie scuttled by holding a light and examined your eyes, then asked you to move a bit to see if there were any anomalies such as paralysis. You had some trouble adjusting to your new form, but so far, it wasn't dire.

Everyone came and went, hugging you, saying their piece about how happy they were that you were okay—as okay as you could have been—until Splinter noticed Leo's distress. He told the boys to let you two have a minute alone. Splinter left himself, as well.

The two of you now alone, Leo had a hard time speaking. He couldn't quite find the words to say how sorry he was.

"This isn't your fault," you drawled, still feeling a little loopy from the whole ordeal.

He leaned in, as you couldn't do much beside sit up. "If you hadn't ever gotten involved with us, this would have never happened," he said, lowering his head. "And now you're…"

He paused, and you finished for him, "I'm what? A mutant?" you asked softly. "Leo, I am so lucky to be alive. And it's all thanks to you." He sighed, not believing your words. "They would have killed me, Leo," you added, and took his hands in yours. He looked up at you, blue eyes meeting your own. Had your eye color changed?

"You didn't deserve this," he swallowed.

"Does anyone?"

He stood up. "This happened because I failed, y/n! As a leader, as a friend—"

Not caring about your current state, you slid off the table, landing on your feet with a thud. Your body ached, but you payed it no mind. Leo went rigid as you closed the gap between you two.

Still holding his hands, you told him slowly, "It is not your fault."

Your faces were only a few inches from each other. Unknowing, he gripped your hands. You swore that you could almost hear his heartbeat picking up as you leaned in, lips hovering over his. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but you stopped that thought. "You understand? Not...your...fault…"

His breath hitched when you gently pressed your mouth to his, at first going completely still. But then he closed his eyes, and his arms found their ways around your torso. The kiss was short and gentle, but he was stricken—only when you parted did he whisper a moment later, a new kind of hope inside, "You can live here, with us. You don't have to worry. You shouldn't ever have to worry, y/n."

"I won't worry, Leo," you muttered, letting your head rest on his chest. "Not when you're here with me."

He held you until eventually, everyone filed back in, Splinter smiling warmly at the sight.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt leonardo x reader #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt x reader #tmnt bayverse #tmnt leonardo #tmnt leo

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oigimi · 3 years

Text

. on my own .

. arthur x mc . 1.4k words . first person, angst .

. this is definitely a sadder piece i’ve written but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i might make a part 2 to this depending on how my feelings about it grow so please tell me if i should make one! .

After Arthur and I had a silent walk home one evening, hand in hand, I couldn’t help but experience some thoughts and emotions that I’d never thought I would experience before. Something was starting to form within me, born of the sweet smiles he gave me and the security he provided when he held my hand. A part of me wished that he didn’t wear those leather gloves so that I could have felt his warmth in its entirety when we walked home, and that was never a wish I would ever think I’d make. I said goodbye to Arthur and went back up into my room to change, and found myself completely hollow in the chest when I realized he wasn’t there next to me.

How badly can a human want to be with another? Aren’t there limits to the emotions we can feel? Surely if someone felt too much love or sorrow they’d burst on the spot. There’s a reason we’re so good at controlling ourselves most of the time, but tonight was just different. I wanted to stare out the windowsill. I wanted to bawl without reason. I wanted to fall asleep and wake up again in a world where no one belonged in Arthur’s arms but me.

But in my mind… that was the world I was in. It was true. No one should be in his arms but me. I knew he was going back to the pub the next night, and I probably wouldn’t see him until the following morning, and it just made my body lose its self-control when I thought of Arthur with other women in his arms. It was miserable, and made me want to run to wherever he was and demand that I be a permanent part of life, if only he’d let me. Such thoughts were foreign to me, until that evening we’d come home from our walk.

I looked down at the music box he’d so kindly gifted to me. It played a beautiful melody to accompany its careful craftsmanship, and turning it on was like activating a machine that made all of my woes vanish. Oh, how I wanted to give him something that made his heart spin the way his gift had made mine. But truthfully, I didn’t even know if his heart was capable of spinning. Someone as wonderful and charming as Arthur had to have met someone that could make him dizzy with wonder by now. And if he hadn’t, was there really any hope? And did I even deserve to have fantasies like these?

I had to step out. I had to get some fresh air else the scent of the candle in my room would put me to sleep. It was almost midnight, so I suppose I really should have been sleeping. But I just couldn’t bring myself to. I had to do some thinking before I closed the book. I changed back into my standard clothes and tried to make a run for the outside. It wasn’t too cold out and the moonlight was rather clear, perfect conditions for a nice long session of thought.

To my surprise, the gate opened without issue. I snuck out, only alerting Sebastian’s little lamb, Lotte, in her pen. She gave a weak bleat or two, as if warning me not to go, but I shook my head and kept going. What do lambs know about love? And what did Lotte know about pain? Next to nothing, I presumed, so I banished all thoughts of the lamb as I made my way down the streets. As I got further from the mansion, I felt myself almost becoming disconnected from the rest of the world. Arthur was getting further and further behind me, and my sense of being seemed to be going with him.

How fun it is to be on your own and play in the sandbox that is reality. Like an astronaut disconnected from his ship, you’re completely above the world laid out for you. The world is as magical and fantastical as you make it. And boy, was I an expert at making believe.

As I marched forward, I felt a hand in my own. A warm, ungloved hand that ignited the flame in my heart that didn’t need any fuel. Not even looking up, I broke out into a smile. “Arthur… You came along with me.”

“Of course I did.” He raised my hand to his lips and planted a sweet, gentle kiss that shook my core. Oh, the way his beautiful eyes sparkled until the full silver moon. He lowered my hand, keeping them linked to each other, and led me forward. Walking with Arthur was not like any other experience you could ever have. He lifted me up and took me for a twirl or two without even touching me. He made me laugh, he made me cry. He took away my sins and replaced them with joy. And the best part, was that he was just like me. I would never be good enough for him, but the remnants of humanity in his soul reminded me that he was not without flaws. I don’t think I could ever love a man without flaws, and I could really never love a man who knew it. Arthur was frivolous and flirty and never seemed to be on anyone’s radar, but he knew he was flawed. What broke me was the fact that I knew he thought his flaws made him unlovable. It’s so funny how he’s so sharp, so brilliant, but doesn’t know how I really feel about him. I knew he was the most lovable man in history, but he didn’t. Heh. I guess there’s one thing I have over him.

As we walked, I contemplated if I should tell him. I squeezed his hand tighter, trying to rejuvenate the warmth that he gave on an increasingly colder night. What would Arthur say? The streets would have been completely empty and cold had it not been for the two of us, and the love that radiated from our hearts. Would my confession brighten the light or dim it? Or even worse… dim it completely? Why had Arthur been so silent the whole walk? God, so many questions plagued my mind, but everything came to a halt when we approached the beautiful, flowing River Seine.

I peered into the water, and before I knew it, I was adding a single droplet to her flowing waters. There was one person in the reflection, and one reflection only. The lights went out. The warmth completely vanished. And before I knew it, I was sitting on the riverbank, my face buried into my hands.

Oh, that’s the tradeoff to make believe. You live in your own magical little world where anything is yours, but like the astronaut detached from his ship, you find yourself hopeless and lost when all is done. How we all desire to live in the worlds we create for ourselves, and float in space forever. But that just can’t happen. I should’ve listened to Lotte. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have let my imagination wander, because I just found myself more lost than before. I let my feet soak in the river, thinking about the coin I’d tossed in with Arthur a few weeks ago. The coin I’d thrown in with the wish to leave with a smile on my face. I couldn’t bring myself to leave now, nor could I bring myself to smile.

Goddamn wishful thinking, and the pain it causes. I loved Arthur so much that I was answering my own question. I was about to burst. I was about to feel my heart jump right out of my chest and let me down yet again. It was time to resign for the night, I’d decided, so I stood up and looked next to me where I’d imagined Arthur to be on the walk there. “I love you,” I whispered. The tears kept flowing and my heart kept breaking. Despite all of this, I turned around and made my return trip home. But this time, only on my own.

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp arthur x reader #ikevamp arthur x mc #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp scenarios

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shadowturtlesstuff · 3 years

Text

Dress part 2

so this is dress from Audrey rose’s perspective. i loved writing this. i finished it a few weeks back and its been slowly edited. i am working on other things, but i can feel my brain slolwy stop working, and i’m failing miserably.

This party is dreadful. Beautiful, but dreadful. The only things that are interesting to me is looking at the gowns being worn and the intricate details I discovered when observing them. And Thomas. But I refuse to acknowledge the latter and fix my gaze on a pale pink dress, little gems of dark pink lining the neckline flowed down the bottom of the dress. My own was of a pale green and blue, the top being blue and slowly turning green, with gems in little pockets so that if I were to dance, to spin, there would just be a flash of colour. It is a shame I will not be dancing tonight. Originally my dress was going to be a deep purple with white pearls around the neckline but I may have overheard Thomas talking to his carriage driver about his own outfit for tonight and may have decided against the purple.

My eyes move away from the gown and find Thomas who is conversing with an old man that I assume is his father. From the scowl on Thomas's face one can assume his father must be a pleasant conversationalist. Then Thomas's gaze slides away from his father and meets mine almost immediately, as if he was waiting for my eyes to find his, or that he could feel my gaze. A smirk replaces his scowl and I try to ignore the blush creeping onto my cheeks as I look away quickly; to find my cousin’s face fixed on mine, and eyebrows raised as she took in my expresion. She took her own gaze at Thomas, then winks at me and I scowl slightly. All night I had been stealing looks at Thomas, to try and notice all the details in his suit. He looked incredibly handsome in his midnight blue and black clothing, his hair brushed back and a permanent look of boredom and contemptment on his face. Apart from when he caught me looking. Then his lips quirked up in a smirk that I wanted to smack off.

It takes all my common sense to stay rooted in my seat and not walk over and ask Thomas to dance. Yet all of this silence and patience, pining and anticipating our next encounter was starting to weigh on my chest, hoarding control over my senses. It was infuriating. My mind was still convinced I did not ever need a husband, yet my mind also wondered about a life where Thomas was by my side. Every time I did the weight would increase slightly and I had no idea how to fix this. We were not even meant to be friends, uncle had warned me a few times when I had gone to investigate something on his behalf, that Thomas was trouble. Yet it always seemed he disliked Mr.Douglas more, and was miserable about the fact we did not have Thomas's particular skill sets on our side.

“It is most important for you young girls to attend not just tea parties, but parties.” Aunt Amilia was saying to us. Liza looked exceptional tonight, her dress was golden yellow with lilac accents. She had been very excited about tonight, about the prospects of romance and the fact she did not attend such things when trapped in the countryside; even though I hadn't been looking forward to tonight, her excitement was invigorating.

I let my aunt and cousin talk as I mess with the bottom of my glass. Attending tonight meant that there was another chance for our murderer to strike, another victim to add to his growing list. I shuddered at the thought of seeing another horrific scene; a woman cut open and dispatched as though she was worth nothing. Uncle and I had conducted post mortems on all the unfortunate women, they all seemed to have similar inflicting wounds yet they were worse each time. Uncle claims our murder is getting more confident as he is taunting the Scotland Yard. As much as I enjoy the magical atmosphere the ball produced; I couldn't help but think it a waste of time. There must be more we could do to find who our perpetrator was. Thomas and I had been discussing theories over the course of the last month whenever we found ourselves together, and even with our skills combined we were no closer than when we started. It certainly didn't help that we kept getting distracted. Thomas is an excellent flirt and seems to want to do just that all the time. It did not help that my mind kept drifting back to our kiss either. I had to keep convincing myself it was the adrenaline that caused me to kiss him, not the fact I had grown to like him very much.

I kept thinking about how his hands burnt my skin, electrifying me and it made me drunk on his touch. I kept wondering what would happen to me if we were to kiss again and if I would be able to control myself. To not drown in his touch.

I caught another glance of him, but his eyes were already upon mine. I looked away just as Mr.Douglas appeared at his side. I slid my eyes back to him as he begrudgingly spoke to his boss. Thomas scowled at something he said.

“Audrey Rose, would you like another glass of champagne brought to you?” Liza asks, capturing my attention away from Thomas. I had only had one and it couldn't hurt to nurse another tonight. So I nodded and watched Aunt Amila gesture to the waiters to bring a glass for me as well as some food for Liza. My glass is replaced and I try to ignore the growing boredom I have.

“May I borrow your daughter for a dance, sir?” The smooth voice of Mr. Thomas Cresswell appears to my left. Slowly I look at him, trying to hide my confusion. And longing. I would very much like to dance with Thomas. I would like to know how it feels to dance with him, whether he can dance. Yet we were not meant to be friends, surely Uncle will notice the fact we are, and perhaps scold me for it. My father looks over at him, surly registering who he is, who his father is and the title he holds. He gives a tight smile. Father is still slowly recovering from his opium addiction. Aunt Amilia arrived so she can keep an eye on him and it makes me happier to see him be less tired. Yet it does cause problems if I need to visit my Uncle. Nathaniel narrows his eyes at Thomas, surly bemused at why his apparent robotic friend would want to dance with me. However he gives a more genuine smile than my father does. Then Uncle scowls. I would much rather face the killer's knife than be in Thomas's position right now. I look towards where Liza is trying stilfe her giggles and can't help but smile too.

“Cert-” My father begins, but does not get far before my Uncle cuts in. Of course he would. Normally he would not care. I am still shocked my Aunt managed to convince him to leave his laboratory for this.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? She's my daughter I suggest you-”

“No. Mr. Cresswell, what are you doing? You do not wish to seek out my niece for the case do you? If so, leave now.” I see Thomas wince slightly, but smile before quickly looking at me and answering:

“No sir, I can see why you'd think that but I truly wish to dance. Your daughter is captivating.” His smooth words wash over me, the honesty in his tone fills my bones, making me more light headed than the champagne ever could.

“I shall dance with you Mr. Cresswell.” I interject before anyone else can speak on my behalf. Thomas is the only one I had wanted to dance with. I make my way to the dance floor, giddy with excitement. My hands shake slightly from the need to hold him.

“I'm glad you saved me. I've been dreadfully bored.” I tell him as he places his hands on my waist, my own finding his shoulder. I forget how tall he is sometimes. I would have to go on my tiptoes if I were to kiss him and he would need to bend to find my lips. He laughs at my words and everything about him relaxes slightly as we begin to dance. Each step is filled with confidence. Of course he'd be perfect at dancing.

“I'll always be the one to save you Wadsworth. I am your Dark Prince. Be sure to think about me and my heroic nature whenever you're alone.” Once again I ignore the blush making my cheeks it’s home and focus on his smirk. His ridiculously arrogant smirk.

“Please; I have more important things to consider than you.”

“You look beautiful, Audrey Rose.The dress is magnificent, compliments you perfectly,” he must be making the connection to his own outfit and contemplating the implications behind it; “although completely unnecessary, I'm sure you are perfectly capable of rendering me speechless without a dress on at all.” Or not. The fiend just wanted to shamelessly flirt with me. To make my skin turn hot and cold all at once while I consider his implications. His eyes hold promise and he no longer wears his impenetrable mask with force. It makes him look younger, more like the man I have grown to know and not the cruel beast society believes him to be.

“You claim I render you speechless yet you still speak? Are you lying or just horribly bad at compliments? Or, you hate the dress but need to charm me nonetheless?” Despite his vaulnrability I must not allow him to have the upper hand in this conversation or I shall never live it down.

“Wadsworth, darling, please; do you really think that little of me? I'm merely stating the obvious, it's what I do best. And I don't need to charm you when you are already infatuated with me. If I were you I would be. And as much as you truly render me speechless with your brilliant mind, I adore your body too, an added bonus, but I will always be able to tell you how astonishing you look.” He looks ready to kiss me, and I know if he did I would let him. It would be quite the scandal but I do not care at this point. We flirt, tease and taunt each other endlessly but it pains me that we do not get to do it as often as we wish. That I do not get to learn each side of Thomas, like this charming man who holds me tightly, as though if he let go of me I'd disappear. I feel as though I might if he did. I search for any lie, anything but the same pain I must be showing on my face. Instead of a kiss, unfortunately, he pinches my sides lightly, as if conveying his words to me. I pinch him back and we smile, content in our own little world.

“It is a good job you are not me then isn't it?” My voice is barely above a whisper and we both know my words hold little bite. People were fools to think Thomas was anything other than lovable. He may be in pain most of the time but that was a part of his charm.

He clears his throat, attempting to control himself, “I've enjoyed the game tonight, our secret moments in this crowded room no one knows about. Each little glance at me gives my heart a rush. Makes it worth being at this blastidly boring event. I've missed you.”

‘I’ve missed you.’

The three words repeat over and over in mind. We spoke this week yet in my bones I understand what he means. We haven't truly discussed our kiss; or our feelings. We are both too wrapped up in our individual fears. Yet even with the confession we dance in comfortable silence.

“When does this get easier?” My voice is quiet for a completely different reason than before. Our eyes meet and I find myself captivated by him, the fact my best friend is not perceived as my friend. A secret that neither of us ever wanted to keep. “I want to stay with you all night, but after this we must return to our lives, I go back to being judged for my curiosity and you will go back to the animatronic villain the world thinks you are. When does it get easier Thomas?”

He contemplates for a moment, his eyes flashing all sorts of emotion before turning to that calculated gaze that feels somehow more intimate than before. If he has an idea on how to make this all better then I have no intention of stopping him.

“Wadsworth, how much does your Uncle hate me?”

“He doesn't hate you, at least I don’t think he does. He- he isn't a person who gives positive opinions on anyone. Even me. But no, I do not think he hates you, just Mr. Douglas. Oh but he doesn't like that you are working against us. For him no less.'' I have believed for some time my Uncle would like Thomas to work with us and attend his school. He never technically speaks ill of him, but of who he works for. I’m half convinced Uncle is upset Thomas did not go to him first.

“It's not ideal, I despise him, he doesn't care about the cases, but of the fame; it makes me near vomit whenever he speaks about the women- or any woman for that matter.” Uncle had said the same thing a few times to me.

“Audrey Rose, if I were to quit would your uncle offer me an apprenticeship?”

“I think so but why?”

“There are more benefits in working with your Uncle than that egotistical man. The main one being right in front of me.'' I gasp slightly and stop for a second. Once again Thomas has left me speechless at how vulnerable he is for me, at how his words caress me and hold such promises that make us both slightly afraid. There was so much wrongness in the world, so much that confused me and left me stranded. Perhaps that is why I relish science so much, in finding out facts from the deceased because they could never lie to me, never hold my brain in such misery that I feel ill. Maybe the familiar feeling of carving open a body meant that it was the only sure thing I knew. That was before Thomas.

Now I know two things for sure. For the most part. Thomas would always baffle me but in the most delightful ways.

Finally I mustered the courage to speak. “You could talk to my uncle tonight, I'm sure he'd much rather discuss the case or anything remotely close to work rather than listening to my Aunt.”

“Would you want me to work alongside you Wadsworth because if not I can-” he would always allow me a choice, but he would always doubt himself too. So I snapped my head up from where I was staring at his chest. His eyes flash as he misunderstands my movements.

“Do not finish that sentence Thomas. Of course I want you to work with me and my Uncle.”

“My brilliance is desperately needed isn't it? I mean you cannot resist my charm.” He adds a wink, lightning the tone and making me roll my eyes in the process.

“No, I'm merely the one saving you from that- that man before he rots the only decent part of your brain.” Half truth, half a lie. I relish in our easy banter.

“If you are the one saving me, will you be like the heroes in the books, because I do recall that they always give their saved maidans a kiss once they are saved?” I blush again at his words, but more so the memory of his lips on mine.

We had been investigating when two ruffians attacked, so we fled to safety in an alleyway. With one look we were both upon each other, clinging desperately as our lips met, the feeling of being lost in him, the feeling of his hair beneath my gloves. Of the sweetest kiss he added after we broke apart. Even after then Thomas had doubted his actions slightly and apologized but in that moment I didn't care about anything but him. I'd seen a new side to him that night, one I wished to witness again.

We were coming to the end of our second dance, any more would be considered improper. Thomas seemed to stumble onto that fact too as his grip tightened ever so slightly. Just enough for me to notice. I doubt even his impressive deduction skills noticed his own movement as he was too fixated on my face. It made me smile slightly. Even as I knew I'd have to break apart and return to my table. To Liza's knowing smile and teases, to the males scowling and whatever my Aunt thought.

Slowly I let go of him, the music coming back into my head, as though I had stopped paying attention to it. We walk back to my table and I take my seat, hand going onto my glass as I calm my heart. Thomas stands there awkwardly by the empty chair, so I kick it slightly with a smile playing at my lips. He scowled but sat down. I tried desperately to ignore my cousin, I knew she watched me dance and would inform me of her opinions on it and on Thomas.

Everyone at the table is silent, watching and waiting. My father orders a glass of champagne for Thomas, which indicates either he likes Thomas or the title he holds. I watch as Thomas messes with the rim of the glass. My friend has never been exactly good at social interactions and becomes restless faster than a toddler. Uncle is glaring at Thomas so my father elbows him and it seems so unlike them I smile. They are no longer close due to my mother’s death, but perhaps my Aunt can change that for the better, at least a little bit whilst she is here.

“So Mr. Cresswell, my son has been telling me a bit about you, what is it you do again?”

I've not spoken to Nathaniel about Thomas. In fact I haven't spoken to him in quite a number of days. I make a mental note to fix that.

“I'm a scientist sir.” My fathers face drops, either having that information made true or knowing Nathaniel had missed it out deliberately.

“Surely a man of your title would pursue something other than that?”

“Science isn't about titles sir, it's just the pursuit of knowledge. You must want to know how things work, how things are made. I enjoy learning about the body, the world and how it works.” My father narrows his eyes at him. He used to enjoy that sentiment before my mother died. He loved making things. It was his form of science. Perhaps if mother had not died he would be more open to my love of science. I'm filled with silence that floods my head until Thomas taps the table slightly. My attention turns to his warm smile, one that tells me everything I need.

I am not morally corrupt for liking science. I return the smile, a silent thank you.

Silence falls on our table and I find Liza watching me and Thomas with something like wonder on her face. When she notices me she smiles, then raises her eyebrows up and down and we both nearly snort with laughter. But we control ourselves as Uncle takes a seat next to Thomas. His gaze makes Thomas bounce his knee in the annoying way he does when he is nervous.

“Would it be okay for me to attend your school sir?” Thomas askes suddenly

“Yes, on one condition; you must stop working for Mr. Douglas.”

Neither of us were surprised by the condition, although I am miserable that Thomas was accepted so quickly. I had to beg my Uncle to let me join and I've only ever been once. His stipulation for me was to remain quiet. Quite a task when the ‘men’ partaking in his lesson squirmed more than I did.

“Of course.”

After a few minutes Thomas returns to his table and my Uncle stays in the seat he's in, instead of going back to the seat beside my father. My father returns to his conversation with Nathaniel, Liza and Aunt Amelia being talking again. I look to uncle in hopes he will talk to me, but he is looking at his plate of food miserably. So I sit alone silently.

“Mr. Wadsworth? May I join you this fine evening?” The voice of Mr. Blackburn pierces my thoughts. He takes the seat that was my Uncles and smiles brightly at me. “It is lovely to see you, Miss. Wadsworth. You look beautiful.”

I force a smile as my mind wanders to the words Thomas uttered to me earlier. They felt real. It leaped at me and held me tightly. Blackburns’ felt much like my smile. Forced. Polite. I had no idea what he was doing here. If he wanted to talk about the case I'm sure he'd drag Uncle somewhere.

“Thank you.” I say, turning to look at Liza and begging her to help me out. But Aunt Amelia cuts in instead.

“She looks delightful doesn't she? You must dance together.”

I try to hide my wince but it clearly doesnt work as Liza smirks at me.

“Before you do that there is something we must discuss Audrey Rose,” Blackburn states, his tone makes me squirm in my seat like a child, Uncle looks up from his food finally and they look at each other carefully, “We need you both tomorrow at the station, the Ripper has sent another letter.”

So Uncle was right when he spoke about the killer's confidence another letter surely meant he was ready to strike again. I must speak to Thomas, get him to be at the station with us, he will likely notice things we would normally miss.

“Certainly.” Was all Uncle responded with. Especially since we both noticed my father’s glare at us all.

“Both? Both? When I told you to court my daughter I didn't expect you to let her see such horrors. You were to stop her madness not help it prevail.” He snaps at Blackburn. Anger rose as I understood what my father was saying. He had graciously allowed Blackburn to court me, to marry me, without even mentioning it once to me. I was clearly too much to handle and must be doused before I dare have a life of my own choosing.

“You have been secretly courting me?” I snapped at him, rising from my seat. “Father, why on earth would you allow this? I have a right to know, to choose for myself.”

“Audrey Rose, sit down and be quiet, you're making a scene.” My Aunt snaps back. Of course, our reputation is in such jeopardy if I stand up for myself.

How had I missed Blackburns’ advances, my fathers scheme? What else were they hiding from me? My father was enraged with me, Blackburn had the guts to look sorry for me. It was utterly ridiculous. I hated him, hated my father, hated society. Myself. I'd missed it because I had convinced myself he was a friend. I was so desperate I had ignored my intuition. I was pathetic.

Instead of sitting down I pushed my chair far back and began walking out of the ballroom. I needed air. Needed control. Needed Thomas. A thought I refused to linger.

The cold air bit at my skin, seeped inside me as I walked to the edge of the garden. The darkness comforted me as tears freely slipped down my face. I was a fool. I didn't want to marry Blackburn. I wasn't sure I wanted to ever marry. I just wanted to be a scientist. I wanted-

“Miss. Wadsworth, is everything okay?” Thomas appears behind me and I find it so utterly cruel that he gets to see me so vulnerable. Not an hour ago had we danced, had we been happy and now I was apparently being courted so I spun around and let out a joyless laugh.

“Perfect, Mr. Cresswell. I am a woman in this absurd society so I must not dare think about anything remotely masculine. I must not be able to pick who I love but have my father arrange it without informing me.” I spit at the words at him, knowing he was not to blame but knowing he was the only one willing to listen to me.

“Audrey Ro-”

“Blackburn. He chose Blackburn. He was never nice to me to be my friend, but because of him and my fathers scheming. If he hadn't been he would not have been this nice to me. I know I am not exactly the nicest person and that my interests disgust society but it was nice to have a friend.” I whisper the last part as though I voice how pathetic I am.

“Am I not your friend Audrey Rose?” His voice is an attempt at a joke, I think, but it is also tinged with pain. I consider Thomas my best friend, and it hurts me he thinks otherwise.

“You are but you're different, you; I don't need to try with you Thomas. I have to try with everyone but you.” He dares a step towards our eyes finally meeting. We needn't say a thing for us to understand each other.

“Wadsworth, I find it easy with you too. More than I even understand. This world is cruel and I wish more than anything to make it better for you, for it to be better in general. I- my father long ago gave up trying to marry me off, deeming me worthless and unable to love, and I still cannot figure out which is worse.” This was another side of Thomas he was showing me, to tell me that we may not fit into society but it doesn't matter too much. The fact will always hurt us slightly but we learn to live with it. Eventually.

He takes my gloved hands and rubs small circles over my palm sending shivers over my body. “You are worth more to society than they realise, so please keep fighting for your freedom. I will forever remain your friend if that is what you wish to happen, to help you figure this world out.” His confession replaces the darkness clinging to me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be a wife, but Thomas always made me doubt that. He would always give me my freedom because he understood how important it was to me. I tighten my grip and he catches his breath as I take another step closer.

“Thomas,” My voice is somewhat breathless, my own breathing failing me, “you are not unlovable, your father is a fool. An utter fool. I want you by my side always, I fear I couldn't do this without you.” I go closer, impossibly so, “What if, what if it was more than friends though?” I may have overstepped with my question, we were in such uncertain territory to what we felt and I wished I could take back the words. What if Thomas wanted nothing more than friendship? The kiss we had could have just been adrenaline for him. His flirts may be out of boredom or something else I couldn't understand.

“I- I’m sorry.” I stutter when he doesn't respond to me. I take a step back, ready to return to the line placed between us. Where I would forever remain it seems.

That is until his hand tightened on mine and brought me back forward. My face widens in shock.

“Wadsworth I'd like that too.”

There is a second of silence as it sinks in. “You would?”

“More than anything. I care deeply about you. I shall court you like a proper gentleman if that is what you wish.” We return to standing apart and I can't help but snort at his insane statement.

“You are anything but a gentleman Cresswell.” I smile brightly as we both laugh. “It may be my favourite thing about you.” He flashes me a devilish smile.

“I am fully aware, love, that you love the scandalousness of my words. Would you like to go back inside or return home, I am sure I can get us a carriage to share.”

“Us? Thomas you do not live with me.”

“Yet,” he adds. I roll my eyes at his dramatic nature despite picturing how lovely it would be to live with him. “It would be ungentlemanly to let you return home alone; and purly scandalous to be in close quarters with you.'' Once again I ignore his words and begin to walk to where the carriages await. I couldn't care less if father got mad at me for going home. I knew I had to be lectured anyway.

“Very well, you may escort me home. From a distance.” I emphasise this to make sure he understands. He merely laughs at me.

When I make nearly a quarter of the distance and do not find Thomas with me I spin around and find him watching me with a weird expression on his face. He is captivating as he stares at me, his eyes full of wonder. His perfect hair has fallen in his face slightly, disheveling him slightly. My brows burrow in confusion at what could make him look like this, but I relish the look he gives me anyway. He really is a dark prince; standing tall in his dashing suit. He blinks when he releases I've stopped then begins to follow me.

“Are you alright?” I ask as he falls into step with me.

“Yes of course, I get to leave with the most dazzling woman at the party.”

We link arms, pay for a carriage and start to head towards my home. We sit across from each other, but the carriage is small and Thomas obnoxiously spreads his legs out so they brush against me and it takes all my willpower not to just place my hand on his knee, slowly stand then lean over him and kiss him. He nudges me and I raise my gaze, he tells me something but I've no clue what.

I blink and feel the heat of my blush form on my face. Which Thomas notices and smirks wickedly at me whilst raising his eyebrows in amusement.

“Wadsworth?” He asks and I hum a response and try to snap out of my indecent thoughts.

“Cresswell?” I attempt words, not sure that I can manage more than his name.

“My kiss? I am still waiting for it.”

When did I promise him a kiss? Not that I do not want to kiss him. He leans closer, knee hitting mine. I feel the heat of him envelop my senses even as I remember our dance and the words he teased me with. For a moment I see him doubt and so I lean in to make sure he doesn't regret being in here with me, regret asking to kiss me.

His lips are soft as they meet mine. I feel his hand rest on my knee as I deepen the kiss. My night has been abysmal and I do not think I would have made it if Thomas was here. I adore the feeling of his lips on me and find my hands wandering on his knees. This is so vastly different from the first kiss and it makes me wonder if our kisses will always be different. Thomas pulls back, resting his head on my forehead and searches my face. I am a complete mess as he looks me over and he smiles at the result of our kiss. He presses a lingering kiss then sits back. I return to being pressed against the back of the carriage as we regain our composure. But I feel his legs still against mine so I brush my own against him and his warm smile against his flushed face made my heart nearly burst.

“I should save you from boring events more often if it means kissing you like that.” The words hold the same promise as the kiss and I smile brightly at him. I didn't think I wanted a husband but perhaps being with Thomas my feelings would change. Even in my worst time Thomas would stand by me, and I'd stand by him. We would make mistakes, argue; but I felt the truth sink in that we would always see the truth in each other. He was my one and only lifeline and I do not think I could ever truly explain the feelings as they raced around in my body faster than I could comprehend.

@fangirling-again @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @purplecreatorhorsewagon @kittycat2187 @padfoot-sirius-black @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing @lovecakeandmore @loveyatopluto @yikesitsmaddie

#sjtr #hpd #efh #ctd #cressworth #cresswell #thomas cresswell #audrey rose wadsworth #stalking jack the ripper #hunting prince dracula #escaping from houdini #capturing the devil #thomas and audrey rose

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ashenburst · 3 years

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Posting some angst that I wrote. I'm not sure if it will end up in the final version of my book as this is a side character's POV. My best friend wants to skin me alive because of what I'm doing to my characters, ESPECIALLY Athanasius (the star of this chapter/oneshot), so, if you'd like some sort of Nietzschean, Dostoyevsky-ish sort of energy combined with a wounded man whose life has been nothing but exploitation... take this!

tw: gore, bugs being yuck, religious themes/trauma, heavy depression

word count: 1692, unedited because #yolo

Athanasius tugged at the hem of his shirt. The blood, well crusted, defied his movements. Elbowing it like mad, he barely managed to take it off and throw it by his side, where it lay together with the top of his uniform, discarded by the roots of an old oak. All of the clothes, drenched in a deep red. One swift yearning blew his mind, that of murder, of all of Agglomeration’s uniforms coated in metallic death. But no hatred, no hope could go that length. Nothing his soul could sustain. Not anymore.

Birds and waters and insects all sang, ignorant. Remaining in his stained breeches, he staggered close to the river and its white shore, agony greeting every movement. Flies tickled their way into half-open wounds, the stinging slits crossing his body. Sweat and blood curled his chest’s hairs with some black bugs dangling. So many flew around. Everyone had use of him.

He’d contemplated leaving himself in the state of bloodbath, and run for help in any community, feigning amnesia. The sheer horror of his appearance could not be trapped; whispers of it would run amok only to be seized by the worst of ears, those deaf to him.

Rocks of the riverbank wriggled beneath his boots. He dropped on his knees, pain shrieking once they dislocated. He held his head high. Cold hands contrasted on sun-heated stones. The Sun burnt through his quivering eyelids.

He could run. Would they find him? They would love to. He would kill to quench that love. He already had. Disappointed he was to see it insatiable.

But he could run. Where to? Aurun’s bank had his funds, but entering the city meant sure doom. The rest of the world was his destination. At least, parts of it without the Agglomeration.

And he could run. Scramble to some dreary town, then harbor. Stowaway his life until Onogea. He absolutely could. He had knowledge, he had strength, he had power.

His fingers dug into the rocks. The stone cracked under his weakness. One deep sigh to commemorate it all over again, and he choked on himself. He coughed up deep red mucus, spraying blood and its clots over round, white rocks. His hand rose, fingertips shaking like a naked twig on the wind. He coughed again, and blood squirted over his already dirty palm. So much filth. He’d long grown accustomed.

Then why was there hope? That inside and outside, all of that grunge could be cleansed? Because, he still had power. Despicably interwoven with all of his thoughts and feelings and so much absence of both. He had it, and he was abused for it, and he abused it. And he had it. And he pounded his fist against that aching chest, spewing darkness into broad daylight, scarring the nature with his own wounds, bleeding with the Devil’s compassion, and he had it. Even the Devil wept for him. Even the Devil pitied him. Yet he had it.

He huffed a fly outside his nostril. Something stuck at the back of his throat, clogging the air. He hawked, discharging even more bloody mucus, now onto himself. Stained saliva swayed from his lips. He brushed it away with the back of his palm. In his lap, red rolled, young blood over old. He separated his legs to have it smudge all the way to the ground. Kneecaps scorched as he scraped them over rocks. Wherever they dug, blood trailed, two crescents set in stone.

To be unclasped. To be a stain elsewhere. This world made it seem too simple, lovingly palpable. But he was not bound to it, and in navigating the philosophical, he reached the inevitable: responsibility would set him free. He held pseudohistoric texts that hollered so, and pseudohistory was of angelic origin, therefore applicable to him. He could recall the tremble in his fists while reading it, mind screaming and shattering with the consolation, “It would be over. You’ve understood. It would be over.” But it wasn’t. Same questions yielded same answers, and these were not meant for man. He had come to know Hell by fulfilling all wisdom.

If someone could question him for once!

He whimpered, back arching him down. Another surge of wet coughs.

In the corner of his foggy vision, he spotted a plant unusually brown, leaves writhed. His head rolled to his shoulder to gaze at it properly. It was easy to care for the inhuman. None of it was evil. But to understand? Invincibly difficult.

He raised his hand. It trembled so fucking much, but it did the job, reached the plant. Wisps ignited at his fingertips, shaky too as they glided towards the leaf, erasing blight from it, rendering it a green slate. He gave it one stroke. “There…” he croaked like the ravens of September, no bird to caw back. Why would anyone, indeed, ever even murmur back? To tangibly, blatantly forlorn he. If anew, perhaps he could be fine.

It was no hope, he reminded himself – he remembered how it once felt. It was yet another stumble into the unknown, an experimental circumstance, to see if he could, somehow, appease the referential frame up above and renounce it. He cursed under his breath. It was never enough, and they? They never should’ve made themselves known. Mankind did not need them. Mankind never wanted right. There was no right! He gasped at the Heavens. Why would they ever impose themselves, if there was no truth?! Never to reply!

But who was he, to have his wisdom pacified? Forever the staple of cruelty, a child. Neglected all over again.

Flies ravaged the inside of his mouth. He spat some, others he coughed away. Another, behind the gums, he had to scoop with his tongue, and only then dribble it out. Useless troubles for a meaningful man. Cosmic irony, overlapping the entirety of his life.

He dragged himself up to the coastline. By the water’s clarity, by its estimated location, he knew this was not one of Aurun’s five rivers. It could be Rulde. Downstream, it would lead him to Szenevod. It didn’t truly matter.

His palms drowned in the river’s cold. The rest of his body above it, he could listen and stare at the steams. The reflection was expected, a face mauled with emotion and encrusted with gore. He hated the truth inside it: he was the saint. He would be eternalized on murals, his mantle the sunlight, his cohort the flora, his mouth bloody obscene, but the heart, the pastors would claim, the heart pure and so profoundly tortured! And they would assure fervently: the greater the suffering, the greater the Heaven’s lodge. He wouldn’t even bother to tell them the great truth that living for the afterlife could only give Hell, and he already held it, and no Heaven was worth the misery.

He was the saint, beloved only at a distance. He would’ve kissed that saint, if only he had known how to love him. He was, after all, right beneath him, gaping back with barren ambers. He could not hope for this man. There was nobody and nothing in the eighteen years of his existence that ever nursed his soul. Why keep going, if it could only get worse? He had made one fatal mistake, only recently. He licked sweet hope only for it to burn bitter, for one could not be defined without the other. He didn’t have to know nor to realize, for it had always been an axiom surer than the Sun. Him, a fool for ignoring the one truth he found, denying the axiom it supported, and finally, aching after the plainest of swindles.

Constantin, you did not care.

He could no longer care either. But he could cry. By all means, he could. Tears were harmless. He wasn’t. He did.

What would you do if you saw me like this?

He stared at himself through dreary eyes. Tears swelled in the blood’s mud, warmth draping over his face, uncomfortably coating it, suffocating the skin. He never got the answer. It wasn’t meant for him. And he squealed all of his helplessness for the world to ignore.

He hacked between sobs, hair and insects sticking into his mouth. Droplets and patches of blood gracefully dispersed beneath him, and he kept adding onto the red, throat itching to puke every violent sob, every harsh whine. It clenched so hard, gagged him, threatened to empty the bowels. He couldn’t breathe, for he couldn’t reach for air, and so no sound escaped his wet lips parted in a mute cry. Bile dripped from it, sour to taste. It had always been ugly, to what end? There was nothing to let out. Nostrils flared, he thought he calmed, once he pieced together that thought. Yet, in the dread of peace, he found it in him to scream like mad, drool and tears carried by the river.

Why? He didn’t have to. Nobody would hear. The river flowed on, the nature lapped at his body to nourish itself with his blood, tears, and agony. The usual. There never was a divine interference but to plague, and there never was an ear that heard unless it willed to. And he was so accursedly aware of it! And he wailed despite all of it! Him, foolish him!

Have him punished, someone! Tender hooves trampling him into dust and bones. Please! The same death he could not prevent! The same moment his power abandoned him, when he needed it most, when his heart shredded and when he came back to discover – death! His lifelong accomplice! He pleaded! Flies devour all of his rot! Rocks hammer all of bones! Waters bloat every muscle! Punish him!

“Please…” he begged for the umpteenth time, the mantra of his life, the disease of his death. “I’m not…” His hand slipped, gave out, and the water slapped him.

Indifferent, he dropped into the torrents to carry him anywhere. The waters silenced everything, mercy for once. If his anguish ever held any merit, he’d waste it all on one desire: never to bless this world with another Chosen One.

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star-whores-a-new-hoe · 4 years

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Coruscant Sunsets//Obi Wan X Reader Forever Series: Part 7

Summary: Obi Wan returns to you after a mission and you teach him how to dance.

Word count: 3.5K

Warnings: Mostly fluff, Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Slight dom/sub, tiny bit of angst, unprotected sex, some cursing and typos!

A/N: sorry the wait for this was so long! Quick note though, there is smut in this chapter! I know that some of there readers of this series are not comfortable with smut so I have marked off where it begins. And there is no need to worry about missing anything related to the plot by not reading the smut stuff. Enjoy!

The sunset on Coruscant was bursting with gold and pink sunbeams, Illuminating the sky and bathing it with rose colored light. Even with the city traffic partially obscuring the sky scape, it was breathtaking. You leaned on the railing of the balcony, hand on your chin as you lazily watched the way the colors of the sky blended together, creating a living painting. Melodious Music wafted up from your phone, which lay forgotten by your feet, pulling you further into your spellbound trance.You closed your eyes, letting the warm evening breeze brush your face, as if it were affectionately stroking your cheek.

As you gazed out at the city before you, you began to reminisce about what had taken place in this same spot not all that long ago. You remembered the tense apprehension that had tightened in your shoulders as you professed your feelings to obi wan, the wave of relief that released your unconscious tension when he admitted he felt the same, and the sensation of his lips on yours, making you feel complete.

Every moment you had spent with Obi since had been one of pure joy. Sadly, that time had been cut short earlier that week as he had been sent on a mission. The council had agreed that you were well enough equipped to handle yourself while he was gone, though. You had watched him walk onto the ship with Anakin clad in his clone armor, ready to give everything he had for an unthankful galaxy.

Enraptured with the melodies flowing from your phone, you didn’t register the distinct mechanical shwoosh of the apartment door. Obi leaned against the doorway to the balcony, excitedly waiting for you to notice him. His long cloak, which you so adored, flowed in the evening breeze. You felt his smile on you before you even fully registered his presence. Sensing someone, you faced him, a smile tugging at your lips that made him draw a breath, shaky with desire after having been away for so long.

“Obi!” You shouted, unable to contain the glee in your voice. He opened his arms to you and let you run into his waiting embrace. His lips softly brushed the top of your head with a tenderness that only he could possess.

“Hello darling.”

You wrapped his long cloak around you which made him chuckle. “Tell me, did you really miss me or was it only the cloak?”

You pretended to think his question over for a moment. “Both.” Chuckling, he pulled your lips up to his for a tender kiss. “I DID miss you Obi, did everything go well on your mission?”

He rested his chin on top of your head and sighed. “As well as these missions can go, my dear.”

“I’m sure you’re tired.” You said, reluctantly stepping out of his arms. “You probably want to go get some rest.”

He took your hand in his. “On the contrary, I would much rather stay here with you.” His words never failed to send your heart a flutter. “And what were you up when I so rudely interrupted you?”

“Just watching the sunset, jamming out to some tunes.” You vaguely gestured to your phone, a gentle melody still spilled out of it onto the balcony.

“Might I join you?”

“I thought you didn't like Earth music?” You questioned as you made your way back over to the balcony. “Lots of loud noise and vulgar words.” You mocked, mimicking his Coruscanti accent.

“I enjoy some Earth music,” He said, following you to the balcony’s edge. “There are just so many genres, it’s quite overwhelming.”

You picked up your phone and began to scroll through your playlists. “Well, what kind of music do you like?”

“Jizz, I suppose.” He said without missing a beat.

You looked up at him with confusion. “Excuse me?”

“Jizz, it’s a style of music.”

You paused for a moment. “Um… Ok, just gonna ignore that.”

“What did...oh.” Realization hit him like a blaster bullet, he flushed and coughed, trying to think of a way to change the subject.

“That style is really jazzy right? I think you might like Glen miller then.”

“And who is this Glen Miller?” He asked as you placed your phone back down on the ground, pressing play on ‘In the Mood.’ You swayed absentmindedly to the beat as you answered Obi Wan.

“He had a band and, well, this was their music. It’s kind of old though, Must’ve come out at least sixty years ago.”

“And you think I’ll like it because it's, how did you put it, jazzy?”

You giggled at his comment. “Yeah. I think you’ll enjoy the way the instruments work together to create the song. Plus it came out at a time of great turmoil, much like now. It made people really happy.”

“How so?”

“Well, people would go out dancing to this kind of music.” He walked a little closer to you, his arm brushed against yours.

“I don’t know if i’ve ever really danced.”

You gasped at him in false surprise. “General Kenobi! You mean to tell me you don’t know how to dance?”

He chuckled at how seriously you took this. “I’ve never had any need as a jedi.”

You stretched out your hand for his, ready to show him what he had been missing. “Even jedi should know how to dance.”

You took his hand in yours, and placed his other on your waist before caressing his broad shoulder with your free hand. You contemplated his strength and authority which he so easily carried in battle, and your face flushed at how you were the one leading him through the dance.

“Ok so it’s really simple, just listen to the music, and sway. Do whatever feels right”

“Like this?” He said, gently shifting his weight from side to side, bringing you with him.

“Just like that! And you can always hold me a little closer.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” You grinned as he brought you closer to him.

“Oh! Can you spin me?”

“How do I go about that?” You moved so you held his hand high above your head before twirling.

“You want to try?” You repeated the same actions with him, which was a tad bit more difficult. “And normally couples talk while they dance.”

“Oh are we a couple?”

You felt your face heat up at getting caught. “Is that alright?”

He smiled down at you, “That's wonderful.”

As the song changed, so did the mood, switching to the mellow Moonlight serenade as the sun sunk lower in the sky, darkness beginning to crawl its way across the city.

“I wanna ask you something that's gonna ruin the moment.” You said after a beat of silence.

“Go ahead.”

You bit your lip, pondering if you should have kept your thoughts to yourself. “How are things going with locating the planet for the ritual?”

He nodded solemnly, like he knew this question was coming. “Slowly, I presume.” He paused for a minute and looked out over the horizon, deep in thought. “Y/n, I understand your desire to go through with this and I wish to support you… but it’s so dangerous, I don't want you hurt, or worse.”

“I understand Obi, But I have to. I can’t just leave my home behind. I have to at least try.”

He placed a tender kiss to your forehead.

“Ok darling,” You laid your head on his chest as he swayed you side to side in his strong arms.

“Obi?” He hummed in response. “I think I might love you.”

“I love you too.” He lent down to seal his statement with a passionate kiss.

Warning! Smut begins! Turn around if you wish to preserve your innocence!

You placed your hands on his toned torso, anything to keep yourself steady as his intoxicating lips worked against. Obi’s movements began to grow lustful, pulling you closer to him while his lips extracted all sorts of small whimpers from you.

You pulled back from him, slightly breathless, and stared deep into his eyes, searching for an answer to the question you were about to voice. You found it in the dark lust that laid in them.

“You know, there’s um something that I’ve wanted to try for a while, or at least talk to you about trying.” You couldn’t believe how flustered you felt trying to approach this subject with him.

“Yes?” He asked. Looking down at you with a raised eyebrow, a look that never failed to make your heart do backflips.

“Well um, I know that certain...activities are frowned upon by the council and I understand you are already risking a lot with an emotional attachment to and, well I guess I just want to know how far you wanted to go.” You stared down at your shoes. “Physically.”

He smirked at your shy manner. “ I see.”

“If that’s something you don’t want to do I completely understand, I just want to be here for you and support you, I don’t want to put any pressure on you.” You added entirely too quickly.

“Oh Darling, I am all for taking the next step.” He held your waist a tad bit tighter in his large warm hands and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Physically.” You felt an explosion of butterflies burst through your body at his words.

“Why don’t we take this back into the apartment?” You suggested. You scooped up your phone and turned off the music before practically running back into the apartment with Obi wan close behind, the two of you opting to leave the peace and serenity of the outside for the comfort of each other.

As soon as Obi Wan closed the door behind him, your hands were on his body. Exploring the planes of his chest over his thick Jedi robes, while he cupped your face in his hands and brought you in for another heated kiss.

You snaked your hands under his cloak and pushed it off his shoulders, watching it pool to the ground by his feet. Obi wan’s fingers began to slip under the hem of your shirt. He let them gently run over the smooth skin of your waist, the simple action doing much to excite you.

The two of you worked your way into the bedroom, which proved very difficult being as neither of you were too keen on taking your hands off the other. You toed off your shoes and plopped yourself down on the bed, watching closely as Obi took off his boots, leaving them neatly by the doorway. You rolled your eyes at his cleanliness.

He walked towards where you sat on the bed, staring you down with a lustful yet loving gaze. He lent over you and grabbed the bottom of your shirt.

“May I take this off?” You nodded, words failing you under his intense stare. You lifted your arms up and let him rid you of the shirt. You felt slightly shy now that the clothes were beginning to come off. Now that you were being truly revealed to him for the first time.

The gentle brush of Obi Wan's hand against your cheek brought you back to reality.

“Are you quite alright darling?”

“Yep, I just um don’t do this kind of thing often.” You let out a nervous laugh.

“If you wish to stop..”

“No!” You interrupted him, the words wouldn't come out of your mouth quick enough. “No I want to keep going I just..” The struggle to think of the right words frustrated you. “I want to make sure that I’m making you feel good.”

He smiled at your sweetness. “It’s very simple my dear, just do whatever feels right.”

You smirked at him. “Repeating my own advice back to me?”

“Well, it was very good advice.” He placed a hand over his beard, obviously thinking something over. “Why don’t you lie back.”You did as he suggested, scooting up the bed to lay on the many soft pillows which enveloped you with a sense of comfort. Your eyes took in the way Obi Wan removed his Jedi robes and belt, slowly, as if he were thinking over all the things he could do to you without the hindrance of clothing. “now I want you to tell me if you don’t feel comfortable with this.” You nodded your head. “Touch yourself for me.”

It took a moment for his words to take full affect. “Like, touch myself?” He smiled and gently caressed your leg from where he stood by the edge of the bed.

“Yes, touch yourself. I need to make sure I know how you like it.”

Impossible turned on by this idea, You ran your hands over your bra and down your stomach, letting some of your confidence seep back into you. “That's a good point, will you help me out and do the same?” He shot you a devilish smirk.

“I do suppose it is only fair.” You watched him absentmindedly run his hands down his sides as you began to toy with the waistband of your pants. Spreading your legs, you ran your hands slowly over your thighs, not yet letting them touch where you and Obi Wan wanted them the most.

There was pure heat radiating from his gaze and settling onto your skin, setting your body ablaze with desire. Back arching off the bed, you reach back and undid the clasp of your bra before letting the straps slide off, Holding it tightly against your chest.

“Tell me General Kenobi, do you want to see my tits?”

“More than anything.” He groaned. With a grin, you let the shred of fabric covering your chest drop down, traveling your gorgeous breast, nipples stiff from equal parts arousal and the cool air. You trailed your fingertips down the soft skin of your neck before dragging them down to grope and your chest.

Obi whimpered at the sight of you, bringing his hand down to palm at his fast growing erection. The room grew hot with the tension between the two of you as you trailed your hands down your breasts to your hips, undoing your pants and tossing them to the side. With a slightly tentative hand, you smoothed your hands over the growing wet spot on your underwear.

“Is that all for me darling? I haven't even touched you yet.” You whined as your fingers grazed your clothed clit.

“I wish you would.”

“I will soon my dear.” He undid his belt and worked on removing his pants. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Really good.” You breathed out. The ache from between your legs spread over your body, engulfing it with a lust filled fire.

“Why don’t you take those off.” The way he was so soft yet dominating at the same time drove you insane. Without a second thought, your last remaining shred of clothing was thrown to the floor, giving Obi Wan a full view of you glistening pussy. Obi Wan did his best to memorize this moment, the way you were sprawled out on the bed for him, naked and desperate. It was the most amazing sight he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Maker, you’re gorgeous.” Your already burning body grew hotter at his words.

“M-may I…”

“What is it darling?” He chuckled. “Please don’t get shy on me now, I’ve seen you insult Jedi council members to their faces and take out bounty hunters and a single shot. You can certainly use your words.”

“May I finger myself?”

“Oh my.” He reaches his hand down his boxers to help relieve his achingly hard cock. “Go ahead darling.” You drew your fingers through your soaking pussy lips before letting them dip into your entrance. Obi wan watched attentively, taking mental notes about how fast you went and how much pressure you used. It amazed him how much smaller your fingers were than his, thrusting in and out of yourself. He couldn't wait for them to be his fingers.

“Oh god.” You moaned at the stretch caused by your two digits. Obi pulled out his dick and began to slowly stroke his thick length as he watched you.

“Oh, I want your cock so bad Obi.” The Jedi’s seemingly unending patience was beginning to wear thin. Obi Wan got on the bed and placed himself over top of you, he quickly replaced your fingers with his and kissed you with the utmost desire.

He pulled back from your kiss. “You’ve been a good girl, young one.” the combination of His fingers furiously pumping into you and his lips against yours made you head foggy. His two fingers were so deep inside you, hitting that magical spot over and over again.

“O-obi, I’m so close.” He used his other hand to rub harsh circles on your clit.

“Go ahead darling, let go.” Your orgasam was earth shattering, not just because of the overwhelming pleasure sending shockwaves through your body, but from finally getting to experience it with Obi Wan. Months of want and holding back, of denying feelings and stolen glances, of longing to be with him, finally gave way to this and you couldn’t be happier.

As you came down from your high, your lover gently stroked your hair, slowly bringing you back to reality, back to him.

“Wow.” You said.

He smiled down at you “Wow indeed.” You let your gaze rake down his body to his hard cock.

“Need some help with that?”

“I would love some.” Your hand reached down between the two of you and wrapped around him, using your thumb to spread the precum over the sensitive tip. He hissed at the feeling. You wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing his body even closer to yours. With his cock positioned at your entrance you looked up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to make you feel whole.

“Please?” At your words, he sunk his thick length into you, agonizingly slow. The two of you gasped in unison at the feeling. “Oh my god.” You sobbed when he bottomed out. “You’re so fucking big.” Obi gave you a moment to adjust to his size, you took the opportunity to run your hands over the bare skin of his back, gently tracing the scars that your fingers encountered while you peppered small kisses on his shoulder. “You can move.” At your command he dragged his cock out of you before slamming back in.

You wrapped your fingers in his hair, occasionally tugging at it when his thrusts hit really deep. You felt completely overwhelmed by him. His presence was all around you, enveloping you, taking you and bringing you to the utmost heights of pleasure with every single thrust. Obi Wan’s hips rolled into yours, his hands explored every inch of your body and his thick length inside of you had completely reduced you to a whimpering mess.

“Fuck yes, you feel so good inside me.” You bit your lip, doing your best to restrain your moans. He left a series of sloppy kisses down your neck leading to your breast. He looked directly into your eyes as he took one of your nipples into his hot mouth. You bit your lip at the sight of him, attempting to hold back your moans.

“Let it out for me darling.” He punctured that with a particularly hard thrust that had a groan falling from your lips and your back arching off the bed, pushing you closer to his chest. “Let me hear you.” Obi’s hand slipped down between your bodies and toyed with your sensitive clit. With that action you could feel you body began to hurtle towards the edge, your pussy tightening around him.

“Uh, maker, I’m close darling.” He grunted out, hips rhythmically slamming into you as he brought his face close to yours.

“Me too.”

“Let go Y/n, come around my cock.” His filthy words sent you spiraling into your second orgasm of the night, the pleasure roaring through your body like a tidal wave. Your climax triggered Obi Wan’s, he quickly pulled out and stroked himself to completion, releasing onto the soft skin of your stomach with a cry of your name.

The two of you laid there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, attempting to control your breathing as the buzz of your orgasms left, leaving a tingiling of satisfaction in their wake. You reached up to cup his face in your hands and pulled him down to you for a sweet kiss.

“I love you Obi Wan, I hope you know that.” your words made his heart soar.

“I love you too Y/n.” Reluctantly, he moved off of you. “I suppose I should clean up the, erm, mess I made.” You giggled.

“You can make a mess out of me any time you like, General.” You watched him grab a towel and make his way back to you.

“Keep talking like that and doubt you’ll be getting much sleep tonight.” He said as he cleaned you up.

“Speaking of which, do you have any Jedi business or…”

“I can stay here with you for the rest of the night my love.” situated the two of you under the covers and pulled you into his chest, letting you rest your head right above his heart. You glanced out of the large window that overlooked the city, once again you admired the blending colors of the now almost dark sky. You were lulled to sleep by the besting of your lovers heart, and the courscant sunset.

Tags: @fangirl-on-bitches @whovianayesha @scarlettsoldier

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stronghours · 3 years

Text

SUNSHINE IN THE SKY REPRISE

And it came to pass, a few weeks after she and Jules made a bad decision on his thrifted futon, that they met again during 4th of July merrymaking.

Lux toddled in grey lake water among Ava, Claire, and Archie (Celeste down and out with summer flu). Lux couldn’t swim, a fact disclosed in private to Ava, which Ava hadn’t kept to herself, and the group formed a stooped, anxious ring around her doggy-paddling. She was forced, among the smell of hot dogs in the safe green grass hundreds of yards beyond and the ominous cloud cover above, to make sure only her ass whomped her protectors’ knees when the waves tried to boil her body up and away. She’d made a mistake, and her only wardrobe protection beyond her suit itself and her spandex underthing was a hastily added solid color sarong, which while dry didn’t match, and while wet, just looked lousy and modest. But she couldn’t be parted with it and had made up a past bout of minor skin cancer, a pin-mole insidiously located on her protected inner thigh, the paranoia of which haunted her still. Even Ava dropped her chin for the C-word.

Now she suggested Lux float on her back and allow her perception of the water to form fingers in the magic slot located on her lower back, and soon she’d be floating like crazy among the wacky kids and her hot workmates and her boss and all their invisible pubes. A wave slapped dirty fingers up Lux’s nose.

“It’s kind of like learning a language,” Archie contributed. “Got to learn it when you’re young. Looks like your parents fucking doomed you.”

“My pap pap slam-dunked me in our above-ground when I was five,” said Claire, who floated tummy-down in frog position by exerting no effort Lux could observe. “I bobbed right back up, but like, what if I hadn’t?”

Lux, six feet tall, decided to use it to her advantage and planted her knees in the sandbar. She could just about do it and keep her eyes and forehead in periscope position.

“Reuben and I are thinking of installing an above-ground,” said Ava, and seeing Lux shrink, rose to her feet and splashed water across her dewy collarbone. Lux pushed every single one of them out of her mind and stared between the chops out into the open sea to make-believe Michigan somewhere on the other side. A rhythmic slap approached from the left and the white bow of a lifeguard’s canoe sailed past their collected heads.

“Hey now,” scolded the familiar voice behind the sunglasses, “only three hot bitches are allowed in the water at a time. Think of the community.”

Ava sloshed around at the familiarity, but everybody else had already noticed it was, absurdly, Jules, and sent up a bunch of soggy greetings, all except Lux who rose into a semi-crouch in the drifting seabed out of surprise, and Ava, who let them all perform verbal recognition on her behalf and only spared a nod.

Jules looked very high school, very lanky on the bobbing bench, with the oars braced under his tanned arms and his cute red tank top cinched under his fanny pack. He rode the up-down of the surf the same way he did most things, with enough bored grace to suggest he’d learned quite enough and had more interesting things to do. Lux had recently learned this conceit of his could be bypassed, and she was glad he kept the sunglasses on when he looked her over.

“What’s up Cathy,” he said, with the same Sophomore carelessness, and she plunged her head under an oncoming wave, the pressure preferable to the dawning knowledge that now, he had information he could disclose, and he’d had it for weeks.

She rose again, squinting. She couldn’t tell if he had caught on.

“What?” he asked. “What did I do?”

“You got another job, Jules?” Ava surged forward, displaced Lux. “Roscoe doesn’t give you enough to do, on top of commissions?”

“Give me another commission and you’ll find out.” He drew the left oar’s pole hard under his titty to keep the nose of the canoe from slicing into their crescent. The mechanism bucked like a horse and the wind snatched the ugly white hat off his head and toward an oblivion of preteens due north. Claire yelped and threw herself into the water, rippled away to go fetch it. “You ever been in the cellar underneath Rawhide, Ava? That’s like, thrice-darkness. I was gonna kill myself.”

“I’ve never been in a situation that required me to be in the cellar underneath Rawhide.” Prim Ava glanced pityingly at Lux, who allowed wave after wave to pummel her head in her effort to stay low. “Poor baby. She can’t swim.”

“Throw her off the pier,” Jules suggested.

“It worked for Claire’s pap pap,” Archie said, and braced an annoying hand on the back of Lux’s neck. “Sorry babe, looks like you’re going down.”

Lux threw herself underwater before Archie could push her into the drink. Beneath the top swell she had enough time to touch her palms to the sand and try to dig her hands where she’d braced her knees, but she was blind, and the divots were washed away and the grains were swept off and replaced swept off and replaced, and she panicked when the water tugged the sarong’s knot. She resurfaced from the green and grey, coughing and yanking the weedy fabric around her legs. Ava, shining and petite against the sky, so securely tucked to smoothness, had finished with Jules herself and was high stepping back to shore.

“…I’m just saying, you should definitely try it out –” Archie had spoken in the interim. Jules was nodding. He’d shoved the sunglasses up and over his curly head and while his gaze was trained forward to take in the gamboling bathers, Lux could feel him keeping her in the corner of his eye.

She remembered being in good if overenergetic spirits. She recalled a hot yellow sun. She wore her lavender halter with the powder-blue culottes, her hair freshly hennaed from the night before and trustily bunned. She traveled from a three-hour duo with Ava regarding some mind-numbing bouts of predicament ropework that left her guiltily bored of the client and his ballerina snobbishness, but pleased with her improving knots, and with the fact she could at least trick Ava into thinking she was a viable rope top. She’d exited the bus prematurely and entered the sidewalk throng to burn through her constipated spirits, past a raucous patio partition of a dippy sport’s bar and collided with Jules himself, exiting.

It was like striking a human-size grasshopper. He recoiled, elbows up, and almost upset a busboy’s tray. She reared at his excess, ready to dive into the full indulgence of her insult. In the past year after the Annelise Petro incident she’d only seen him at a distance. Their last words, exchanged in close quarters within Jules’s car more than twelve months ago, had not been civil. He was much tanner than she remembered of him in previous summers. He’d filled out in the chest and shoulders. For a second, she could glimpse he’d gained some weird physical vitality – but as she observed, the color drained from his face. His shoulders slumped. He looked sick as a dog. She’d thought he was drunk.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and steered his head away from her. “Do not,” she ordered, “Do not fucking puke on me.”

He pulled himself straight but didn’t dislodge from her grip. “Don’t say anything,” he hissed, dirt-sober, and before she could make him clarify, a middle-aged couple loomed over his shoulders. The woman, a full six inches shorter than both Lux and Jules (it was just then Lux realized she and Jules were precisely the same height) sparkled nervously, trussed in Cubs blues.

“Oh Jules,” she said, “Who’s this?”

She was blond and ferrety, but in the man, Lux could see a sour and fleshy shadow of Jules’s own face and bearing. He looked at her with the same stern contemplation Jules had leveled on her in the past, and Jules presently, dead in the eyes, curled in on himself like a shrimp.

She’d inexplicably exited her rancorous ditch and stumbled over Jules in the no-man’s land of Blood Relatives. She wanted to, against all rational thought, shove him behind her back and put her arms out.

Instead, she reached a hand to the man (dad? Oh boy, what fun) and chirped, “Hi, I’m Catherine!”

And to the woman (mother? God in heaven), “don’t we just all love Jules!”

The woman shriveled with feeling that hardly looked like relief. The man gravely shook Lux’s hand, and she was pleased with his grip’s condescending pressure. Her body moved far ahead of her brain. She could see herself at distance, popping one toe behind her planted heel, one hip cocked, tits pushed out, but no further than her glowing smile. “And how do you two know each other,” the man said, said, explicitly did not ask. Neither man nor woman introduced themselves.

Jules, white-lipped, opened his mouth but Lux flowed over him. “2007,” she answered, “Leidermeister Playhouse, down in, uh, are you from around here? No? Well, Tinley-ish. Way down there. Spring musical. I was on playbill. And Jules was doing costumes for Pippin.”

For the first time, Jules treated her to the sweet sight of his smug, sick face struck totally dumb.

“Theater!” The woman bubbled. She put her hand on her companion’s meaty forearm, placating.

But the man was not letting her go without a fight. “Theater,” he said. “And what part did you play.”

She treated him to her glowing smile first (cracking, a little). If Jules had learned his own abysmal manners from these creeps, then he’d somehow made improvements on his own time.

“The Mother,” she improvised. “Of course.”

“Stepmother,” Jules piped up, at last.

It was all yadda-yadda to Lux, but the man finally checked the neon dial of his watch, gripped the woman by the elbow, said they would have to start taking pains for a cab if they wanted to catch the game in time. “Sure,” Jules said, though his permission hadn’t been asked, his advice unsought. “You’re not far away.”

“You call her and say you saw us, sir,” the man said. “She’ll expect it.”

Jules was too busy accepting limp patty-pats from the woman, who shot Lux a tragic grin before she scampered up the sidewalk, followed by the broad back of her presumed husband. No proper hug, no I-Love-You, no masculine head smacks or back whacks or take-care-of-yourself-you-hear pronouncements. They just walked away. Her own parents would be appalled.

The life was coming back to Jules’s face, but he was still doubled over, as if from a cramp. “Jiminy Christmas,” he uttered, and she wanted, in a surge, nothing more than to pinch his cheeks and trap his head in her armpit and noogie him to death and bust his fluff. Instead, she assisted him away from the crowd, and before long they strolled down a quiet residential street, arm in arm. She decided to give him five whole minutes to recover from the encounter, but he did it in two.

“Ledermeister,” he said to her, appalled.

“Leider,” she corrected.

“You nutty bitch,” he dared, but there was no gas behind it.

“It’s like you think I’m some kind of pervert or something,” she said, and before she could help it, she started to nag. “What did you think I was going to say? Jules makes rubber sex suits with built-in condoms? I saw him in street clothes in a high-etiquette dungeon fingering my boss’s twenty-one-year-old latex bottom?” She felt him up a little in her haste, accidentally, and he squeaked. “Who actually has something to lose here?” She asked. “Who’s the fucking dominatrix here?”

“You don’t like me,” Jules said, coolly. “I had no idea what you would say.”

He sounded terribly calm. The sidewalk was dappled in shadows of maple leaves and, boxed in by reasonable townhouses on both sides, she was inclined to stay calm as well, and in her calm, she found a strange truth.

“I like you just fine,” she said.

“Oh.”

She liked him just fine. She liked him more than she liked Ava.

They walked.

“God, it’s fucking hot,” she said. It would be more comfortable not to have their arms around the other, but she didn’t unlatch.

“I moved to this neighborhood a couple weeks ago,” he said. “We’re not too far. I’ve got a window unit.”

A window unit meant he’d accumulated an actual window; a net gain from what she remembered of the dismal basement unit she’d ducked inside three times over their three year acquaintance, along with a damp cement strip notating the kitchen and two hoary pipes jutting six inches from the ceiling where tawny water dripped into provided buckets and Jules himself, barefoot, crisscross applesauce on a carpet square stringing the hundredth of ten-thousand waiting bugle beads with one or two local drag queens, staring open mouthed at a small, shit television propped up on a pile of clean laundry encased in a garbage bag, and onscreen a shoulder-padded daytime soap actress made lines like “there’s nothing to worry about Blake – do you really think I’d expose the Nazi treasure to outsiders?”

“Yeah, let’s,” she said.

He’d found a squat, orangey building with collapsed flower beds out front and only the faintest smell of weed in the halls. She noted, vain, that he opened the doors for her and motioned her up the stairs first and it wasn’t until she’d reached the top landing of the third floor, and he was sorting out keys that she felt the pluck of that old sexy situation, which was Going Inside a Boy’s Apartment, something she hadn’t done since college, and even at that time, something that usually happened under the close watch of protective friends. She couldn’t eye him either, to see which way his intentions were shifting – he was already eying her – but then he let her inside and the feeling was wiped out by absurd, maternal relief.

“Oh, thank God,” she blurted out. “This is so much better.”

The place still smelled like paint and floor wax, and she walked about at her leisure, touching the walls, and flapping her arms, knowing she wasn’t going to crash into a spiderweb or trod on mummified centipedes. The only furniture yet was a pulled-out futon (he was a bedmaker, who knew) and the walls had been built out to delineate a kitchen. She lifted the back of her shirt to the air conditioner.

“I thought you were an idiot for accepting that place, before,” she told him, regarding the old basement. “Or you’d picked it to antagonize people on purpose.”

“Give me a break! I was broke. I was nineteen.”

He shed one flip-flop on his way to the kitchen. She watched it prone on the floor while she calculated.

“No, no,” she reminded him. “When we first met, Ava said you were twenty. We were in a bar. She made you duck under the table when the bouncer made rounds. You were illegal.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, unevenly thwap-thwapping back to her. He handed her a beer. “I was here a whole year before you showed up. I came before you.”

He sat on the edge of the futon, and she considered that perspective as he scratched the back of his shin with his bare foot. He had long, narrow feet, and when he was looking at things that weren’t people looking back at him, his eyes tended to glaze over. He was looking at the blank wall.

“Hold up,” she said. “How old are you now?”

“Old enough for you to sit next to me,” he replied.

It didn’t mean anything, coming from him. She left her beer on the windowsill and sat next to him. He’d have to get a nicer bed at some point, she thought, bouncing up and down a little, and wondered if, all along, his manners and his living situation pissed her off so much not because, as she initially believed, they were representations of his obnoxious personality, but because she had been frightened that he was going to get hurt and clearly no one else around was going to warn him otherwise.

“You must have left your parents pretty quick,” she said.

“That was my aunt and uncle, just now.”

“Were they more fun when you were growing up?”

“My grandma raised me,” he said. “For eight years. Then we swapped.”

She unfastened her sandal straps and tried to dream up a guess about him that could possibly be correct, but she had the feeling if she said raised in a house? He’d go no, in Mr. Toad’s canary-colored caravan, and the woodland squirrels taught me how to sew, and I lost my virginity to Morlocks. She wondered if she was the first girl he’d ever brought up here. She wondered if his aunt and uncle already knew he was gay. She wondered if he was gay. And in her wonderings, she missed, at first, his growing impatience beside her. He touched her hand; she accidentally flipped her right sandal underneath the futon.

“Crap,” she said.

He rolled his eyes and slid to the floor, slipped between her legs, and with one cheek pressed to her thigh he rooted one armed underneath the springs and came out with the sandal, which he deliberately tossed several feet away. He came up on his knees, face lifted to hers, and she had to spread her own knees to accommodate him. His stern little expression was very cute, and she was warm with pleasant condescension, something sorely missing from her and Ava’s ropework that afternoon. She was tired of art, she decided, ignoring Jules’ cold hands creeping up the back her shirt, and she was tired of fantasy and she was sick of endurance feats physical and mental, and she was tired of her own cowardly communication, so much so the tiny bubble of unearned pride she felt for Jules’s ability to maneuver himself into the positions he required ballooned, out of control, into an old familiar cocoon where she couldn’t hurt him and he couldn’t hurt her.

“Nobody knows,” he told her, perhaps feeling it too. “But I can be a good boy.”

Jiminy Christmas, indeed. But he couldn’t have her for cheap, and he clawed her spine too confidently. She put her palm to his left cheek, let her thumbnail scrape over a pale divot where it looked like the nap of a paint scraper had teased out a pill of his flesh, years ago.

“Listen,” she asked, and squeezed his ribs with her knees. “If you had met me while I was with relatives, and I looked scared about it, what would you have done?”

His fixed gaze skittered to the side, over the wall, across the floor, and while he didn’t retreat, he only spoke up when his face reached a zenith of clumsy guilt. “I would have fucked around with you first,” he admitted. “Only a little.”

“I thought so,” she said, and smacked him a nasty one across the face.

With no furniture around, the crack resonated. Jules took it open-eyed. He didn’t whine or argue and only clenched his jaw a couple seconds after, when the real pain hit. He faced her again, glowing and pink, his left eye watering. She couldn’t help it. She grabbed his head and squeezed and clawed and palpated, yanked his lamby hair, perfect for yanking, and beat his butt with her heels. His head thrashed and his hands flapped around behind her back. She seized one and forced it down on the blanket and let the other undo her halter knot while she bridled him with her free thumb. His back molars rose on the edges in sharp ridges, and she whirled her wrist under his chin until she could see him swallow from the inside. The whites of his eyes showed.

“Good boy my ass,” she said, to herself, but he heard and appeared wounded. “Okay, okay,” she conceded. She wiped her thumb on his face, forgave him silently, and even her playful meanness disintegrated. He crawled over her lap and rubbed his red-hot face in her shoulder, gnawed painlessly on her clavicle. His shorts stuck out in front.

She knew a hundred ways of positioning and a hundred more roleplay scenarios he’d probably accept without suspecting she used them not to her pleasure, but to protect her modesty. She was sick of it all, hadn’t fucked or been fucked properly since she’d been his age, and was horny enough to maim. She took him again by the shorthairs along the nape of his toasted neck, and when he sighed down her back, she pressed his hand to her groin.

“Feel,” she ordered.

He felt dopily, paused, and resumed. Squeezed. Offered no comment.

“Tell me what that is,” she said.

He had delicate ways when he had enough patience to reveal them. Without asking permission he slipped a hand down her waistband, far between her legs, far too quickly for her to chase him off, and by the time she felt him properly, he held her so the head nestled in the heel of his hand, wedged against the meat of his thumb. He felt her up against the underside vein of his silky wrist.

“That’s the cock that’s gonna fuck me,” he answered, correctly.

She had condoms in her purse. He had Vaseline in a bric-a-brac moving tub besides the futon. He rolled onto his narrow tummy, and she flipped him onto his back again so fast he nearly rolled off the mattress. She wished, as she watched him raise a knee and finger himself, that she’d brought her toolkit with her from the club where she kept her nitrile gloves and her fancy salves and her more mobile toys. Jules laid himself out on the futon like somebody else would on a beach, languid and comfortable and she pressed one of his nipples with impatience. She suspected he’d be chatty, but he didn’t speak at all during the preliminaries. He had more body hair than she would have expected, but not enough to grab, and a severe bathing suit tan line that reminded her of Ava’s jabs about the minor gossip between him and Roscoe. She wondered if some queen paid him to lay out on a patio somewhere, if that kind of arrangement still happened, and she wondered if he could let go of the sniping and the attitude long enough to show that hypothetical crowd what he was showing her now – that he was, actually, a very good boy.

When he was ready for her, the very good boy reached out with his arms (and made gimme-gimme clutches with his hands). She obligingly sank on top of him, then, quicker than she intended, into him, guided by his hooked shin and a decisive hand on her ass. She clawed his scalp and arched, involuntarily driving herself forward. A telltale sensation like he’d dumped a bucket of his own blood over her head soaked her from head to toe, and for a hot second she thought it was too late – then he jerked one her nipples until she shrieked and came back to him, stunned.

You’ve got more than that in you, she heard him say, through the haze in her brain, and in between two blinks he swapped out the sadist faunlet for, once again, being her very good boy, and he undid her bun with one hand and guided her head so he could kiss her mouth and calm her down. She saw from above his legs lock around the small of her back. She was shocked she could get hard enough to effectively penetrate, a shock that blissfully vaporized as she rocked inside him.

His own cock, which they mutually ignored, was restrained by her soft stomach. Her breasts ached, pressed against his chest, and she had to break free from his clasp to prop herself on her forearms. He followed her, licked her lips until she gave up and sank back down. The tip of his nose was cold against her cheek. She could feel his lashes and the curve of his eyeball roam around in the socket. He was a ferocious and intent kisser, not nearly so languid now, and every goosebump outside his skin and strand of muscle beneath rose to her, encased her in his prickles. His focus made her quite aware of a separation between her hips (melted, as far as she was concerned) and her brain, electric-bright now, entertaining Jules by turns as a barbed, poisonous plant, as a nuzzling, brainless creature, as a mean bottom slut who clawed her bottom and held her hair in a knot in his fist, who maybe needed to be exercised as a handler would a spirited pony, in order to nurture his kindness, improve his manners, and keep his juices fresh – and she giggled involuntarily, a tight muscle in her back relaxed, and she came inside a boy for the first time.

She either made an unacceptable noise, or a had been making noises all along. A downstairs neighbor ratta-tat-tatted their ceiling, Jules’s floor. Practical as a fillet knife, Jules pushed her out of his ass, swung one leg wide, slammed his heel rudely against the floorboards, uttered “fuck off, asshole” then rolled back to her again and rubbed his face between her breasts. She cuddled him a couple tender seconds, which he tolerated, before scuttling backward and regarding her from a lucid distance as she disposed the condom.

“Come back here, she said. He looked like a praying mantis.

First, he stuck his legs off the thin mattress and with one judicious sweep of his torso, seemed to crack every bone in his body. Then he crawled over and allowed himself to be held.

“Oh,” she noticed. “You didn’t come.” His dick was still hard, and when he laid his back flat against her hip, it bobbed due west of his belly button.

“Relax, it doesn’t always happen for me.”

She ignored him and let her ego propel her forward. He reclined on her like she was a chaise and breathed through his nose.

“You know what Ava calls you?” She asked, jerking him onward and upward, hopefully.

“I’m a community opportunist,” he answered smugly. “Plus, Roscoe’s houseboy.”

Two out of two, verbatim. She drew her nails up and down his stomach and he twitched, fought against curling up. “Houseboy,” he repeated, hissed. “The last houseboy passed away in the fucking nineties. They peeled him down with the wallpaper.” She felt, through his spine, how he tried and failed to work up a temper. “Then they tatted his chalk outline above some burlesque artist’s John Willie tramp stamp. Mistress Avalon sure is concerned with faggot business.”

“Your boys don’t make you come?” She asked, a hill over him now, and above arguing. He sparred solely with himself.

“What boys? These guys – big guys –”

She went back for more Vaseline, not great for this kind of thing, but she was getting the idea Jules had a sensible nursery spirit and rarely abused himself. He didn’t appear to know much about his body and froze like a striker frame when she rolled the tip of him in her palm for more than fifteen seconds.

“– They think your asshole is your only sex organ,” he continued. “They hate themselves for loving twinks. And then they give you the reach around and if you aren’t wet like pussy then oh-h-h-h my god, it’s like the fucking sky is falling –”

She sat up, and his feet paddled the blanket to stay in contact. He reached behind her and grabbed her hair again but didn’t pull. He turned his face into her neck, and he shook all over.

“Being a slut is really hard,” he said, woefully, failing to hide, for a millisecond, the ghost of what might have been a sweet kid. Or it was her imagination. Either way, she made him come all over himself. It didn’t seem to register to him until the drops hit his chest. He looked down at his sad, wet dick and then back up at her, so testily she laughed in his face. He was smudged pink all over from her lipstick, and she pinched his springy cheeks.

“I’m a cradle-robber,” she declared.

“Okay, Methuselah,” he said, unimpressed, and darted away into the dirty ivory bathroom before she could slap his ass.

He recovered rapidly. In the sunny room things took a slumber party turn. He fetched her abandoned beer, dug out makeup wipes he inexplicably possessed, and repaired the damage to her makeup. He berated her when she couldn’t stop giggling.

“I was kind of wondering…” he began.

He paused. Sex had made him tactful.

“Go on,” she allowed.

“I was wondering if I’d ever figure out why you bothered being a dominatrix.” He used the point of his little finger to clear wet black scuzz from the corner of her eye. She hardly felt it. “Ava’s got her thing about being top dog. Claire’s a sadist. And somebody needs to get around to neutering Archie before he starts spraying the furniture. You, a mystery.”

“You think about me!” She preened and wiggled.

“You go on.”

“I like,” she confided, “to strap muscle hunks to the pommel horse and tickle them until they scream.”

“Gee whiz.”

“I like straitjackets, but I don’t like rope,” she continued. “And I like floggers, but not single-tail whips. And I like human furniture, but not human ashtrays.”

“The Marquis de Lux over here.”

He’d reached around and started French-braiding her hair. She put her ear to his chest and found his mousey heart.

“My mom and dad were angels,” she continued. “And my sisters were angels and my aunts and uncles and my grandparents. They were angels from the start. So was I. I liked it. Doctors like it too. When a kid is angelic, and very, very, very, very good, and says the right things, and rolls over. They give you what you need.” She thought that over. “They decide to give you what you need,” she clarified. “I was rolling over constantly. I didn’t know how to stop. It freaked me out.”

Jules’s heart answered wug-wug-wug. He sat in her lap and tried to get her braid to stay fixed in a twist. “See, I’m the opposite,” he said. “I’m a huge cunt, but I’m always looking for an excuse to be nice.”

Her hair unwound down her back. He clamped her bobby pins between his teeth, to deliberately make the job harder, then, looking down in their laps, spit them on the floor. And as quickly as she decided she needed to find her clothes and depart, having revealed too much, she stayed the entire night.

On the lifeguard pavilions, the green flags were lowered, and yellow flags were handed up.

“Archie,” said Jules, from the safety of the canoe, “Head on back to dry land. No! no,” he called when Archie took Lux’s elbow. “Cathy and I need to talk really quick.”

“It’s not safe,” Archie said.

“I’m Red Cross certified,” Jules said, arms outspread up the oars as far as they could go. “I’m a beautiful heroine, waiting to happen. Also, I’m in fucking charge.”

“Go away, Archie,” Lux agreed, and Archie slopped to the shore, his broad back damp red in the sun’s undergrowth. Dark clouds approached from the west.

“Actually, that’s my boss.” Jules pointed to the sand straight ahead, where a bronzed ingenue, her thigh muscles sticking out like bread loaves, appeared to be watching the duo intently.

“You’ll get in trouble,” Lux cautioned.

“She wants to ride me hard and put me away wet, I think I can get away with it. I feel like you must have,” he added, pointedly. “She’s nineteen.”

It was hard to glare when wet, and it was hard to talk with Jules high and dry. Lux was clammy and clingy, and she couldn’t understand why he sniped at her. Then he crouched down, chest to knees, under pretext of scraping the oars straight down his gunwales and snapped, with pure, guileless annoyance: “Why are you pissed off? I’m the one who should be mad.”

That was too much to bear. “Jules –”

“I showed you my hole and said call me.” He straightened, the little snot, sincerity evaporated. “And you didn’t call me. Now I feel cheap.”

“Jules,” she said, sticking to her own path. “They don’t know.”

“Of course, they don’t know!” He said, clueless, if technically correct. “I didn’t think you’d spread it around to that crowd.”

“Shut up, Jules,” she tried again, and when his mouth opened automatically, she really blew. “Shut the fuck up!”

He shut the fuck up.

“They don’t know. They don’t know.”

She refused to say anymore. She wasn’t in the mood to roll over. Funny, how fucking a guy in the ass could spackle over a few of the gaping holes in her dignity. Patiently, she watched Jules rock to-and-fro, his face oscillating between his premature certainty and the vanishing tail of what she was trying to explain. Then he exclaimed, “huh!” and raised his face to the heavens.

Whistles sounded north and south, and one of his canoe companions raced twenty yards past, churning the creaming waves to reach the point to disembark. Jules ignored it all.

“Oh.” He started, blank-faced. “There’s bossola.”

He waved to the girl on the beach, who was really putting her back into her whistle. “Jesus, baby,” he said just as abruptly to Lux, who had been forced to retreat a few feet to find higher ground. “Now I’m really starting to worry.”

It was either of their guesses, as to what situation he was talking about. Lux wasn’t sure herself, and doubted he knew. His confusion reminded her less of him now, more of him the morning after, when she’d woken up, found him sitting bolt upright, staring at the walls of his clean, sunny studio. He��d turned to her bleary face, and with no confidence whatsoever, asked, Is it really so much better?

“You want to climb up?” He asked now. “I’ll tell boss you have a cramp.”

“No, I can make it by myself.” She strolled backwards, ass out of the water, and twisted the sarong in front.

“I told Roscoe I fucked a girl for the first time,” he called to her, his eyes cast demurely downward. “You should have seen the sweat roll down his back.”

“I’ll call you,” she promised.

“Yeah, you better,” he advised, and shielded his face against the bursting spray. “Before someone else does. Ladies love the canoe.”

One perky heave-ho, and he displaced bow and stern, fixed his little craft perpendicular to the beach, and cast off toward the pier.

On the beach, Archie and Claire scuttled in the sand, packing their bags, and shaking out their towels. Claire held Jules’s rogue, soaked hat. “I was going to swim back over, but she yanked me out,” she explained, and pointed out Jules’s bossola, who had, watching Lux emerge from the dirty waters, eyed her face, eyed her cleavage, and continued stalking down the shore. She had an ass that needed to be seen to be believed. Lux hoped Jules wouldn’t tease her too much. She might call him sooner, to demand that exclusively. Possibilities, vistas, scenarios, she thought of all these and wrapped her towel around her waist, and she faced the dreary city skyline and she dreamed, and the full force of her imagination asserted itself.

“I’ll give it to him when I see him next.”

Domme Lux took property of the hat.

Ava, ever watchful, caressed their folded umbrella. “I thought you and Jules didn’t get along,” she said. Deliberately did not ask. Lux, in that moment, didn’t care. It wasn’t her job to teach Ava manners.

“I like him just fine,” she said.

#SAFEWORLD #intimacies; ambiguities; a twunk in a boat #beautiful friendships have been sprung for less #isn't particularly relevant but this takes place in 2009

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who-talks-first · 4 years

Text

The Torture of Small Talk With Someone You Used to Love

(or T’es la Plus Belle Saison de Ma Vie)

I haven't written a poe x reader stand-alone in... Two years? Y'all be gentle with me.

I was singing "Fourth of July" by Fall Out Boy, then over the course of a shower I had completely composed this in my head, including all the dialogue. Stuff kept happening, so I didn't get to my phone until later, but by then, I had forgotten a whole bunch of the original dialogue. U_U

I kept true to my original inspiration, but it doesn't have the same flow as it did in my head under the spray, lol. I'm sorry it got so dialogue heavy. Poe and Reader just had so much to get off their chests!

You don't have to listen to the song, but it really sets the mood, and you can understand my inspiration.

Rated Older Teen for suggestive dialogue and some swearing. Content warning for references to past consensual sex between two minors (nothing explicit, just mentioning in case that squicks you!).

Around 2700 words. Drama, angst, romance, a tiny pinch of fluff. A whole assload of made up stuff that wasn't necessary for the story but created some atmosphere and legitimacy.

Set a few months after The Last Jedi during the Resistance's struggle to recover.

My A/N are almost as long as the actual story. I suck lol. Again, please be gentle; I'm so rusty. But please enjoy. I'm proud of this. I feel it's very romantic and engaging. I hope you agree. Thanks so much, guys! Love ya!

The skyrockets burst in colorful blossoms across the jet-black sky, hundreds of revelers dancing and singing below. They were celebrating the summer solstice on the planet you now found yourself on, the name of which you had already forgotten before you arrived; another stop on the endless quest for support as the Resistance dangled by a thread.

You and Poe Dameron, your partner on this mission - and four of the last six identical ones - were awaiting the arrival of your liason, someone close to the monarchy of... Here... who promised backchannel support of the struggling Resistance. The contact was delayed by a minor catastrophe regarding the celebration, so the two of you decided to rest for the evening and enjoy the view.

Sitting side by side on the soft, green grass on the side of a hill overlooking the reverie, you sat in silence, tuning in and out of the joyous cacophony as you watched the elaborate skyrocket display.

You felt the question before he asked it.

"Remember the summer festivals back home?" said Poe, softly breaking the silence, his voice wistful.

"Yep."

"Do you remember - "

"Every detail," you said, swallowing and solemnly fixing your eyes on him.

Bright colors illuminated the side of his face, sparkling in his eyes, softly reflecting on the curls that still shone; the last eight months had taken their toll on the once youthful face of the boy you grew up with.

He cracked a half-grin, his eyes, soft and warm, taking you in.

You knew what he was thinking. You were thinking about it too, but in a completely different way.

You blinked and those brown eyes, exactly as they are now, save for the weary lines at the corners, were those of your first love, your best friend growing up, a vibrant boy of sixteen, looking at you like you were a celestial being personified in a red-cheeked, loud-mouthed spitfire of fifteen, a completely different display of skyrockets sparkling in his eyes.

You felt the deep ache in your chest that you felt every time you remembered that period of your lives, particularly that one night. You felt the damp grass on your back, the tenderness and reverence in Poe's touch, the weight of his body, and that beautiful trembling fear of what you were doing among the ruins, at the edge of the jungle, in the dark.

You closed your eyes and turned away from him, unable to stand the pain and bitterness.

"It was something wonderful between us, wasn't it, baby?" Poe asked, the smile in his voice unmistakable.

You sighed. Even his pet name for you, given long before your romantic relationship, hurt to hear. You don't remember exactly what you were crying about, crouched in the sand behind the primary school, but you remember the sound of eight-year-old Poe's voice as he said, "Hey, little baby, why are you crying?" How someone could be both derisive and so concerned at the same time baffled you. But the nickname stuck for the next twenty-five or so years.

You couldn't help the bitterness in your voice when you said, "It wasn't just teenage love and lust between us then."

He looked at you quizzically, his brow furrowed.

"We had hope, youthful hubris, an ambitious naiveté that makes you think that you can do anything," you concluded, vaguely gesturing with your hand.

Poe was silent for a long moment, regarding your statement, your face, the painful tension in the air between you.

When he spoke, you weren't sure you had ever heard his voice so soft, so fearful. He swallowed.

"And now? What's between us now?"

The expanse of the entire galaxy, you wanted to say. Ten years of worry and resentment. Nostalgia for a moment in time that can never be replaced or recreated. A war.

But you knew that's not what he was asking. What still remained of what was once between you?

You took a moment to contemplate your answer. You wanted to be honest without hurting Poe. There really wasn't much left at all.

"Nothing that matters," you said, turning away from him. You couldn't help the spite in your tone as you added, "Not that it ever did."

You felt Poe's breathing still beside you for a long, agonizing beat. He rose wordlessly and shuffled down the hill in the dark, hands in his pockets.

You sighed, smacking your forehead in your palms. You got up, stretching your legs to regain circulation, and followed him.

"Poe," you called softly. "Poe, I'm sorry. I fucked up."

You found him in a low place between the hills, in a little copse of trees and taller grass. The skyrocket display was still visible, but the sounds of the celebration were muffled by the hillside.

Poe's back was to you, one hand in his jacket pocket, one pressed to his face.

"I shouldn't have said that," you said, dropping your arms to your sides, audibly so that Poe could hear your gesture.

He raked his fingers roughly through his hair, mussing the almost-coifed curls more into their natural shape, as he turned to face you. You weren't prepared for how sad he looked.

"Say it again," said Poe, taking a challenging step towards where you stood a bit above him on the hillside. "Say we never mattered."

"I didn't mean it like that," you groaned.

"Then how - " he started, his voice cracking ever so slightly, " - how did you mean it?"

The Poe a few steps below you was so different from the one you sat beside not ten minutes before. The bright colors in the sky only served to contrast his bleak affect. There was his age. There was the war-weary soldier. He looked like you had felt for the last year.

"It doesn't matter because..." you began, trailing off. "Nothing matters anymore. It's only this mission, and then the next, then the next."

"What do you mean?" asked Poe, confusion blending into the pain on his face.

You swallowed, wondering when it got so stuffy out here.

"It doesn't matter if I love you or hate you, if we're friends or anything else. It doesn't matter how abandoned I still feel. Because there is no 'us' as lovers. The only 'us' is the Resistance. And we can only keep fighting until we're worn down to nothing. There's nothing else."

All the other mixed emotions melted from Poe's face as he shifted his weight around, slowly replaced with understanding. He let out a quiet, mirthless laugh.

"You really have lost all hope, huh?" he finally said, looking up at you.

"It's exhausting. Constant planet skipping, begging for help. The First Order's brutality and resilience. Leia's health. The losses, Poe!"

"Don't think for a second that I don't feel those losses!" he said, probably sharper than he meant to, raising his hand to point at you.

"You feel them more than most of us, Poe," you sighed. "That's my point. There's nothing left for us but more and more loss."

You hoped he couldn't hear the tears threatening to break through.

Poe forced an unconvincing smile.

"Leia says - "

"I don't give a damn about the sun, Poe!" you yelled, mentally recoiling at the thought of the saccharine metaphor you knew was on the tip of his tongue. "Don't you feed me that line, not after what Holdo did to us, how she died. Don't you dare say it!"

"We've already made it through the night, though, baby," said Poe softly, taking a cautious step towards you. "Crait was midnight. The sun is on the horizon now, don't you see?"

You shook your head. "All I see now is darkness."

"Even when you look at me?"

You could only shrug at that. There weren't enough data cards in the galaxy to list what you saw in him.

Poe scoffed.

"No hope, huh? So when Rey's face appeared through those rocks, saving us from certain death, you didn't feel hope burning like the sun?" he asked, miming the rocks moving. "When those rocks parted, I wanted to run over, grab her, and kiss her. I was so grateful."

"Finn did it for you," you said, managing a small smile.

"Yeah," said Poe. "His gratitude was more for her safety than for the salvation of the Resistance. But I don't hold that against him. It's always been about Rey for Finn. You get that, right?"

Tiny sparkles of pink and green appeared between you and the trees, and you realized that Poe was staring at you, waiting for you to speak.

"Yeah, I guess," you finally said, shrugging.

"And you can't see why I had to join the navy?" he said, holding one hand up, indicating a point you couldn't see.

"Because you're good and will always fight for the light," you said simply.

"You're as dumb now as you were back then, baby. That's always a huge part of it, fighting for the light. But making the galaxy a safe, beautiful place for you was always in the front of my mind. When I saw what the First Order was doing, I was furious. Furious at their cruelty, for their principles, for endangering the life I had planned for us," said Poe, forcefully.

"Us?" you repeated, confused.

"I had to go with Leia to make sure that there would be an end, a peace for us to live," he said, moving closer to you. "For things to go back to the way they were."

"I... I didn't..." you mumbled, shaking your head.

"So three years of promising you everything? Talking about where we would live, how many kids we'd have, what we wanted to spend the rest of our lives doing? That's just...?" said Poe, trailing off as he gestured vaguely.

You regained your composure, and your bitterness. Your hands found your hips.

"I let that all fade with my juvenile concept of love. I knew we'd never be together again. I often wondered if I would ever even see you again," you snapped. "When you joined the navy, I saw that as the end of us."

Poe sighed, hanging his head, his fingers moving to his brow.

"I didn't realize you felt that way, baby," he whispered.

"Yeah? Well, when was the last time we even talked to one another?" you said, trying not to shout.

"We talk all the time," said Poe, defensively.

"Not about personal stuff. We talk about missions and plans and people and ships and Leia. When was the last time we talked?" you repeated.

Poe sighed again.

"We caught up when we joined the Resistance, but before that... My graduation?" he admitted tentatively.

You nodded, feeling the tears prick your eyes now.

"You tried to keep me up to date with your life in the navy," you said shakily. "But by the second year, the messages stopped coming and I saw that as a message itself. You'd moved on with your life."

"Aw, baby," said Poe, his body language betraying his guilt. "I'm so sorry. I have no excuse for letting you slip away like that, but I swear on all the stars in the sky I never stopped thinking about you, living for you, loving you!"

"I had no idea what you were doing or where you were when I decided to join the Resistance," you said. You laughed softly and said, "I knew it was what you would do in my place."

Poe shared your little laugh, waiting for you to finish.

You sniffled and continued, "When I stepped off that lander and found you had arrived the day before..."

"I knew it was destiny," said Poe, quickly, perhaps a little too emphatically.

You rolled your eyes, but he continued, "I believed that the Force had brought you back to me so we could fight this fight together."

You frowned and looked away for a moment.

"I had no idea how you felt, how you'd been feeling since I left. If I'd had an inkling, baby, I would have had you come live at the barracks with me," said Poe, looking expectantly up at you.

"Smartass," you grumbled. "Only spouses can li..."

Poe smiled. You furrowed your brow and studied his face.

"I had planned on waiting 'til I had made upper officer and could afford to support us both, but if it would have kept us together, I would have happily married you then," he said, smiling wistfully.

"I've been hurting a long time, Poe," you said, unable to think of any more advanced arguments.

"I know, baby," he said, only a foot between you now. "And I'm so, so sorry. All I'm asking is if there's anything left between us but resentment and hurt."

You hid your face in your hands as a decade of tears caught up with you. Poe took you in his arms without hesitation as you gave in to sobs. When you said something through the wet and his shirt, he pulled you back a bit.

"What was that, baby?"

You sniffled and said, between two big sobs, "I never stopped loving you."

Poe smiled affectionately as he said, "I never doubted it. But I needed to hear it. I love you like a dumb farm kid loves the prettiest girl in school."

"Who the fuck is sh-she?" you sobbed.

Poe barked out a laugh that shook you, squeezing you tightly to his chest. You hid your face so he wouldn't see you grinning through your tears.

"All I need is half a chance to ace a mission," he said, rubbing lazy circles across your back. "Tell me I got something."

"It's more than a chance," you sniffled, resting your chin on his shoulder, holding him as tight now as he did you. "But it won't be easy."

"Nothing worth doing is," said Poe, holding you out to look you over. "And have I ever done anything easy?"

You were unable to prevent the vulgar snort that escaped when you said, "Me!"

Poe spun you around joyfully as your laughter reverberated around the valley, bouncing around the echoes of the skyrockets.

"I said nothing worth doing is easy, baby," he said, squeezing you so tight you thought you would pass out.

For just a moment, you were teenagers again, filled with hope, bursting with love like the lights in the sky.

You watched the lights in Poe's eyes a long time before noticing he kept looking at your mouth.

"Are you for real, right now?" you asked dryly.

His voice was solemn though when he said, "I feel like I'm gonna die if I don't."

You didn't have a quip to counter that. You were dumbstruck by the tender look on his face. You smiled softly and leaned in, brushing your nose against the side of his.

Poe closed his eyes and smiled for a moment before pressing his mouth to yours. Firmly at first, in his enthusiasm, then softly as he relearned your shape and feel and taste.

You had forgotten how soft and beautiful a kiss was when backed by such powerful affection. It was dizzying. You grew unsteady on your feet, but Poe held you tightly, tipping you back like in the dramas.

You looked up and saw the last skyrocket burst behind his head, marking the end of the celebration with a giant blossom of gold sparks. The night was suddenly quiet and dark.

You found yourself laying in the grass, Poe holding you against him, kissing you deeply.

You held his face in your hands and said, "It won't be like the first time."

"Why?" he asked, suddenly solemn.

"Skyrocket show is over," you said, grinning and nodding towards the empty sky.

Poe's face went from surprise to annoyance to pure seduction in the span of three seconds.

"We can make our own," he purred, tickling your sides until you squealed.

The only sound in the night was your giddy laughter as you rolled around in the grass, kissing and teasing each other to the point of whimsy.

Maybe you weren't kids carving your initials in a blackbark tree at the edge of the Damerons' koyo field. You would never be that way again. But maybe what you were making now was more important, more enduring: a bond built on trust, love, experience, honesty. Indelibly etching your names on the new galaxy you would rebuild together. It wouldn't be easy by any means. But if Poe refused to give up on you, you'd be damned if you gave up on him.

#Poe dameron x Reader #Poe x Reader #poe dameron fanfic #Poe dameron fanfiction #Star wars fanfic #star wars x reader #poe dameron x female reader #Poe dameron x you #poe x you #Romance #Angst #Tainted fanfic writer

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bangtan-madi · 4 years

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All Of Our Lifetimes — Interlude: First Life

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 3.4k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?

Part — 3.5 / 15

Warnings — relatively none, minor language, brief mention of death in childbirth

Previous — Next

{Paris, France — 1789 a.d.}

If there's one place on earth that you feel safe in, it's the garden surrounding the Chateau. With the large trees giving shade from the afternoon heat, the overgrowth of flora that attracts a variety of birds and insects, and the expansive maze of roses that covers the remnants of the grounds, it's a magical wonderland that's kept private for your family alone. When your father is away on his lengthy excursions around France, and the staff is busy keeping up with his home, you're left in utter peace to recline amongst nature and contemplate the state of the world.

You've concluded that there are a lot of things that have gone terribly awry in recent years. The citizens of Paris go hungry every day. Children are left without parents. Families are torn apart by famine and war. Endless war. Fear, anger, and hopelessness run rampant through the streets like gutter rats.

Even in the modern year of 1789, the aristocracy to which your family line belongs has refused to do anything but suck the lifeblood of your country dry. They consume and destroy and tear the meat off the bones of your beloved France.

And your father is one of the worst there is. Your grandmother, the one who raised you, always told you to trust in yourself and in her family's power. She promised you that no matter how cruel or unkind your father, or the world, might be, you can always count on yourself.

"You have magic inside you, mon cherie," she would tell you every night. "One day, that magic will lead you to love."

"Why didn't it lead Mère to love?" you'd asked one day.

Your grandmother merely stopped what she was doing and laid her leathery hand on your head. "It led her to you, did it not? To you...and the garden outside your window."

Ever since then, the garden has been the place where you feel your mother's presence, but it's also the place where you harness her family's magic. The power that flows in your bloodline grows stronger every day, and when you reach your early twenties, it multiplies ten-fold.

Without control, your grandmother warns that your only escape will start to wilt and wither. And though you never intended, she's right.

One morning, you awake to a shriveled garden outside your balcony.

And a very angry father.

"What the hell happened here!" he shouts, storming out of the doors below your perch and into the supposed greenery. His eyes are wild and angry, nostrils enlarged as he fumes at the groundskeeper for not doing his job properly for a full five minutes.

You'd been on the end of that rage yourself. Not wanting to be caught in the cross-fire, you pull back the curtain and shield yourself from his view.

"Sire, it's become a terribly dry year," the groundskeeper says, giving one last attempt to console your father. "Everyone is suffering. It's part of the reason that the Third Estate is so restless."

"I don't care about the peasantry!" he bellows. "The Third Estate is the scourge of France. The only reason they exist is to keep the wheels greased and the treasury full. Drought or not, my garden should be blossoming. You find someone else that can properly do your job and you make yourself scarce! I never want to see your face again!"

Your grandmother finds you on the floor next to your balcony window, partially shielded by the curtains. She gives you a soft expression, extending her hand to you to help you to your feet.

"It's growing again, Grandmère," you whisper. "My spells are getting more powerful. I—I almost killed the garden this time. If Père ever found out..."

Your sentence trails off, and Grandmère puts her palm against your cheek. "Mon cherie, if you ever get the chance to leave this place, promise me that you'll take it and never look back."

"But I wouldn't leave y—"

The elderly woman shakes her head, moving a single finger to your lips. "—Never look back. Promise me."

Despite yourself, you nod once, and your grandmother places a kiss on your forehead.

True to his word, before the week is over, the usual groundskeeper is nowhere in sight and a new one has taken his place. You meet him while in the garden, though the last thing you expected was for a boy your age to sneak up on you while you were collecting a few herbs for your next spell.

"You must be Princess [Y/n]?"

Jumping back, you turn and face the strange man with wide eyes and hands clasped tightly around a handful of Mimosa blossoms, Yucca leaves, and Life Everlasting blooms.

The person standing in front of you isn't bad looking. Quite the opposite. He has an alluring aura about him that goes beyond the wavy black hair and honey skin. Behind his warm eyes and boxy smile, there's a uniqueness to him that you've never seen before. Even with a mother that wasn't French, you'd never seen someone like him.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man smirks a little before responding. "I'm the new groundskeeper? Your father hired me this morning. I hate to think of what happened to the other one. I saw him leave through the front gate when I arrived. He didn't look the best."

Your eyes soften, and your guard drops. "If you knew this job was going to be hard, if you knew my father was cruel, why did you take it?"

"We all have our reasons, right?" He gestures to your hands. "Such as why you're holding all of the living things left in this place?"

You shove the flowers and herbs into the pocket of the white apron, laid over your casual dress. "This is my garden, Monsieur..."

"Kim. Kim Taehyung."

"You're not from France, are you, Monsieur Kim?"

"What gave it away?" You gesture to all of him, which makes Taehyung laugh.

"Well, if we were going by appearances, I never would've known you were the lord's daughter. You're dressed like a servant."

"You called me 'princess.'" Your head tilts to the side, eyebrows pulling together. "I have no such title...but how did you know I was his daughter?"

Taehyung shrugs and nods to your open balcony door. "I saw you this morning while you were reading on the balcony."

Your face pulled into a scowl. "Why you—"

Taehyung raises his hands in mock surrender, the smile never faltering. "Calm down, Princess. All I'm saying is that you might want to keep your doors closed. You never know when someone might be peaking in."

From that day onward, an unlikely friendship blossoms between you Taehyung. The man is odd, there's no doubt about that, but he's just about the only normal person in your life. The only one you've ever known, actually. He's real and kind and lovely in every possible way.

He comes to the Chateau several times a week for the next several months in an attempt to get the garden back to normal. The winter had been cruel, and the drought unforgiving, but Taehyung brought with him knowledge from other lands, especially from his homeland of Korea. If you hadn't had him explain the science behind his tricks of the trade, you would have thought he had magic in him, too.

"You have to irrigate them well, starting at the upward slopes so that the water can drain back down. Use gravity to our advantage. Then the new system I created will take the excess and bring it to the herbs, which tend to be more resilient than Mimosa, Yucca, or Life Everlasting."

You stare at him with wide eyes of curiosity, watching him as he takes water from the well and pours it into the starting container of the extensive irrigation system. The pipeline crawls all over the garden, out of sight as to not distract the eyes from the beauty. The precious liquid flows and forks into the various braches, giving lifeblood back to the garden.

"I've also been adding phosphorus to the soil," he tells you, placing a hand on his hip with a pleased expression. "That should aid the root systems so that water can be absorbed easier."

You shake your head, amazed and awestruck at what he'd accomplished in a short few months. Turning to Taehyung, you throw your arms around him and hold him tight.

"You're magic, Taehyung. Just magic!"

He laughs at your sudden outburst and embraces you tightly to him. "It helps when you're from a family of farmers. Not magic, Princess, just practice."

Spring comes with thunderous applause and unconfronted feelings. The rain stays, but Taehyung's ingenuity has all but brought the Chateau's surroundings back to life.

Your beloved garden blooms, as does your love for its savior—both of which despite your magic, not because of it.

As spring marches forward, you find yourself spending more and more time together. And while it was as friends or mutual curiosity before, these days you spend in the garden are more than that. There's an underlying yearning for each other, but for reasons you both know, neither of you moves on it.

"Isn't your birthday coming up?" Taehyung asks, out of the blue, one afternoon. He's sorting through the various seeds that he'd purchased using the allowance your father gave him, kneeling down beside the arrangements on the ground.

Reclining against one of the Mimosa trees, you place the pen and paper on your lap. You'd been messing around with a spell idea for a few weeks now, but it's been difficult to get it onto paper. Being with him in the garden aways brought about inspiration, so you came prepared today.

"I overheard some of the staff discussing it," he adds, seeing the question on your face before you verbalize it. "How old will you be?"

You sigh, "Twenty-one."

Taehyung sorts the rose seeds from the marigolds, ensuring that the two plants don't end up in the same soil, which he says will ensure both of them die early on. "Why do you sound so glum about it? Isn't your birthday worth celebrating?"

The side of your mouth tugs into a tiny smile at the sweetness of his last sentence. "Not when your father's insisting that he find a suitable groom for you once you turn twenty-one."

The dark-haired man's hands halt suddenly, his eyes transfixed on the layout in front of him. He slumps back, resting his weight entirely on his knees and lower legs. "And you're not happy about that."

You shake your head and wrap your arms around yourself. "Not at all. Especially since I have a sinking feeling I know who his selection will be. He's a son of a wealthy lord on the other side of the Seine. It would be a strategic marriage, completely in my father's favor."

"You don't love him." His observation is not a question.

"Of course not," you scoff. "I hardly know him. I've only met him a few times. He's the last person on earth that I would pick to marry."

Taehyung finally shifts his gaze from the seeds to your face, meeting your eyes. "Who's the first then, Princess?"

His question catches you off-guard and brings heat into your cheeks. "I—I hadn't thought about it, didn't have anyone in particular in mind. Only for love. That's my only requirement."

The foreigner nods once then relinquishes his intense gaze, seemingly satisfied with your reply.

There's a pause before you continue. "This is exactly what happened to my mother. She wasn't French, a foreigner who married my father because it was beneficial. She was forced into this marriage and died in childbirth."

"That's terrible," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

You offer a grateful nod, turning your eyes to the clear blue sky. "Taehyung...have you ever thought about running away?" The question comes out of you, surprising you with your honesty. It's as if it has a mind of its own.

Taehyung cracks a smile. "Princess, I've been running my whole life. I ran away from my hometown to travel the world, to see it all. Never thought I'd end up stuck in France, in Paris of all places, and yet I'm still trying to run towards the New World."

You turn to stare at him in awe. "You're so brave. I don't know if I could do that."

"Do you want to?"

"Of course. I want to be free from this place, free from the future my father has set up for me. My greatest fear is becoming my mother, engaged to a man I don't love and dead after giving birth. My mother wanted the same thing, but she died before she could arrange it. I was lucky to survive being born. Grandmère tells me that I lived because of—"

You catch yourself before you continue, knowing that this story goes into a secret that only you and your grandmother carry with you. You've never told another soul about your magic, not one. Not even your father knows. What would he think if he did? Or worse, what would Taehyung think? Would he think you a freak, something wicked, a pawn of the devil?

"Because of...?" Taehyung prompts. He sees your hesitation in your bit lower lip and shifting gaze. "You can tell me, [Y/n]. Whatever it is, you can trust me."

Taehyung almost never calls you by your real name. It's almost always "Princess." That little bit of reassurance pushes you to continue your story. If this relationship is going to go forward at all, it's time.

Now or never.

"Grandmère tells me that I survived because of my mother's final...final spell. A spell of love."

The brunet tilts his head curiously, obviously not expecting that continuance. "A spell?"

You nod, trying to keep your nervous voice even and controlled. "My mother's family has a secret, one that's passed down from generation to generation. We're witches. Magic runs in our veins. I've been magical all my life, but the past year or so, my power has grown a lot. I've been practicing and trying to get a handle on it, and Grandmère has been teaching me, but sometimes that power is...too much."

His gaze softens as a smile of realization tugs at his mouth. "Hence the garden suddenly wilting overnight. I thought there was more involved than the drought."

Your breath catches in your lungs as Taehyung puts the pieces together. "You're not freaked out? You don't think I'm evil?"

"No," he laughs, scooting closer as to sit in front of you. "Why would I think that? Back home, we have soothsayers and card readers and all kinds of magically-inclined people. I don't think you're evil or anything of the sort."

A wave of relief washes over you, and you slouch back against the tree. Your companion gives an amused chuckle at your state, but you're too drained to make a comment."But if there was magic involved, then the garden shouldn't have come back on its own, even with my help. Did you, I don't know, cast a spell to heal it?"

You shake your head and sit straight once again. "Nothing of the kind. I think...I think it had something to do with you."

"Me?" he asks, surprised.

You nod. "The more time I spent with you, the better you made me feel, the more of a friendship bond we created, the more I felt my magic wane. In a good way! I felt balanced, for the first time in my entire life, and then the garden started to bloom again. I can't explain it. It's like you made me feel like I was safe enough to express magic in a healthy way, not just in a way that could destroy."

Your heartfelt confession makes Taehyung lift his hand to your cheek, cradling your face in a tender way that only your grandmother has. "And you said I was the magical one. Princess, I've got nothing on you." He leans in closer, his warm breath brushing against your face. "Can I kiss y—"

"—Yes."

Taehyung chuckles and closes the distance between you. His lips graze yours, hesitant at first. His are soft and delicate, just as you'd imagined they would be. The hands cupping your face pull you closer, and yours move to his shoulder to balance yourself. Though gentle, the gentle push and shove causes you to smile into the kiss.

It doesn't take long for the gesture to shift from shy to needy, from sweet to passionate. All the pent up emotions you'd both kept inside these past few months come pouring out in the form of hands on waists and hips, fingers desperately gripping clothing and grazing skin, teeth greedily nipping at lips and elsewhere on the face. Taehyung is a passionate individual, but you never really knew how much until now.

Moving closer to you, he pulls you into his lap, adjusting your dress as to let your legs slide to either side of his hips. Pulling you ever closer, he continues to fight for dominance. One hand shifts from your waist to your neck, tangling in the hair at the base of your neck. You slide your fingers through his hair, inadvertently tugging at a few curls and dragging an unconscious sigh from Taehyung.

After a few moments, the brunet pulls back. Both of you come up for air, breathing heavily and feeling dizzy. A euphoric feeling rushes through your body, something much closer to magic than you've ever felt. All around you, new flowers begin to bloom. Taehyung's gaze flickers from you to the new flora around you, watching in awe as the flowers grow taller to encase you both in a cradle of spring.

And it's there—in Taehyung's arms, sitting in the middle of a revived garden—that you realize you've fallen in love with him.

His next words come out softer and more tender than anything you've never heard. "Come with me."

"Tae..."

He shakes his head, resting his forehead against yours. "Don't do that."

"Where could we go?" you reply. "France is falling apart. The Third Estate is going to rebel before summer's end; it's all anyone can talk about. There's not a place on earth that my father won't find me. Find us. You know what becomes of us both if that happens."

Taehyung brushes the tears away from your eyes with his thumbs. "He can't follow us across the sea."

The weight of his offer hits you. The sea. The New World. America. Could it really be true? Could it really happen? Freedom and love and life, all at once?

"What about Grandmère? I couldn't just leave her here with that monster."

"Then we'll take her, too!" He presses another kiss to your mouth, pulling back after a brief moment. "I'll have the money by the end of July. That's not too far away. I will do anything to keep you safe, Princess. Anything. Run away with me. We can start over. I've fallen in love with you over these past months, and I know you feel the same."

You nod fervently. "I do, but..."

"But what? But nothing. You said it yourself: if you stay here, your future is that of your mother's. Wouldn't she want you to spare yourself of it?" His hands cupping your face tighten ever so slightly as he sees his argument making an impact. "Come with me. I can protect you. I love you, magic or none. Don't make me lose you."

"I love you, too."

"Say you'll come. Say you'll run away with me."

Heaving a heavy sigh, your place your hands over his and look him in the eyes. "I'll go anywhere with you."

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aiikawarazu · 3 years

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Hourglass Chapter #20

Title: Singularity

Rated: M

Summary: Again, Mikasa saw the strange dream that she used to see before Eren transferred to her school. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but Eren told her a secret about her dreams that left her shocked.

FFNet here

Disclaimer: I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin

A/N: Hi, I'm not sure who else is still here but I do feel obligated to finish this story now that AoT had reached its end. Unfortunately, I stopped writing due to heavy workload and some negative comments that kept trying to criticize my plot points, grammars, or character development. Since I wrote for free on my spare time, my only source of energy was people leaving nice comments and actually letting me know that they enjoyed my work - so I know that those hours I spent writing this story and thinking up the plot points don't go to waste down the drain.

However, a lot of you have been really sweet too, leaving me a lot of positive comments and DMs to give me strength to write again. You are the reason I came back here, and also because I want to give Eren and Mikasa a little piece of happiness outside of the endless misery they have been constantly thrown in while in the canon universe.

So, here goes the next chapter. I apologize if it doesn't make much sense for now - just keep reading, eventually the plots will come together.

Also yes, I have quickened the pace a bit in my ambition to finish up this story but still make it enjoyable for you.

Last Chapter: Eren was feeling horrified after the whole incident where he accidentally kiss Mikasa and ran away. Meanwhile, Mikasa was feeling confused at the turn of events and asked for Ayako's advice, who finally helped her to realize her feelings for Eren. Meanwhile, Armin and Ayako made progress with their investigation and rounded up a possible accomplice of Nanako's. On their way back home, Eren tried to apologize to Mikasa for what happened yesterday, but the girl just shrugged it off and said to him that she forgave him and indeed, some things were better left unsaid. Eren continued to apologize for his improper behavior and added that he was not sorry - and he'll do it in a more proper manner next time.

(I hear something shattering

It suddenly wakes me up)

Mikasa wasn't sure where she was. She stood on a tall wall overlooking a small, cramped town full of houses built strangely close, and looking strangely similar, to one another. They all looked small, modest, with grey stone walls and orange roofs glinting slightly under the afternoon sunlight. Just in the middle of the town, a river was flowing smoothly, gently until it ended on a large gate made from dark brown woods strengthened by iron. She cast her eyes doubtfully around the edges of the town. She had been here, she had seen this town several times before. This was in a dream – and for a moment she wondered how her senses were even aware that this was not the real world.

It had been a while since she had last seen this dream. She had not been here for several months. Why did she see this dream again… why now? Every time she saw that small, cramped town and the endless field of wilderness beyond the other side of the wall, she always wondered about the contrast. Why did people not live on the other side? Why were they all squeezed together on one side? The thick walls, and the sturdy gates… It seemed like they were protecting themselves from something – a kind of danger, some wild beasts perhaps, or some even greater peril. Though she tried her hardest to guess, she never knew the answer. She walked, and walked along the wall until her feet grew tired, but there was no end to it. The wall went on a full circle around that small town, and in the distance she could see it stretched out further into unknown territory. What could possibly lie out there?

"It is a world you never know of," said a voice, and she quickly turned around. Surprised, she saw someone approaching.

She remembered, yet again. Yes, this part of the dream always happened. She always met this person inside her dreams, though from the countless times she met him, she had never once seen his face clearly. It was always cast by a dark shadow.

"You are curious, right?" he asked again. Mikasa didn't answer, but the figure wasn't waiting for her response.

"Why don't we go on an adventure together? Beyond this wall, I mean." said that voice, and slowly, she began to recognize his familiar voice.

"Who are you?" she said, answering his question instead with another question. Frowning slightly, she added. "We always met here, but you never once told me who you are."

"Me?" said the voice, sounding somewhat amused. "I'm someone you know very well, Mikasa." She narrowed her eyes, recalling slightly, half with hesitation. Yes she knew his voice, this was the voice of somebody that had become very dear to her, somebody she was deeply grateful to, somebody she owed her life to.

"Eren…?" she said slowly. But the other voice was silent this time, neither confirming nor denying. Was that really him?

"What do you want?" she asked again. "What kind of adventure do you mean?"

"Oh, many things," the voice replied. "There are many things in the world outside, something greater than what you imagined. Don't you want to see it all?"

Mikasa was not sure how to answer. So instead, she asked another question.

"How… how do we go beyond this wall?"

"That's easy," the voice answered again. "First of all… let's start by taking one step off this wall right here."

"You mean we should jump… from here?" she asked hesitantly, looking at the ground, far down below. "We will die for sure."

"Not if you believe otherwise. The moment we step off here, we'll gain our wings," he said. She still couldn't see his face. But his voice… she couldn't be mistaken.

"The wings of freedom," he continued, his voice filled with longing. For a moment he paused, letting out a deep sigh. "So… what do you say?" he approached her and she could see him stretching his hand, asking her to take it. She desperately tried to have a look on his face, but the deep, dark shadow just wouldn't go away.

"Would you go with me on this endless adventure?"

Mikasa didn't remember what she did. She might have taken the boy's hand, or she didn't. What she remembered next was the vivid recollection of her bedroom ceiling as she blinked a few times, trying to regain her consciousness.

She had returned, she realized, immediately feeling strange. "Returned" was indeed a peculiar word to use to describe her situation. She observed the morning light shining through the window, and recalled what just happened. Some dreams left off lingering feelings long after she woke up, and this dream was one of those. It was real, way too real to be considered a dream. She felt like that was the reality instead and this was her dream – perhaps she just came out of the matrix or something. Perhaps that was her actual life there and this was not, in fact, her reality….

No, that can't be. She quickly brushed the thought off her minds immediately. How ridiculous. She still had curiosity about her recurring dreams, and that boy – of course, why did he always seem like he was so eager to go beyond the walls? What was there, really? What lie there in the unknown? And why – she was a bit annoyed at herself, why did she never see his face? Could it actually have been – and her heart suddenly beat a little bit faster at this thought – could it have been Eren?

It did sound like him, she recalled, with his curiosity over everything and how he never sat still at one place. If it really was Eren inside her dreams, then she wouldn't be surprised. Although the more important question was – now she felt her cheeks growing hot at this thought – why would she have recurring dreams of Eren Yeager?

She could almost hear him, almost see his satisfied grin as she tried to imagine his reaction had he known she had been dreaming about him repeatedly.

"You are having a dream of me, Mikasa? Really? And not once, but several times already? Wow… you must miss me so much, huh? You already see me everyday at school, but not that I mind… I mean, you can just be honest about it, you know?"

She flushed with embarrassment and decided that she would never, ever let him know this lest she would face his endless teasing. Groaning, she covered her face with her hands and let several minutes pass until it was finally a little over seven. Then she got up. It's the start of a new day.

(That sound is ringing again

Another crack forms on this frozen lake)

"What do you mean, you haven't done your homework yet?" Mikasa asked rather reproachfully to the boy walking beside him. "You had one week to do it."

Eren, who was walking alongside her, showed no apparent remorse. "What do I have you for–" he said humbly, "if not for copying homework?"

Mikasa gave him a glare, "Eren… I'm serious."

"And so I am," he said, now stopping in front of his shoe locker to exchange his pair of shoes for school slippers. "If you can be kind to lend me your homework during the first period, I'll copy it quickly and hand it back to you on the second."

"You do realize we'll be third graders soon, right? What if you don't pass the exams?"

"I can worry about that later," he grinned, and Mikasa sighed. She had known him too well. If Eren had made up his mind to do something, he would seriously pursue it to the point of obsessing over it – but if he didn't want to do something, there's no point persuading him. She gave up, and almost contemplated to lend him her homework, when something crossed her minds.

"Shoot," said Mikasa as she stopped dead in her tracks. The clock pointed at twenty minutes to nine and she suddenly remembered. The vandalism on her desk that had been there every morning! She was quite distracted with her dreams today that she didn't even remember to come to school early. She should hurry up and erase it soon.

Determined not to waste any seconds, she jerked forward to climb the stairs in a sudden movement that surprised Eren. The boy let out a confused yell that she ignored, but in her hurry, she stumbled on the first stair step and almost fell face down flat. Mikasa let out a surprised shriek – she was well prepared for the impact but instead of the hard stone staircase, she felt a pair of sturdy hands grabbing her at the last moment. Her body dangling awkwardly on the air, her face a few inches from hitting the floor, she paused to recall the turn of events. What happened? Confused, she turned around and saw Eren's face up close.

"Careful there," he said, this time it was his turn to use that reprimanding tone on her. It was him who caught her before she landed on the floor in a painful crash. "Why are you in such a hurry, anyway?"

"Sorry," she said, not exactly answering his question. She was thankful that he caught her right on time, saved her a few bruises and a hard fall. But she couldn't bring herself to thank him yet. Her head spun and her breath seemed to have left her chest. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, she realized that he had been holding her really close. His arms were practically wrapped around her, and their bodies were pressed together tightly. This was as close as they'd ever been after that whole i-didn't mean-the-kiss incident outside of the convenience store just two days back.

And suddenly, the memories sprang from the back of her brain to the very top of her mind.

"You… you can let me go now," she said. Her heart was beating ridiculously out of control that she almost feared he could feel it through her back.

"Oh," it took a few moments for Eren to realize the lack of personal space between them. And when it finally dawned on him – he let off his arms so suddenly he almost dropped her to the floor again.

"Sorry!" he said, as he saw her stumbling to regain her balance. "Sorry – didn't mean to…"

"Nevermind," said Mikasa, holding on to the stairs railing now to catch her balance. This morning just began but she seemed like she had been through a whole day's worth of event. Taking in a deep breath, she steadied herself and asked with a small voice, not quite ready to meet his eyes.

"Um… shall we go upstairs?"

"Yeah," Eren said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Yeah… let's go."

Mikasa didn't find the artful graffiti on her desk this morning. Instead, it was something worse. She found a tall vase made of see-through glass filled with flowers sitting on top of her empty desk. She stopped on the spot when she saw them. Beside her, she could sense Eren doing the same, he seemed to be tensing. And she knew why.

Flowers on top of someone's desk was not a friendly gesture at all. Instead, it was a cruel, more horrible insult. When a student passed away, people put flowers on their desk at least until 49 days after their death. It was a tradition to honor the dead in Japanese Shintoism. She understood immediately what people wanted to say by putting it on her desk.

They wanted her dead and gone. Or this was their way of saying that they thought of her as dead already. Maybe because she wasn't giving much attention to their pranks before, but surely, these bullying were getting worse. She clenched her fists. She knew everyone was watching her now, tense with anticipation, wanting to see her reaction. She wanted to say something, do something, scream her anger – but she didn't want to give them the satisfaction. Just then when she still stood frozen on the spot, her mind empty – she felt someone moving beside her. A reassuring hand was put on her shoulder. She looked up to see Eren's face. The boy wasn't looking at her. Instead, he stared straight, but there was a certain strength in his fingers that seemed to tell her something he didn't say in words.

Don't worry. I got this.

With a slight glance to Mikasa, and a hint of furtive smile – Eren moved past her to grab the flower vase from the table. And suddenly, Mikasa realized in horror, that the class seemed to have grown more silent. She watched, as though in slow motion, Eren making his way to the front of the classroom, flower vase in hand, every step he made reverberated strangely through her ears. After what felt like eternity for her, the boy finally reached the teacher's table, and without any warning, slammed the flower vase on top of it. Surely enough, it warranted everyone's attention on him.

"Whoever coward did this," Eren managed to control his voice to sound as casually as he could, but no one would be foolish enough to skip the dangerous undertone, "If I ever caught you… the lots of you – I promise you will know exactly why I was expelled from my previous school." His emerald green eyes were glinting with a serious kind of madness. Mikasa recognized that look immediately. It was the look of anger and disgust he used to give her when he still misunderstood the nature of her business, when he still thought she was in an abusive relationship and she was too cowardly to break it off. She had seen this so many times, and yet – this time he made her shudder a bit. It wasn't just because of his words that contained thinly veiled threat, or the cold wrath that seemed to be emanating from him as he stood in front of the whole class, challenging them. No, it's because – different from those times in the past when they used to argue – she could sense a bit of madness now, much like a murderous intent. As much as Eren used to be angry at her back then, the root of his anger was pain. But now, it was different. There was no pain this time – just a desire to hurt others, for revenge. For once, Mikasa knew that Eren Yeager meant serious business, and if he ever caught the perpetrators behind this bullying incident, he would make sure they receive as much pain as they had done to her – or possibly even more.

That was the first time Eren ever displayed his obsession out in the open, and needless to say – the classroom atmosphere turned very cold at his words. Here and there Mikasa saw students who grew a bit pale, some looked guilty, some looked afraid and more anxious than others. Eren didn't seem to mind. "Let me repeat in case you are not clear," he said in an aura of casual ignorance. He didn't seem to realize the damage he just did with his open threat, or even if he did – he didn't care.

"Leave Mikasa alone, or else…," he paused. "You will pay."

He ended his speech curtly and turned to leave the teacher's table. Mikasa still froze on the spot when he came back down the aisle to his own table behind her. He still looked angry, but he grinned a little when he saw her. "Unless you want us to stand here all day," he said, "Maybe you should move a little so I can get to my seat."

Mikasa finally found his voice, "Eren…," she was just about to start, but he cut her.

"Later," he said, indicating with his chin to Mr. Levi's silhouette outside the classroom. "Teacher's coming."

(Even in my momentary dreams

The illusions that torture me are still the same)

For one, Mikasa knew that she really had to thank Eren. After he made such a blatant threat in front of the class – not one person dared to lie a finger on her. They still gave her the silent treatment of course, but Mikasa was used to it by now. Most importantly for her, there were no longer any planned vandalisms and her things had stopped disappearing mysteriously. Eren kept telling her that this would have stopped sooner had she taken her own actions against them earlier, and Mikasa admitted that he was right, though she was not sure that his way – implicitly threatening to use violence – was the right thing to do.

"It did get them out of the way," he shrugged, when they brushed over this topic one day.

"We were lucky not one of them ran complaining to the teacher," Mikasa reminded him. "You really could be expelled."

"I don't care," said Eren, and it seemed like he really didn't give it much thought. "Look here – if you wanted to endure their bullshit for longer… that's fine with me – but honestly I haven't got such patience against those cowardly losers. They're the kind of people I hate the most. If you hurt someone, you should be prepared to be hurt back. An eye for an eye. That's fair, if you ask me."

Mikasa knew how hard-headed Eren could be when it's related to his opinions, so she didn't say anything further. And though she still partly disagreed with his way – she did owe it to him for stopping the bullying. Another side of her was also really curious at Eren's threat – what did this boy do exactly, to get him expelled? Was it something that horrible? Was he capable of doing such a thing? Sometimes there was a part of her that was quite unsure about Eren – she thought she knew him, but how well did she know him? Could there be a completely different side to him other than this person she now regarded warmly at heart? Will her opinion of him change once she knew of his past?

Mikasa's confusion went on for several days without having anything for answers. Instead, she grew more confused by Eren's behavior.

Unsurprisingly, Ayako was the one who pointed it out first.

"So… did I miss the good news or anything?" she threw the question at Mikasa one day at lunch, who shot her a questioning glance over her half-bitten sandwich.

"What?" Mikasa asked back, confused.

"Why is Yeager acting like that to you?"

"Like what?"

"Like a boyfriend."

Mikasa burst out laughing. Only when realizing that her friend did not laugh along with her – did she know that Ayako was being serious.

"What do you mean – like a boyfriend?" she asked inquisitively and Ayako threw her a look that, once again was a mixture of pity and amusement at Mikasa's own inexperience toward boys.

"For once, he's very protective of you," Ayako started, "I heard all about that love confession in front of the class, by the way."

Mikasa paused to think. "If you're referring to that time where he made everyone in class cowered in fear for their own dear lives… I think you are mistaken," she replied calmly. "What Eren did was out of his frustration for dealing with – quote and quote – those cowardly losers."

"The very own people who bullied you," Ayako nodded in amusement. "He made the bullying stop, didn't he? Told the whole class they'd face his wrath if they dared to hurt you."

"You made it sound very dramatic," said Mikasa gloomily. "I was thankful for him but – Eren's always like that. I don't think that was because of me."

"Oh come on, Mikasa!" Ayako slightly jumped up and down on her seat in frustration. "Don't you realize it?" her pair of brown eyes were searching Mikasa now – looking for any signs that the other girl might have seen just exactly what she did, but all she got was more looks of confusion from her best friend. Ayako gave out a tired sigh in the end.

"I don't know if you are thick or just inexperienced," said Ayako. "Yeager's throwing such straight balls and here you are – not even catching his most obvious signal."

Mikasa blinked a few times.

"Explain," she said finally.

"Well for one," she started, "Isn't Yeager more… touchy around you recently?"

Mikasa frowned. "He's always been flirting around and saying all kind of nonsense since the first day he arrived at this school, I don't see how this is any different."

"Mikasa," said the other girl, her tone was close to exasperation. "Boys don't just put their hand around some random girl's waist or shoulder, or play with their hair, or give them pats on the head if they didn't really, REALLY like the girl. Besides, I totally heard from a reliable source – who happened to see both of you hugging near the staircase one morning before the bell rang. Pretty bold move if you ask me."

"That –" Mikasa knew exactly what her friend meant, but she couldn't help herself from turning scarlet. "That was an accident. I was about to fall, and he caught me."

Why did it feel like she was making excuses when she was telling the truth?

"STILL," Ayako insisted. "Did you ever see how Yeager looked at you? Or I think," she gave a deep sigh. "You never actually realized… how desperately he is holding himself back, do you?"

Mikasa grew silent at this question. She had no idea what Ayako meant at all. Bit by bit, she pondered on her friend's inquiry until she finally found a speck of light. Then she started slowly.

"If you meant – after the time we, I mean he… kissed me and…"

"Did he say nothing to you after that?" Ayako interrupted, and Mikasa grew even more scarlet.

"He apologized," she mumbled, not meeting her best friend's eyes.

"And?"

"And…," she was going to say and he promised to do it properly next time, but Mikasa just couldn't bring herself to say it. She was too embarrassed to say it out loud. Her words stuck on her throat and she quickly evaded the topic.

"Nothing," she said. "Eren said nothing else."

Ayako looked unconvinced, and Mikasa knew she pretty much could tell that she was lying. Even Mikasa wasn't convinced at her own words.

"Fine," said Ayako, sounding resigned. "But, mark my words," she crossed her arms, suddenly looking very stern. "Next time you are around Yeager, be more attentive to his signs, okay?"

"Signs?" Mikasa started, "What kind of –" but Ayako interrupted.

"Trust me on this," she said. Mikasa was going to argue further, but the bell rang in the distance, marking the end of lunch period. The two girls were silent for a moment.

"I'm going to the bathroom for a bit," said Ayako, slightly after the bell. Then she stood up and left the table without waiting for Mikasa, leaving the other girl in even greater state of confusion than before.

(Tell me, if my voice is fake

Should I have not thrown myself away?)

If only Mikasa could hear the conversation between the drama club members that afternoon in between their club practice, she would have been very interested.

"They are definitely dating – that Yeager boy and Ackerman," Ymir's loud voice stung sharply on Jean's ears – making his heart sink. She was standing a few meters away from him, painting the sky-blue backdrop to be used on their next performance, her large paint brush in hand, blue paints dropping needlessly from the end of the brush to the large, transparent plastic cover on the floor.

"Did you see how stupid Yeager behaved around her lately? He's totally into her. Or into something inside her pants, I don't know. Heard he's got quite the reputation."

"Ymir, that's mean," Historia interrupted. She was standing beside her tall friend, painting large, white clouds instead. "What's wrong if they start dating, anyway? Ackerman hasn't got anyone to date for ages… it's good that she found someone."

"My dear Christa –,"

"Call me Historia, please – you know Christa is my stage name."

"Historia dear," Ymir corrected, "Of course it isn't my business who Ackerman is dating with – but you might be interested to know that last week I mistakenly went into their empty classroom – thinking that it was my own, and I found them there, all lovey-dovey." Historia paused to look up at her taller friend, her large blue eyes were sparkling with curiosity.

"What were they doing?" she asked, and Ymir burst out laughing at the question.

"What else do you think a couple of lovebirds are supposed to be doing when they're alone? All sorts of things, Historia dear… and anyway…," Ymir dunked her paintbrush harshly to her can of blue paints, causing the contents to splatter everywhere. "Don't you remember those posters that caused so much stirs a while back? Apparently they're living together now. Or they used to live together. I wonder how they're not expelled."

Historia hesitated.

"No one could confirm if those rumors were true," she reminded Ymir. "But Ackerman is such a brilliant student, isn't she? She's the favorite of many teachers…"

"Fat chance," Ymir sneered, now painting the backdrop in large, crude strokes of blue paint. "Yeah that must be why… that Ackerman's too good to be expelled… And anyway, you reckon they've slept together as well?"

"If you paint just as much as you're talking," said someone behind them with a fierce, unpleasant tone, "You might have done more than just half a side of the canvas, Ymir."

Ymir let out a mocking grin, "Ah, Ishijima –" she said, pining her gaze to the girl who just arrived on the scene, her hands full of old costumes that she had just altered or fixed for their next performance. "I don't recall anyone here asking you to join in our conversation."

"Gossiping about someone behind her back, what a noble act, Ymir," said Ayako, a look of disdain clear on her face.

"All gossips are based on facts," Ymir shrugged. "Anyway, we know just how chummy you are with both Ackerman and Yeager… so obviously you'd defend them to the death. Some very strong loyalty, if you ask me."

Just as fight was about to break out between Ymir and Ayako, Jean carefully slipped out to the back stage. That was enough for him. He didn't need to hear those gossips to make things worse… It's not like he didn't see it for himself – that Yeager boy and Mikasa, growing nearer day by day… her gestures, her smile when she saw him. From the moment the transfer student set step in this school, Jean was gradually fighting on the losing side. Jean wasn't blind – that Yeager boy likes her, just like any other straight boy in school, he must have found Mikasa pretty, but… the most heart-breaking part for Jean was that Yeager was the only one Mikasa ever truly responded with the same kind of affection.

And now the wheels have turned, and it seemed like there was no stopping it. Bitterly, Jean headed to the locker room. He couldn't endure practice today. He'll go home early and make his excuses to Marco tomorrow. Marco would have to understand.

"Jean…," a soft voice suddenly spoke beside him. He blinked. And that was when he realized he was not alone in the locker room. Nanako stood just a few steps behind him, looking at him with a silent type of concern.

"Oh," said Jean, just halfway out of his mind. "Hello, Toda."

"Are you okay?" she asked, looking worried.

"Yeah… not really," said Jean reluctantly. "I'm going home early today."

"Do you…," Nanako seemed hesitant to ask. "Do you need… anything?"

Jean shook his head. "I'll be fine tomorrow, thank you," he said, forcing a smile and closing his locker door. Just as he was about to exit the locker room, Nanako said again from behind him.

"I know how it feels."

This was so sudden that Jean immediately halted. Turning in confusion, she faced Nanako, who was now looking strangely at him – as though she didn't want him to go.

"I know how it feels when the one you love doesn't return the feelings," she explained, the edges of her lips were quivering slightly. Jean didn't know what to say. For a few long moments, he just stood there looking at her. Then, the girl opened her mouth again.

"Do you – do you at least mind if I accompany you to the station?" Jean looked down to the pair of dark brown eyes pleading at him.

"Maybe," he said, after a few moments of contemplation. "Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea."

(Did I lose myself?

Or did I gain you?)

Mikasa had never realized how the sight of setting sun could be so endearing.

She also never expected how moments of wilderness could lead to such moments of tenderness, or the other way around.

Either way, it all started with him. Now that she thought about it carefully, all the big events in her life was almost always related to him.

They were both alone in the empty sports hall that afternoon after school, on the mezzanine part where audience used to sit down when watching various sports games – from basketball to badminton to volleyball – played on the fields down below. None of the sport clubs were using the fields for practice today, it was the basketball team's schedule, but they had a practice match in a rival school. Eren, who had learned about the schedule, suddenly decided that a round of ball games was a good idea – particularly because he was having too much energy and nothing to do. So Mikasa accompanied him.

Looking at the orange rays of the setting sun, and down to the wooden polished floor glittering slightly under the sun, she suddenly remembered something.

"I had this dream a while back," she said at the sound of approaching footsteps behind her, which she knew belong to Eren. "There was… a small town. A very small town protected by giant walls. I was standing on top of the wall. But strangely, though one side of the wall was cramped full with these small houses, the other side of the wall was a land of vast wilderness with no living beings in sight. And then someone came and approached me, and they said…"

"Do you want to know what's on the other side of the walls…?"

Mikasa's heart froze. For a moment, she thought she didn't hear it correctly. Or maybe, this was still inside one of those dreams.

Slowly, slowly, she turned to face him. His face was bearing the same resemblance of surprise that she would have seen on her own face.

"You…," she said, slowly. She forced herself to swallow, her heart beating faster than ever. "Did you…?" But she couldn't finish her sentence. Her words faltered, as she pondered his face, looking for answers to her unspoken question.

Did he also see the same dream?

Eren, meanwhile, stood at his spot with the same aghast look on his face. Then, he started, in a very low voice, barely more audible than a whisper.

"I have seen that town too."

Before she knew it she had started toward him. She might have forgotten how strong she was – she seized his upper arms and pulled him closer with all her might, ignoring his surprised gasp, her pair of stormy grey eyes wide with disbelief.

"You are not lying?" she affirmed. "What – what did you see?"

This was too curious, too bizarre to be called a coincidence. They had both seen the same dreams – the same visions. She had not breathed even a word of these strange, recurring dreams to anyone, and the fact that Eren uttered such words precisely like the boy inside her dreams … he must have seen them too.

"There was this strange girl wearing a long white dress. I couldn't see her face," Eren started. "She was wandering alone on top of the walls, looking confused and lost. So I asked her if she wanted to know what was there… beyond the walls."

"And did you – did you know?" asked Mikasa. "What is out there?"

Eren took a few moments to look closely at her face before replying, "I don't know," he said slowly. "Beyond those walls were some great danger. But I do know – that I wanted to explore them. I wanted to find out." He frowned. "Strangely, that small town… I know I'd never been there – there was probably no place like such that I have visited on my whole life, but that town… looked…"

"Familiar," he and Mikasa finished the sentence together. They looked at each other. There was a strange lump in Mikasa's throat, and a rising odd sensation was gripping her stomach. What kind of nonsense was this? Mikasa was never one to believe in superstition, but here she was, reminiscing about a dream she never shared to anyone else – to the boy who happened to see the same dream.

"I must have gone mad," she sighed, after a while. Her head hurt a little, probably from too much shock and information overload. "That – that must be the only plausible explanation."

"Yeah, and I think you're driving me mad too," said Eren, trying not to sound too agitated.

"Sorry," she started. "It's just – it's hard to believe."

"I mean not that," Eren said. He sounded like he was speaking under considerable amount of restraint, that Mikasa raised her eyebrows. "I mean it's the fact that we're both alone here, and you're gripping me so close I could feel your –" he managed to stop before he said the word boobs, instead flicking his glances down below, to the inviting sight of those lovely swell beneath her shirt, and decided to change his wordings before he said anything improper that might upset her. "Anyway – I think you're really overestimating my ability to control myself, so unless you want me to do something stupid or incredibly dangerous… I suggest you let me go."

"Oh." Now that she knew what he meant, her face was boiling scarlet. His words seemed to have thrown her into the present. But she didn't loosen her grip. She didn't let him go. She continued clutching his upper arm and held him closely. Eren was growing more agitated by the second. If there was anything like mental torture, this was most likely it. It was agonizing, seconds passed as he stood there like a statue, her body pressed close against his – so warm, so reachable. But he must not, he had sworn to himself he must not…

"But Eren," she started, her soft voice a contrast to his glaring pain. "You made a promise, didn't you? You said next time you'd do it properly."

Eren froze. For a moment he thought his ears were malfunctioning.

She can't be serious.

"Stop joking," he said, barely keeping his voice from showing how panicked he was inside. "You don't know what you're saying, what I would do if I –"

"I'm not joking," she said firmly. She brought up her eyes to look at him, meeting his eyes in a kind of deviant determination. He was too stunned for words.

"You serious?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes searching her for any kind of hesitation. Any kind of sign to stop him – just one sign and he'd pull himself back, he'd walk away and pretend this didn't happen…

But she only gave a small nod. And it was all he needed as permission.

"Then… I'm not going to hold back."

It started off slowly. His lips met hers in the softest manner – it was as if he was trying to gauge her reaction, to not to destroy the delicate balance that had been carefully built between them. This time she wasn't taken by surprise, this time she was ready for him. She kissed him back – she was surprised at how much she loved this – she grew more passionate, her hands circling his neck, his hands on her hips. He parted her lips slowly, and she let out a sigh. Their lips were locked together, their tongues met one another – circling, swirling, and she pressed the kiss deeper. She wanted to taste more – more of him, and he wanted to give her everything. He couldn't believe it – she was here, inside his arms, and he was kissing her. They continued exploring each other, no words needed, no thoughts inside their heads, merely letting their desire, the most primal of their instincts guide them together. Shortly after, they paused for breath, he opened his eyes, and finally they had a moment to look at one another.

She was slightly panting. He too, was breathing heavily. Six months, almost seven – after they had known each other. And still Eren felt like this was the prettiest that he had ever seen her.

"Do you mind if we go home a little late?" he asked, and she gave a faint smile. Not waiting for her answer, he pushed her toward the wall, safely locking her in the space between the walls and his own body, caging her on the other side of his arms, and they continued to kiss once more. Soft kisses that grew hungrier, more passionate in just a matter of seconds. He was – admittedly, hungry for her – perhaps he'd been craving this ever since he met her. But most surprisingly for him, was how much she seemed to want him, too. This kiss was different, when their lips met, it's not like anything on the blind dates, nothing like what he had on the flings. There was a part of his soul that was satisfied with this kiss, instead of merely physical pleasure.

He broke off the kiss, pressed a string of kisses down her neck, and she let out a soft moan, her fingers entangled in his hair. He really hoped no one would walk in at the moment – doing it in public place was a risky thing, but the school was nearly deserted, and besides, it gave him an extra rush of adrenaline. His heart pumping louder, he traced his lips down to her exposed neckline beneath her unbuttoned collar, and slowly, beneath her shuddering breaths, doubts were beginning to form on his mind. He didn't quite know how far he should go – Mikasa was not too experienced with this, perhaps he shouldn't shock her…

Mikasa seemed to have sensed his hesitation. Her chest rose and fell with anticipation. To be honest, Eren was sorely tempted to explore her body beyond the unbuttoned collar, but suddenly his mind was beginning to speak sense. He stopped, and pulled away to look at her. She stood there in front of him, her hair messy, her shirt rumpled. And on her face, he could see an unmistakable speck of relief.

"That was too much," he admitted, rather embarrassed at himself. She shook her head wordlessly. "I gave you permission," she said, sounding like she was addressing herself rather than him.

"Even so, this hard wooden floor isn't a comfortable place to do it properly," he grinned, and she blushed.

"At least," she paused, her face still a hue of scarlet. "At least the kiss was more than proper."

"Yeah sure," he replied, grinning even wider, "seeing just how much you enjoyed it…" this earned him a slap on his upper arm, and a glare from her, though she couldn't stop herself from being embarrassed at the same time.

"I'm joking," he said, half feeling amused at her reaction. Still smiling, he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her delicate waistline before bending down and again, interlocked their lips for another round of long, heated kiss.

They went down half an hour later – it was close to 5.30 and the sky was beginning to get darker. Mikasa desperately tried to make herself look more presentable – thankfully the blazer hid any signs of her crumpled shirt, but there was no way to check herself in the mirror so she asked Eren to check her, tidied up their hair, and tried not too look too guilty should they ever run into any of the school staff.

They crossed the school front gate and out toward the station, each not saying anything to the other. They were too busy making out in the school gymnasium earlier, but now that the reality finally dawned on her – the awkwardness of this situation just sank in. Though it didn't make sense, Mikasa almost felt like she just committed a felony. That's how big this first step was for her, a straight-A student who never broke any school rules, and who, most importantly, would never have thought that she would be making out in the school gymnasium with the new transfer student just a little over six months ago. She glanced sideways, and, surely enough – just like any other times when she was constantly worked up – Eren remained calm. What a contrast from earlier inside the gym, when he was the one panicking and she calmly reminded him of his promise.

Her train arrived first. She made her way down to her platform. Just before she left, she heard his voice calling her.

"Mikasa!"

She turned around. And there he was, looking really handsome with his emerald green eyes glinting in satisfaction, and a wide, mischievous smile on his face.

"I fulfilled my promise, didn't I? There are many more where that came from, you know."

She broke out in a smile. Contemplating for a few seconds, she opened her mouth to speak.

"I'll be waiting," she said playfully.

And with that, she disappeared out of his sight, down to her train platform, her steps as light as a feather's.

So... yeah. Eren fulfilled his promise.

About time for them to start kissing for real, right?

#eremika #hourglass #eremika fanfic #aot #snk #snk fanfic #aot fanfic #eren x mikasa

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sunflowerheartsandstarryskies · 4 years

Text

Land on the Same Shore - Chapter Two

Author’s Note: Hey guys thank you for all the support in the first chapter, I tried to be ambitious with this one by making it twice as long as the first chapter.

Here is the first part:

Warnings: Torture, electrocution, abuse

“My name is (Y/N).”

“(Y/N) I will do my best to not get you stuck back there with your mother, I want to help you get your freedom.”

You froze and started shaking then lamented, “Don’t give me hope, Mandalorian, please.” He thinks of the house that the mother was at that Greef Karga gave him the location to talk to the mother, and remembered it. It wasn’t a house more like a barn and there were too many droids surrounding the outer areas, even though he doesn’t like droids he observed there seemed to be a bit too many around the location.

What was your purpose in all this? He pondered this before speaking up, “I want to, you have a good heart, a kindness that I have rarely seen no matter how far I travel in this galaxy. I saw it at the cantina, you gave those drunkards a hope to look past their state and into a dream they thought had died. However, I have a plan to get you back but you are going to have to trust me.”

“Okay, I do,” (Y/N) said without much hesitation, “Can you at least tell me what you are planning on doing?” “I will not abandon you once I have given you hope, but the less you know the better,” he replied and then added, “I do want to know if there are any secret entrances or places that I can get into that you are aware of?” She shook her head and replied, “That room is my whole life, I have a bathroom and a bed but other than that I don’t know.” He contemplated the information she gave him and went to flying the ship.

Time has passed since that conversation and they had landed near (Y/N)’s mother’s home, and he can tell how anxious she was about what waits for her back home. As they landed on the property, (Y/N)’s mother was already waiting for them to get back and she seems to be eager to get her daughter back. (Y/N) wrung her hands nervously as they got off the ship, and her mother ran up to her and hugged her tightly as she whispered something into the girl’s ear which, Mando observed, made the girl shrink further into herself.

“Thank you so much, Mandalorian for bringing my daughter back to me safe and sound,” the mother cried out her hand gripping on (Y/N)’s arm making her flinch. “Thank you for taking me back to my rightful home,” (Y/N) muttered to him.

The mother reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a bag of credits and handed it to Mando. “The credits you were promised,” she deadpanned and then nudged (Y/N), “C’mon I’ve made some appointments for the doctors to come down and check you out. I wouldn’t want my precious girl to be sick or hurt after your little adventure.” (Y/N) stiffened at the mention of the doctors, but Mando didn’t know why and he didn’t have enough information to make any assumptions.

(Y/N) and her mother walked inside the house and as soon as she was inside the mother’s attitude shifted to one that (Y/N) knew much more than the fake politeness she was showing outside. “You are going to stay inside that room for the rest of your life, it is for your own good. You are much too valuable for me to have you running away for me, mother knows best remember? So now we are going to go back to your room and wait for the doctor to do his routine checkups on you,” the mother stated.

When they went down the stairs and into her room she felt a sharp pinch in the back of her neck and she collapsed.

The mother looked at the droid who sedated her and replied blatantly, “Couldn’t you have waited until I was out of the way. Pick her up and bring her into the lab.”

____________________________________________________________

The Mandalorian took off on the Razor Crest to give whoever was in there an appearance that he had finished his business there and left, however, he was going to land his ship a couple of miles away so as not to give the impression that another ship and that no one would know he was coming back.

He walked towards the path that he knew would lead him to the house, and he remembered hazily that a droid had been walking in the back so he is going to hazard a guess that there’s a way in through the back. Normally he would just walk through the main door, but something about (Y/N) and the secrecy shrouding on who she is and what the place she is in made him tread carefully on this. He didn’t want her to get hurt from this.

He found a way in, and it seemed to be the hallways for the droids to go through and do their work but as he went in further he noticed that there were workstations in corners of the hallways, where there were paperwork and pictures. As he got to one of them in particular, he noticed they were pictures of you. You were basically doing all sorts of mundane things, like reading, writing in a journal, exercising, and sleeping. One thing that angered him to his core was that they have pictures of you in the shower, but he put down the pictures as he was cringed in disgust at them.

He crept further down the hallway and saw a door that read “Observation Deck”, he sees no shadows through the crevices of the door but had a hand on his gun just in case. The doorknob turned and the door opened to reveal an empty room with a one-way glass peering out into the room that was presumably where you were living in.

A piercing, agonizing scream had filled the hallways and Mando could recognize it as (Y/N). He pushed himself out of the room and started running towards the scream.

______________________________________________________________

You were strapped into a chair you were all too familiar with as you started to come to, and you saw your mother and Dr. Comstock, the doctor that always came to do regular checkups and other tests on you, looming over you. Before you could even begin to fully come into consciousness. Dr. Comstock grabbed your jaw and forced it open as a piece of leather was bushed into your mouth.

“She has wandered off without her mommy and has lost her way, we need to push her to see if she can still take the pain,” your mother taunted, almost singing to you. You grimaced at her sentiment knowing exactly what is going to happen. She petted your hair and stepped away and put on goggles. Dr. Comstock put the electrodes on either side of your head and went towards a machine and then flicked a switch that delivered excruciating pain to you. It felt like you were on fire from the inside out but felt a cold piercing in your nerves, you wanted to claw at your skin to get some reprieve of this pain. You were screaming, the leather piece dropped out of your mouth as your pain started to fill the room.

It kept getting worse until Dr. Comstock turned the machine off, and you slumped back into the chair. “We will come back to check on your physical state in a minute,” the doctor stated as he gave no second glance to you and left the room your mother following him.

You stared up at the ceiling and shut your eyes as you let tears silently flow down your cheeks, you wouldn’t dare let them see the tears. It would only make it worse, they made you feel as if you deserved this pain, that you needed the pain. Afterward, you knew they will make you do physical tests but you can’t do this anymore, you’d rather feel the pain again than to go through those tests and back into the only other room you’ve ever known.

“(Y/N)?” you hear a soft whisper through the door. You tried to clamp it down, but a sob escaped your mouth because you recognized that modulated voice. It was the voice of the Mandalorian, the only being that had given you hope. He couldn’t be here, but as your mind started to turn you heard the door open and there he was in his beskar helmet and armor. He gave waves of anguish and sadness at the appearance of you and you felt it. It was one of your many “gifts” that your mother seemed to relish so much.

You blinked away your tears as you started to focus on him and you croaked out, “How? Why?” “I told you, I don’t want to give you unfounded hope, but if this was what I was leaving you with I wouldn’t have given you back at all. Kid, let’s get you out of here,” he explained as he was taking the straps off your legs and wrists. He gently got you off and you immediately got a wave of nausea from standing up, but you took a deep, albeit shaky, breath and tried to center yourself. ‘You want to get out of here, here’s your chance to use it,’ you thought. “Before we go, I have a bag full of my essential stuff, I need it, I promise that you don’t have to go get it,” you pleaded to him. He just nodded and then said, “Okay, I will be right behind you.”

You walked out of the door and into a hallway that you’ve never seen before, you always woke up in the doctor’s room, but you felt a calling to you to lead you the way to your room. So you trusted that feeling and walked towards it and found yourself in your room, you moved immediately to your duffel bag, grabbed it, and ran back to him.

“Okay let’s go,” you said and Mando started going back down the path that he had followed, but he forgot about the Observation Decks and workstations littering the way. You froze when you got to a workstation and saw the files and photos about you, you walked towards and snatched some of the files because you damn well want to know, what the kriff they were doing to you while you were living there. You have unbridled rage coursing through you but remember the danger the Mandalorian is going through to get you out of this place and so you focused on following him.

______________________________________________________________

‘Focus, blend with the shadows, make yourself unknown, remember how you escaped the last time,’ you thought to yourself. Then a feeling of security and a calming presence had become to blanket over you, as well as the Mandalorian as he seemed to look at you with a tilt almost quizzically. As quickly as those thoughts occur, you guys kept walking swiftly towards the only exit and entrance that the Mandalorian took.

Footsteps started to echo down the hallway, you felt the energies of the worker droids. You noticed that Mando reached down to his hip for his blaster, but you were quicker by grabbing him and shoving yourselves into a crevice that had gone unnoticed by him. You put a finger to your lips to signal him to be silent as the droids moved past you. As they were out of sight, Mando went to moving along, and you both made it outside.

You felt the warmth of the sun on your skin and you felt that if you died right now, your life would’ve been worth it. You got to see the outside world again, and it was beautiful. The Mandalorian grabbed your wrist as he led you to the place where he landed his ship, and once you were inside you both let out audible sighs of relief. Once you both were sat in the cockpit and in space, you looked at the ceiling and just wondered, ‘what happens next?’

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #the mandalorian imagine #pedro pascal imagine #star wars #star wars imagine

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gottawriteanegoortwo · 4 years

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From a wonderful anon:

could i request maybe one where dark has a super huge crush on the reader and basically everyone knows except for them?? and maybe the reader confesses and is all nervous and doesn’t think he likes them back?? and dark getting all flustered and happy?????

Your wish is my command, lovely anon! :D

And to add to it, I’m going super cheesy. Coffee shop who? The deli is the place to be! Fall in love while making sandwiches! I mean, think about it! It takes longer to make a toasted sandwich than it does to make a coffee! More time to talk over a few weeks, right?

Word Count: 1,553

(So it had to be put into a new post so I could stick it under a read-more xD)

Near the building the Egos rented for their work, there was a small deli. It was locally run and was never too busy. The Egos and non-egos that worked there were likely the reason it kept afloat. Not a soul had a bad thing to say about the place. Dark suspected it used to be a house and was renovated over time. It would make sense, given the ‘snug but spacious’ vibe the main sitting area had. It was a good place to host smaller meetings when he needed a break from the monotonous office atmosphere. But there was another reason why he never really refused an offer to walk over.

You.

You’d recently joined the staff on a part-time basis. It was a good chance for you to learn how best to interact with customers and practice the skill of sandwich making without the high demands of somewhere in the centre of the city. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something about you that Dark was drawn to. No matter what was going on, you always had a smile and some simple, polite conversation ready while you made his order. It was a few minutes of peace before Dark had to return to the chaos of the offices and studios.

On this day, Wilford was rather energetic, playfully nudging the entity as they placed their order and paid. They were staying to have a chance to talk about plans for an investigation of some supernatural entity hidden in the river. Dark, as usual, thought it was ridiculous and was trying to shoot it down, but Wilford was having none of it.

“Hey hey look. There they are,” he whispered with a grin as he nodded toward the counter. Dark’s eyes briefly darted in the same direction, and there you were. Your back was to the pair as you prepared coffee for someone standing at the till. It was too much of a risk, and Dark quickly turned back to his own cup before the faint warmth on his face spread beyond his control. This was enough to make Wilford sigh.

“Listen. I know I said ya gotta open up a bit an’ try datin’, but this is embarrassin’. They think ya hate ‘em.” The reporter rested his head on one hand as he idly stirred his iced tea.

“It’s better this way. I can’t risk anything.” Dark intended to leave it at that, but Wilford was stubborn.

“What’s that ‘sposed ta mean? Yer always parrotin’ off that bullshit ‘bout ‘not being human’ an’ ‘wah wah I’m an emotionless heartless monster’ -”

“Wilford -”

“- but here ya are, gettin’ all rosy over th’ sight of ‘em! This is love, my dear VHS! Ya gotta give this a chance, an’ ya can’t do that hidin’ over here hopin’ they’ll quit an’ leave one day.” Dark was about to object, but was quickly cut off by Wilford adding, “An’ don’t try denyin’ it. I can tell. Yer all calm an’ happy when ya come back from here. Then ya try ta quickly shake it off ya like got snow in yer hair!” By this point, Dark was seething. The constant belittling and mocking was only serving to push his buttons in the wrong way.

“Then what do you suggest I do? Emotions aren’t exactly my forte.”

“Talk to ‘em. That’s all. Nothin’ else.” Wilford looked sympathetic, which was a miracle in itself. “An’ ya forgot ta order yer lunch, so chop chop!”

After the little confrontation with Wilford, going to the counter was surprisingly more daunting than usual.

The moment Dark was spotted, the older lady who had been making sandwiches told you that she was going to the bathroom and needed you to cover her spot. As you moved to the counter, you missed the knowing smile she threw to a rather nervous Dark. Of course, you didn’t see the nerves in the entity posture. What you did see was this mysterious figure, impeccably dressed as always, giving you a ‘look’ you couldn’t distinguish. You two seemed to get along when chatting, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he hated you. As much as it stressed you out, you bottled your feelings and focused on taking his order.

“I apologise. My friend informed me I neglected to order any food. Would I be able to get -” You interrupted him by rattling off his usual order with a slightly mischievous tone. He looked taken aback, and you wondered if you crossed a line, only for his expression to soften to reveal a faint hint of a smile. “Am I really that predictable?”

So far, so good.

You smiled as you started making the order. It was one of the popular ones on the menu, but with one minor tweak. You always made sure to add a little extra of that. He never complained, so you assumed it wasn’t a problem. As usual, you asked how work was, what he and the other man were doing here.

“It is both work and a break,” Dark explained, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Wilford’s face lit up and he gave two thumbs up once he noticed Dark looking in his direction. “Apparently, I looked like someone who hadn’t taken a break in ‘four days’.” When you stalled your work to ask if that was the case, Dark shook his head with a chuckle. “No, I simply look tired all the time. A common misconception.” You couldn’t help but notice that he did look exhausted. You had always assumed it was the stress of the job, but maybe he had sleeping problems, or a lack of a social outlet? That can be exhausting when your life revolves around work. Luckily, before you could dwell on it too long, you had to put the sandwich into the oven to heat it up. “But, if you forgive me for asking, how have you been?”

A simple diversion is enough for you to talk a little about your own world once you walk to the till to charge him for this order. You couldn’t help but notice how intently he focused on you. His expression shifted in reaction to some points you made. Neither of you seemed to notice how no new customers had arrived in the entire time this conversation took place. Instead, the conversation flowed naturally between you both. In fact, the only true interruption was the faint ‘beep’ of the oven timer.

You arrange the sandwich on the dish, with a side of chips and salad. There was a hesitation, a near reluctance to finish the job. It was only Dark calling your name that snapped you back to the moment.

“Is everything alright?” His face seemed neutral, but you would swear there was a trace of worry in his voice. You didn’t answer at first, opting to key in the bill and get the money. However, when you handed the receipt and change, you slipped a small note in as well. You had hoped everything would be pocketed to discover later, but Dark had noticed the addition immediately.

“I think you gave me -” He froze as he read what was written on it:

Dark,

I know we only know each other through my work. If you’re free, I’d like to buy you a coffee. But not in my work. That would be embarrassing. Anyway here’s my number.

He was silent for several moments, and it was enough time to contemplate how best to sink into the floor and disappear forever, but his voice broke the silence.

“You… want to have coffee… With me?” Dark almost seemed confused. You nodded. “As… Friends?” A question you had hoped wouldn’t be asked, but you had to address it. With a resigned sigh, you shake your head and admit that you would rather it be a date. Before you could decide what to do, you heard a sigh of relief.

“I was sure you didn’t care for someone like me.” What a confusing statement for the entity to say, and you express that. “No, you don’t understand. I’m used to being - how would you say - disliked. The man I entered with today…” He trailed off as he noticed Wilford had disappeared. Typical. “Well, he’s the only person I’ve considered a friend, until I met you. Given my personal record I didn’t want to run the risk of losing someone I considered a friend, let alone… Someone I’m romantically interested in.” Now it was your turn to let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. He had an expression unlike anything you had seen - a bright smile. It made your heart flutter, and you almost missed Dark reach forward to take a pen. In moments, the receipt was handed back to you, with a number written in pen at the bottom.

“I should be finished around five. Mayhaps we could try and arrange something?”

“Hey, Dark! C’mon! I can’t keep these people out here all day!” Without a chance to say goodbye, Dark was dragged out by a grinning Wilford.

A moment later, Wilford popped back into the deli and lifted Dark’s plate with a wink.

“He still needs that lunch. Toodles, an’ I told ya it’d work out okay~” A blink, and Wilford was gone.

#writersofmark #Darkiplier #darkiplier x reader #self-insert #self ship #fictional other #Cracked Mirror (Dark)#(things like this make me really enjoy breaking the fourth wall. I just hope I'm doing this right for people who enjoy reading these #and in times like these a little bit of sweet romance is what's needed)#soft dark #personal fave

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zackcollins · 4 years

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like a train through a house of glass ch. 3 || carter hart

chapter 1 || chapter 2

Author’s Note: So. Uh. Chapter 3 is done incredibly quickly after chapter 2. For the sake of things, I’ve decided to schedule it again. It’ll be today at 11:00 am again. Once again, if you’d like that to change, feel free to let me know! I’m always willing to accommodate the needs of my readers. GIF credit to the original creator!!

Warning: Same as the last two: the reader is paralyzed. Though, you should know that by now if you’re reading this. Regardless, it’s good to tell you just in case. I can’t remember if I added swear words to this chapter or not but I’ll put a warning for those just in case. I also mention how the reader became paralyzed. It’s nothing violent or graphic; just a throwaway comment in an internal monologue.

Words: 1.9k+

Title: Crash by Chad Brownlee

Additional: The language is gender-neutral again but I had one of the characters use the word “hun” to refer to the reader. That was the most gender-neutral pet name I could think of that wasn’t necessarily romantic (since it wasn’t Carter calling the reader that); I hope that’s alright for everyone. As for the doctor being named Dr. Owen: Jake Owen was playing on my Spotify when I needed a name for her. Fair enough?

When you arrived at the arena, Carter had nearly fallen asleep on your shoulder. Chuckling softly, you rolled your shoulder to get his attention. Carter jolted a little, whacking his head against your chin. You both cursed softly. You heard Morgan chuckle and Joel scoff.

“‘M sorry,” Carter mumbled, stretching as best he could in the confines of his car. “I didn’t really sleep last night. I was too worried about you.” Blushing, Carter focused his attention out the window on the other side of the car.

You felt your heartache at those words. The fact that Carter was watching out for you was heartwarming. Grabbing his jaw, you brought his head over to face you. You saw the blush creep along his face as you thumbed his cheek. Before you could kiss him, your door swung open and startled both of you.

“Way to be a cockblock, Farabee,” Carter said, glaring at Joel.

Joel chuckled. “Cockblock implies sex. If sex was going to happen in the back of your car in the parking garage of the practice arena… well. I’m glad I stopped it.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes at Joel. Morgan giggled from the front seat, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“I’ll grab the wheelchair,” Morgan said, stepping out of the car. “Is Joel going to lift (Y/N) again? Or would Carter want to do it this time?”

Morgan unlocked the trunk, leaning in to grab the wheelchair. A moment later, he cursed. You, Carter, and Joel looked over your shoulders.

“You okay, Morgan?” Carter asked, stretching again.

When you heard his back pop, part of you felt envious. You wanted desperately to feel that sensation again. To feel the rush of electricity flow through your nerve endings as you popped a cramped joint back into place. Unfortunately, a drunk driver had taken that away from you. Now, you had to suffer from the possibility that the fleeting feelings you got today when Carter and Joel touched you could quite possibly be the only feelings you ever felt in your lower half ever again.

“Yeah, fine, fine,” Morgan said, closing the trunk with a thunk. “I whacked my head on the trunk latch.”

Joel scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Do you need to go to the training staff? Wouldn’t want you to have a concussion.”

Morgan appeared beside Joel a moment later pushing your wheelchair. “This coming from the guy who cried the last time he had sex.”

Turning red, Joel hastily walked toward the arena with an embarrassed look on his face. Morgan rolled his eyes, chuckling. Carter blinked, looking in the direction Joel had hurried off in and then back to Morgan. You noticed the cogs turning in Carter’s head; the same cogs were turning in your head.

Morgan locked the wheels on your wheelchair before leaning over you and unbuckling your seatbelt. You smiled at him, patting him on the chest. A look of pride washed across Morgan’s face as he scooped you out of your seat.

“Morgan?” You asked, still in his arms.

Yes, (Y/N)?” Morgan replied, slipping you into your wheelchair.

“Are you and Joel…?” You motioned between you and Carter, hoping that got the point across.

It seemed to have the desired effect because Morgan’s face turned eleven shades of scarlet and he stumbled a little with your final placement in your wheelchair. He mumbled an apology as he shifted you to sit properly. You smiled, squeezing his wrist. Carter appeared at that moment, squeezing Morgan’s shoulder as he closed the car door.

Morgan exhaled through his nostrils, glancing between you and Carter. He leaned against the car, putting his hands in his pockets. He cast his head down, looking at his feet as he kicked around a pebble.

“Yes,” Morgan whispered, looking back at you and Carter. His face was frightened, one on the brink of tears.

“Oh, sweetie,” you said, grabbing his wrists and rubbing circles into them.

“We won’t tell anyone,” Carter said. He smiled sincerely at Morgan. Morgan smiled back, taking his hands from your grip to wipe his eyes.

Morgan opened his mouth to reply but quickly snapped it shut when Kevin, Travis, and Nolan walked by. Nolan and Kevin kept walking, talking to each other; Travis stopped, raising an eyebrow. He walked over after a moment, motioning a circle around Morgan’s face.

“You don’t seem happy,” he said. “Is everything okay?”

“Joel and I are dating and I’m scared about people finding out,” Morgan blurted before bringing his hands to cover his mouth. His eyes turned glassy with tears as he pushed Carter and Travis out of the way to run toward the arena.

Travis blinked, holding up a finger and leaving his mouth agape. He looked between you and Carter, face comically confused. You and Carter both shrugged, Carter going so far as to pat Travis on the shoulder.

“If he doesn’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t,” Travis said after a moment of palpable silence. The three of you started making your way toward the arena, Travis still looking confused. “That secret is his and Joel’s to let out of the bag.”

Carter hummed, smiling at Travis. You nodded along, thanking Travis when he held the door for you. You bid the boys farewell, Carter leaning down and kissing you as was his ritual before practice.

You were left sitting in the lobby as the boys walked away; you never knew where you were supposed to go while you waited for practice to officially start. Your wheelchair jostled, making you jump a little. When you looked over, Ryanne was standing there. She was holding two coffees, one of which she offered to you.

“(Y/N), I had time to stop for coffee,” she smiled as you took the cup from her. “Claude didn’t want one today, so I decided to get one for you instead. Chai latte with vanilla, right?”

Nodding, you took a drink. It was still warm as you swallowed it. You made a satisfying sound and smiled at Ryanne. “Thank you! This is wonderful, Ryanne.” You raised the cup in salute.

Smiling, Ryanne raised her own cup in salute. “You’re welcome, hun. Carter beams about you so I thought I’d treat you today.”

You felt a blush creep across your body. Ryanne chuckled when she noticed the red tint rising on your face. She raised her cup in salute again, taking a drink.

“He really does love you, (Y/N),” she said as soon as she was done drinking. You cast a shy glance at Ryanne. “He’s talked about how caring for you has brought him a deeper appreciation for people with disabilities. He’s mentioned wanting to marry you and start a family with you. He’s said he’d love kids but it can be dogs instead if that’s more practical.”

Your entire face was ablaze with feeling; what made you the happiest was the butterfly sensation that had settled in your stomach. You grabbed Ryanne’s hand, squeezing it. She tilted her head, resting her coffee cup on the arm of your wheelchair.

“I…” you trailed off, squeezing your eyelids shut. You didn’t want to cry in the middle of the practice arena. Though, if you did end up crying, Ryanne was one of the few people besides Carter you were completely comfortable crying in front of. “I can feel butterflies in my stomach.”

Ryanne squeezed her coffee cup which caused some coffee to dribble out. It dribbled onto your pant leg. You cast her a sideways glance to which she gave you an apologetic look.

“I’m—“ Ryanne started, moving backward toward the concession stand for a napkin.

“Don’t,” you said, holding your hand up. “I can barely feel the heat of the coffee.”

A soft smile spread across Ryanne’s face as she planted her feet back into the floor. She cupped the top of your hand with her free hand, squeezing graciously. You took a sip of your coffee, casting Ryanne a soft expression with your eyes the entire time.

“When’s your next appointment? Dr. Owen needs to know all of this,” Ryanne said, squeezing your hand once more before moving her hand away.

“A couple of weeks. Carter was going to see if he could make one sooner because this was happening this morning, too.”

“Nonsense, (Y/N),” Ryanne scoffed, reaching into her purse. “You and Carter have enough to worry about. Let me change the appointment. What kind of wife of the captain would I be if I didn’t help the team when they needed it?”

Taking another drink of your coffee, you felt a mixture of warmth and butterflies spread in your stomach. It felt amazing to be loved by people that really only had to affiliate with Carter. You smiled at Ryanne as she stepped aside to call Dr. Owen.

While Ryanne was on the phone, you sat and contemplated what she had said about Carter. You already knew he loved you but apparently not the extent at which he did. Carter had never mentioned to you about wanting to marry you; then again, you had been having feelings about wanting to marry him and hadn’t mentioned them to him meaning you couldn’t hold that against him. There was also a part of you that was wanting to start a family with him and you were on board with either the children or dog option; both at the same time even appealed to you.

“(Y/N)?” Ryanne’s voice snapped you out of whatever trance-like state you had been in. You took a sip of coffee, pleased that it was still somewhat warm. “Dr. Owen said she could squeeze you in tomorrow at noon. We don’t have a game tomorrow, so I can get Vigneault to excuse Carter from training.”

Nodding, you took another sip of coffee. Peeling at the label on the cup, you looked at Ryanne. “Did you mean what you said?”

“About Carter being able to be excused from training?” Ryanne tilted her head, looking at you with a little confusion. “Yeah, why? Vigneault knows how much you mean to Carter. He’d let him out of anything for you.”

You felt your stomach swoop, heart quickening in pace. “I meant about Carter saying he loves me and wants to start a family with me.”

Ryanne’s expression softened. She rubbed the back of your shoulder, smiling lightly.

“Of course, (Y/N),” she said. “Carter gushes about you more than Claude gushes about the baby.” She grabbed your hand, placing it on her stomach. You felt the baby kick your hand, causing you to jolt a little in surprise. Ryanne chuckled. “Yeah, he’s feisty.”

You gave Ryanne a fond look before you finished drinking your coffee. You thanked her again for the coffee before you wheeled yourself to the garbage can to throw the cup out. Ryanne smiled at you as she walked to sit in her usual alcove.

Left sitting in the lobby by yourself again, you sighed. You now had the information that Carter wanted to marry you and start a family with you rattling around in your brain. It was rattling alongside the information that you wanted to do the same with him.

You heard a shrill whistle cut through the air. Sighing again, you packed that information away for later. Having an internal crisis could wait.

You had a hockey practice to watch.

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