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hardcasey · 3 years

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Sweet Tooth

Won't Fade into the Background - Part 2

Pairing: Toast x F!Reader

Summary: You are an owner of a bakery on Coruscant and end up running into a certain clone with a penchant for baked goods.

Word Count: 7k (I got carried away lmao)

Rating/Warnings: T, Mostly fluff again, though it gets a little PG-13 at the end. Nothing too crazy tho.

A/N: Who’s more of a background clone than everyone’s fave boy Toast? I decided to give him the classic bakery au meet-cute that he deserves. <3 Not proofread so let me know if there are any glaring errors!

“You sure you don’t need any help cleaning up?” Your employee, Vella, called from the front of the shop.

You poked your head out through the little window that separated the kitchen from the rest of the store. “I’m good, Vel. Go enjoy your Friday night.”

“Alright, night boss,” The Twi’lek woman gave you a mock salute and laughed when she saw you roll your eyes before turning and heading out the door into the busy Coruscant streets.

You turned back to your current task, taking inventory. It was not the most glamorous job, in fact it was your least favorite part about owning your own business, but it had to be done. With a sigh, you started counting, quickly losing yourself in the monotony.

You were the proud owner of a small bakery on Coruscant. It was not the most lucrative job by far, but it had always been your dream to bake for a living, and you were proud to have achieved that goal so quickly. It had taken a lot of hard work to get to where you were now, along with quite a bit of luck. You had been finishing up your last year in culinary school when you walked by a place for rent right in the heart of the city. It had been right around when the war started, and the owner wanted to sell off the space as quickly as possible. You had the sneaking suspicion that he may have been involved with the Separatists and was trying to jump ship and flee the planet. Honestly, you didn’t really care what his deal was, only that he was giving you the place for a steal. Seppie or not, you were thankful for him. There was no other way you would have been able to afford a place in this part of the city otherwise.

You had dropped a considerable portion of your savings into the purchase and renovation of the bakery, and there were times that you were subsisting off of nothing but cheap instant noodles, but everything had worked out in the end. The prime location meant there was a lot of foot traffic and it didn’t take long before you were turning a profit. And the quality of your pastries and baked goods earned you a loyal customer base, and you had many regulars that stopped in for a cup of caf and a little treat on their way to work.

Once you finished up taking inventory, you headed out to the front to start cleaning up, stacking the chairs up on the tables so you could start sweeping. You were saving up for a droid that would sweep the floors for you, but you were still a ways off from that so you had to do it the old fashioned way.

It was then that you noticed there was someone looking in through the window, clearly ogling the display of pastries and cakes that was there. The light from the setting sun pouring through the window cast their face in shadow, so you couldn’t tell who it was.

Might as well invite them in, you thought to yourself as you leaned the broom against the wall. After all, the bakery wasn’t technically closed yet, though you almost never had customers at this time.

You swung the door open and were about to say something to the figure when you saw them jump, clearly not realizing you were there.

“Oh, hey, I’m sorry for scaring you! I just wanted to let you know that the bakery is still open if you want anything.” You said gently, holding your hands up in a placating manner.

Now that you were outside, you could see the figure more clearly. They were a human male, with tan skin and warm brown eyes. He was wearing a grey uniform and his short dark hair was partly obscured by a matching grey hat. He seemed very familiar to you, and you were about to ask if you knew him, before it hit you. Duh! He was a clone. You weren’t used to seeing clones in anything other than their distinctive white armor, so it took a moment for your brain to put two and two together.

“Oh, uh, I was just looking, ma’am! I’m very sorry.” He said quickly, the same way that a kid who had just been caught with their hand in the cookie jar would. He looked so sheepish, as if he was about to bolt any second. You weren’t sure why he was so apologetic, he was just looking through the window. A bunch of people did that.

“No need to apologize, everyone looks through the windows.” You said, flashing him what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I, uh, just wasn’t sure if you were gonna run me out or something,” he told you, averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Why would I do that?”

“Not many businesses are open to clones, and I wasn’t sure. I’ve never seen any clones in your shop and I guess I just assumed.”

Okay, that lowkey made your blood boil. Why would anyone discriminate against the clones? They were the ones putting their lives on the line to protect the Republic, for kriffs sake! You hadn’t interacted with many clones, but the ones you had run into were nothing but polite and respectful.

“That’s terrible! We absolutely allow clones here! You know what, come inside. There are still some pastries leftover from today. I’ll put them in a box for you and you can bring them back to your, er, squad? Company? Your friends!” You finished breathlessly, a little embarrassed you knew so little about anything involving the military.

“Are you sure? I-I don’t have any money to pay for them,” He said sadly, his eyes darting down to his shoes as if there was suddenly something fascinating about them.

“Nonsense! They’ll be going bad soon anyway and will just end up in the trash. You’ll be doing me a favor, honestly.” Without allowing him to protest further, you grabbed his elbow and tugged him into your shop. In the back of your mind you registered how big his bicep felt, which surprised you. He looked fit, yes, but it wasn’t like he was some meathead. Maybe his uniform just did a good job of disguising how strong he was. You felt yourself blush once you realised the path your thoughts had veered down and quickly pushed them out of your mind.

“It smells good in here,” he said to no one in particular as he dropped his harm and headed behind the counter to start filling a box with leftover pastries.

You smiled at him, before you realised something. “Forgive my manners, but I didn’t catch your name.”

“CT-1928, ma’am.” He replied, his back straightening ever so slightly as he did, as if the action was ingrained in him.

“Do you have a nickname? I know a lot of clones go by them instead of their number.” You said delicately. You didn’t want to offend him by asking, but it felt so strange, so dehumanizing, to call him by a number.

“Oh, uh, my brothers call me Toast.” He said, once again sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not the greatest nickname, but it’s the one that stuck.”

“Haha, I think it’s cute. And don’t worry, my parents used to call me Possum when I was little, because I used to climb around and get into the trash. It was cute until they said it in front of my friends, then they started calling me that too.”

He laughed at that, his shoulders relaxing, his posture not so stiff. “My brothers started calling me Toast because the first time they served toast in the cafeteria after I got my assignment, I ate so many pieces I made myself sick.”

“Pfft. That’s amazing,” You laughed as you shuffled things around so you could fit one last croissant inside. You got the sense the clones didn’t often get to have sweets, so you were going to make sure Toast could bring as many back as possible. “So are you here on shore leave?”

“I’m actually a member of the Coruscant Guard. So I’m here often. Well all the time. I walk by this place every time they send me off to run errands, which is often since I’m still the new guy.”

“Oh, that’s cool. That means you work with senators, right? That must be… something.” You’d read stories on the holonet about some of the more notorious senators and you doubted they treated the clones particularly well.

“I haven’t personally worked with any members of the senate, though a lot of my brothers have. Most of my day is spent staring at security cameras. So, pretty boring. Though I’m not complaining.”

You tied up the package with a neat little bow before handing it to him, another bright smile flashing across your face. Something about his earnest, open demeanor was very endearing to you and you secretly hoped you’d get to see him again soon. If not anything else, you could at least learn a little more about the clones that dedicated their lives to protecting the Republic, since your knowledge on the subject was apparently so lacking.

“Well it’s good to hear that you’re local. Hopefully you can stop by again the next time you’re running errands. And feel free to invite your brothers too!”

“T-thank you, ma’am. That is very kind of you.” He said before taking the box of pastries in his hand, holding it almost reverently. He was trying to hide it but you could tell he was very excited to eat some sweets later.

With one last nod he headed out of the store, the bell chiming lightly after him. You stood there, simply watching his receding form blend into the crowd, catching yourself smiling at the prospect of seeing him again.

~~~

Toast hadn’t made it three steps into the barracks before his vode were descending upon him. Well not really him as much as the box full of sugary confections in his hands.

“What ya got there?” Jek inquired, already tugging at the ribbon to investigate the box’s contents.

Toast shoved his greedy hands out of the way and marched over to the counter where they kept the caf machine, which was in a perpetual state of disarray. The caf machine was old, probably older than any of them, and saw high traffic 24/7. Honestly, with the amount it leaked and sputtered, it was a miracle the machine was still functioning. Toast hoped it would at least until the war was over because when it went, Fox would be in the grave right next to it.

“You know that bakery on the way back from the Jedi temple?” Toast inquired as he placed the box on the counter, starting to pick at the knot so he could open it without cutting the ribbon. It was a pretty striped pastel pink and he wanted to keep it.

“The one with the little tooka-shaped cookies?” Rhys’ eyes went wide with excitement.

“Yeah, the lady who worked there saw me looking inside and then gave me all the leftover pastries from the window.”

“For free!?” Jek exclaimed as he shuffled back towards the box, “What did you get? Did you get an eclair? Please tell me you got an eclair.” Toast nodded and handed his brother one, who promptly dug in.

“What’s this about eclairs?” Stone rounded the corner, instantly noticing the box and saddling up to him. “Did you get sweets?”

Toast spent the next few minutes divvying up the various pastries between everyone. He chose something made up of many thin layers of dough, filled with chopped nuts and soaked in honey. Baklava, he thinks it was called, or maybe balaclava? He didn’t know the difference. But he didn’t care as he devoured it, savoring each bite like it was something precious. He glanced around and saw all his brothers were experiencing similar states of bliss, if their expressions were anything to go by.

~~~

He didn’t have a chance to visit the bakery for the next two weeks, too busy running around dealing with mess after mess. One day, a prison riot. The next, bomb threats at the senate. Everyone in the guard was so exhausted and in desperate need of a break. So when Hound mentioned he was taking Grizzer for a walk, Toast decided to tag along so that he could get some fresh air. Well, fresh for Coruscant.

At some point they’d run into Rhys and Thire, on the way back from patrol duty. Neither of them were in a rush to get back to HQ to receive new marching orders, so they ended up tagging along.

Their little group wandered the streets, just walking with no direction in mind. Grizzer had his snout pressed close to the ground, desperate to sniff everything. Toast smiled at the massiff’s antics from behind his bucket, before glancing around and realizing they were just a block away from the bakery.

“Hey, guys. Wanna stop at that bakery? It’s just over there.” Toast asked, pointing his finger at the little awning in front of the shop.

Thire looked at him as if he had two heads. “Why? Do you think we’ll get handouts again? Not that I’m complaining, free is free, but didn’t you get those because it was the end of the day and she was planning on throwing them out? It’s the middle of the day now…”

“Well, she said I could come back whenever. And that I could bring you guys too.” Toast felt his cheeks heat up for some reason, suddenly feeling embarrassed. What if she was just being polite, and he wasn’t really supposed to come back? What if he brought too many of his brothers and she thought he was taking advantage of her generosity?

He was just about to suggest they should move on when Rhys piped up. “Well, what are we waiting for? C’mon.” He was already halfway to the bakery before anyone could respond. Rhys had a major sweet tooth and nothing motivated him more than some sweets. Hound and Grizzer were right on his heels, having missed out on the pastries last time.

Toast caught up to them quickly, with Thire right behind them, though they all froze as soon as they made it up to the doors. There were people inside this, lounging around sipping drinks and chatting. Could they go in? Would people get mad?

All his vode were waiting for him to do something, and his eyes searched frantically around the storefront as if he would find an answer there. And, surprisingly, he did. Sort of. Because hanging right in the window was a sign that read ‘CLONES WELCOME’. You had to have hung it after your interaction, there was no other explanation. Something about that made his heart race.

All of a sudden, you appeared in the window, a friendly grin on your face as you pointed at the sign and waved for them all to come in.

“You didn’t tell us she was pretty, vod,” Thire whispered as they shuffled their way inside. Toast could just feel the shit eating grin from under his brother’s bucket. He just gave a noncommittal grunt as a response, which only made Thire laugh.

The group of them stood awkwardly in the threshold of the store, not really knowing what to do with themselves. A few patrons looked over to see what was going on, and Toast braced for some sort of outrage at clones invading their space, but after a few seconds they all turned back to whatever they were doing before.

Toast stood there dumbly, just staring at you. He hadn’t really been able to take a good look at you the last time, too distracted by how strange the whole situation had been. But now he could see that Thire was right. You are pretty. Very pretty.

If you noticed how tongue-tied he was, you didn’t show it. You just greeted them with another smile and oh Maker that smile. It was the kind of smile that lit up your whole face and Toast wanted to see it every day for the rest of his life.

“Hi! Is this your first time here?” You asked, cocking your head to one side.

“He’s been here before.” Hound answered, shoving Toast to the front of the group.

“Oh, are you the one from a few weeks ago? Toast?”

You remembered his name! He was pretty sure he was about to melt into a puddle right then and there. It took a second to realize that he hadn't answered yet and he quickly sputtered out, “Y-yeah. That’s me.”

“I’m glad you came back! And you brought your brothers,” You turned to address the rest of the clones and offered out a hand, “It’s nice to meet you all, what are your names.”

Hound, always the people person and the one most used to interacting with the public, stepped forward and shook your hand. “I’m Hound. That’s Thire and Jek. It’s nice to meet you ma’am, I’ve heard you’re a great baker, though I wouldn’t know first-hand.”

You cocked an eyebrow at Toast, “You didn’t share?”

“He was out on patrol, I swear!” Toast stammered, holding his hands up in front of him.

“Hmmm, I guess I’ll take your word for it. Though I think he should get to pick out what he wants first. It’s only fair.”

“Really?!” Hound exclaimed. His enthusiasm seemed to rub off on Grizzer, the massiff sitting up on his back legs and wiggling excitedly before letting out a happy bark. “Down boy,” Hound ordered, placing a hand on Grizzer’s hand to calm him down.

‘Awe, he’s just excited,” you giggled as you bent down to give him some pats of your own. “Can he eat treats? I have some by the door that I give to some of the other dogs.” You asked Hound as you straightened back up.

“Yes, he loves treats. Would you mind if I took them to go? I don’t want him spoiling his dinner.”

“Of course! Now pick out what you all want. And you can put a box together to take to your brothers.”

You spent the next twenty minutes helping them pick out pastries, answering questions so they could pick out something for each of their brothers. After they had made their selections, you sat with them at one of the tables and chatted. Well, you mostly asked questions and they all talked over each other in their excitement. Still, you enjoyed the time with them, happy to provide a place for them to relax and unwind. Their jobs seemed incredibly stressful and by reading in between the lines of some of the things they told you, they seemed to be mistreated by a good portion of the senators, made to run menial errands or be the punching bags senators took their frustrations out on. You could especially see it in Toast, in the way he was so scared of offending you, how he would avert his eyes all the time and flinch if someone spoke too loudly. It honestly made you want to burn down the senate building.

Everyone had finished eating when Thire looked down at his wrist and exclaimed, “Oh kriff, it’s been over an hour! Fox is gonna kill us.”

Toast scoffed. “Correction: Fox is going to kill you and Rhys. Hound and I are off right now.”

“Bring him an extra tiramisu to smooth things over.” You said, already wrapping one up and adding it to the rest of their haul.

The group scrambled around, putting their buckets back on and grabbing the various pastry boxes you’d filled for them. Toast paused before turning to you. “Um, we don’t have any credits on us right now, but I can bring some tomorrow. The Guard has a small discretionary fund we can-”

You stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

“A-are you sure? That was a lot of food…” Toast didn’t want her to lose money because of him. After all, he was the one that brought his brothers here.

“It’s okay, seriously. I actually started a little program where customers can buy a coffee or a pastry or whatever for a clone. There’s actually a little bucket next to the register that I set up,” you turned and pointed at it so he could see. “It was actually my employee Vella’s idea. She came up with it the day after we first met, and it’s been pretty popular. There are a lot of people out there who are really thankful for what you guys do, you know.”

Toast didn’t know what to say, but he felt like he wanted to cry at such a nice gesture. “That is… really kind of you. Thanks.” It didn’t feel like nearly enough, but they were the only words Toast could form at the moment.

“Of course,” you said, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “Now go catch up with your brothers, and let the rest of them know they’re always welcome to a free drink or pastry here.”

Toast thanked you once again before heading outside to where his brothers were waiting, trying to convince himself that your hand hadn’t lingered on his arm for a beat too long. No, it was just wishful thinking.

As he and his vode made their way back to the barracks, Rhys threw an arm around his neck and said, “Wow, Toast, your girlfriend is the best!” earning him snickers from the rest of the group.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Toast tried to protest.

“But you want her to be~” Hound teased. And he was right, Toast wanted that more than anything in the galaxy right now. But he knew it was impossible. You were beautiful and kind and funny and perfect and he... was just a clone.

“It’s not like it could ever happen anyway,” Toast sighed.

Thire nudged him with his shoulder. “Psssh, we all saw how her hand lingered on you. She definitely likes you.”

“Definitely,” Rhys echoed.

Toast smiled under his bucket. It might be a pipe dream, but in that moment he allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy.

~~~

In the following weeks, you fell into a sort of routine. Toast would stop by your bakery at least once a week, sometimes more depending on his free time. And you cherished every moment you got to spend with him. Sometimes he would bring fellow members of the guard along, and every visit ended with your stomach cramping from how much you’d laughed at their various antics. You were confused how such a chaotic bunch of individuals were able to come together as an effective police force… that is until you met Commander Fox. His talent for wrangling them deserved a medal in your opinion.

As much as you enjoyed his brothers, you really looked forward to the times where you and Toast were alone together. He’d always come to you with some wild story of an eccentric prisoner or a crazy heist perpetrated in the lower levels. Honestly you hadn’t expected him to be such a gossip, but you were hardly complaining.

In return for his stories you started teaching him how to bake. It started off with him just watching you work as he talked, sometimes asking questions about what you were doing or peaking over your shoulder to get a closer look. Eventually he became an assistant of sorts, spending his time grabbing ingredients for you and washing the dishes once you were done with them.

Today was the day you were going to convince him to bake a loaf of bread with you. You were going to start him off with a simple loaf of white bread, one that didn’t require much kneading and didn’t have a long proving time. You had already pulled out all the ingredients, bowls, and utensils and were waiting patiently for him to arrive.

By the time you heard the bell ring and saw him coming through the door, you were tapping your foot in anticipation. He wasn’t late - in fact he was right on time as always - but you were just itching to see him.

“Toast! You’re here!” Ugh, that was the best greeting you could come up with? you cringed internally. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind your banal greeting, a smile on his lips as he pulled his bucket over his head and placed it on a nearby shelf. You found yourself longing for a reality where he greeted you with a peck on the lips along with that sweet smile. Maker, you had it bad for him.

His eyes flashed over to the ingredients on the counter. “What are you making today?”

“I’m not making anything today. But we are. I think it's time for you to try your hand at baking. And in honor of your love of toast, we’re starting off with bread.”

He rolled his eyes at that, but the corner of his mouth still quirked up, showing off one of his dimples. “Isn’t bread kind of hard to make though? Maybe we should start out with something simpler…”

“Where’s your courage, soldier?” you teased, poking a finger at his chest. He huffed and you laughed. “Now c’mon, wash your hands and get your apron on.”

He ended up taking the top half of his armor off, in only his blacks from the waist up, his sleeve rolled up to his elbows. You were half thankful and half disappointed the apron covered the way his form fitting shirt stretched across his chest. At least you wouldn’t be distracted, but boy oh boy did you want a closer look.

The two of you chatted about your days as you started working on each of your loaves. With so few ingredients the process went quick, and soon enough you were kneading the dough.

“Now this is called the slap and fold technique. First get your dough together in a ball like this… and then you slap it down!” You demonstrated by taking your lump of wet dough and slapping it down on the table. “Then you just fold it in half and repeat. We need to do it for about five minutes.”

“I think you mean we knead to do it for five minutes,” Toast said with a cheeky grin.

“Blegh. Terrible.” You flicked a bit of flour at him as punishment. “I think you knead to be locked up for that pun.” Toast just laughed and continued working, the smile on his face never dropping.

Once you were ready, you shaped both of the loaves and put them in the oven. When you turned back to him you couldn’t help but giggle. He was absolutely covered in flour.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” He asked, face suddenly becoming serious.

You stepped close to him and brushed his face clean with your thumb. “On your face, in your hair, on your shirt. I think you managed to get flour everywhere except the apron.”

“Well you were the one throwing it at me!” came his retort as he used his hands to shake his hair out, turning it from grey back to its lovely dark color.

“Touché. Now let me help you get cleaned up. I think you got some on your back. Somehow.” You grabbed a washcloth and wet it under the sink and started using it to wipe the flour off his clothes.

“It’s one of my many skills from cadet training.” He told you, eyes twinkling, as you dabbed at a spot you missed on his face. You could feel his lips moving as he spoke. Stop thinking about how soft they probably are, you chided yourself.

“You’re just lucky you’re so charming.”

That made him blush and avert his eyes, which would have been cute if you weren’t worried you’d gone a bit too far. You didn’t want to embarrass him or anything. You had thought the two of you were flirting, but maybe you read the situation wrong. You were notoriously bad in the romance department, something Vella had told you after the third time you had missed a customer trying to flirt with you.

Toast cleared his throat before turning back to you. He noticed you’d stepped back away from him and sighed internally. That would have been the perfect time to kiss you or ask you out or something. Anything other than dancing around each other like you two were doing now. Despite the fact that his brothers believed you two were already together - no matter how much he protested - he still wasn’t sure if you felt the same as he did. He had his suspicions, but what if he was wrong? You were his only friend outside of his brothers and he didn’t want to do anything to mess that up or make it awkward.

He thanked the Maker you didn’t tease him, just turning and starting to wash the dishes. He grabbed a bowl and joined you at the big industrial sink, dunking his hands in the warm sudsy mixture and used the sponge to start scrubbing at the stubborn bits of dough that refused to come off. The two of you worked in silence, though not an uncomfortable one, Toast was glad to find. Just as he was finishing drying the last bowl, he remembered something.

“Oh, uh, I almost forgot. Do you know Senator Amidala?”

“Not personally, but I’ve heard of her.”

“Well, she is throwing a banquet or something in a few days and the bakery that was supposed to handle the desserts fell through at the last minute. Thorn suggested you as a replacement and asked me to ask you if it was possible.”

“Hmm. It depends on how long I’d have, and what kind of desserts she wants. Plus how many guests she’s having. I’m not saying no, but I’m not sure how realistic it is. It’s just me, Vella, and two others on staff.” You had started pacing, already running the logistics through your head.

“What if me and the rest of the guard helped you?”

You paused your pacing to look at him. “That could work… but would you all even be able to take off work?”

“Well, it’s been pretty slow this week and we’re spending most of our time getting ready for the party…” You responded with a noncommittal hum so he pressed on. “How about I call Senator Amidala and Commander Fox on the coms and we can get everything worked out?”

“Yeah, sure. That’d be great.”

For the next twenty minutes you hashed out the details with Senator Amidala - Padmé, she insisted you call her - and Commander Fox. Eventually you settled on an order of one large, four-tiered cake and a hundred little fruit tarts. Fox had been hesitant to lend out his troopers until Padmé had offered to replace the old coffee machine in the guard’s office. The party was in three days, so it would be a tight deadline, but you were sure you could do it. Especially with the guard’s help. There was also the motivating factor of the hefty payment Padmé was offering. It would be enough for you to buy an army of cleaning robots!

As soon as you hung up you were already placing an order of the ingredients and messaging your employees to tell them about the job. You were so focused on your task that you jumped with the oven’s timer dinged. Toast stifled a chuckle behind his hand and you shot him a look as you pulled both loaves of bread out of the oven. Both loaves were a perfect golden brown and looked absolutely delicious.

Toast hovered over your shoulder as you placed the bread on the cooling rack, and you had to slap his hand away a few times as you waited for them to cool. Once you could hold them safely in your hands, you handed Toast his loaf and took yours in your hands. “C’mon, let’s take a picture together with our bread.” You tucked yourself into his side and held your loaf up as he snapped the picture.

Once you were satisfied with the picture you relented to his puppy-dog eyes and cut into the bread. You both slathered a piece in butter and tapped them together as if they were wine glasses before taking a bite.

“Mmmmmhhh,” you both groaned in unison at the first bite of warm bread. There was nothing better.

“This is so good.” You mumbled in between bites.

“So much better than anything in the caf.” Toast agreed, his eyes half-closed in bliss. Before you missed it, you snapped a picture. Toast with his toast. It was perfect.

~~~

You stared at the sight of the twenty clone troopers in front of you, decked out in aprons and hair nets, standing at parade rest in a line as Commander Fox, also in an apron, paced back and forth, hands behind his back, as he gave them their orders.

“Now I want you all on your best behavior. It may seem like you’re on a break, but I want you to treat this as if you’re still on the clock,” He stopped pacing and turned to his men, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir!” They all responded with a salute.

You took that moment to snap a picture of them all, Fox’s head snapping towards you at the click of the camera. “I want to remember this,” you told him, fighting back a smile.

You turned to Padmé, who had insisted on coming to help out herself, bringing along her two droids and a Jedi to offer some extra hands. She came complete with a chic outfit for the occasion and you envied how good she looked at six in the morning. You showed her the picture and she asked, “Can you send that to me?” Fox huffed loudly and the two of you broke out into a fit of giggles.

Once you got a hold of yourself you started listing out tasks that needed to be done to Fox. “We’ll need people to clean and cut the fruit for the tarts. Another group can help with mixing and cutting the crust. For the cake, we’ll also need one group handling the batter, and another the frosting and decorations. And we can rotate who is on dish duty.”

Fox immediately started delegating out tasks to his troops and you assigned a member of your staff to help each group. Everyone quickly scrambled to start working on their tasks, the troopers clearly very excited to help.

Throughout the day you flitted from group to group, demonstrating how to do things when needed. Your employees were handling everything so well and you made a reminder to yourself to give them a nice bonus after this. You stepped away from where Vella was showing the boys how to make flowers out of frosting and found Toast lecturing his brothers about the right way to measure flour.

“You can’t just scoop it out straight from the bag, you’ll use too much that way. You have to sift it in like this,” He started demonstrating the proper technique for them, and you noticed he had somehow managed to get flour all over himself again.

“Good job, Toast,” You said as you passed him, brushing the flour out of his hair as you went. “Keep up the great work, boys!” You gave them a thumbs up and moved onto the next group, dodging the R2 unit as it made a beeline to the fridge, a tray of freshly cut fruit balanced on its head.

The next two days passed by smoother than you could have hoped. There were only a few minor incidents. Hound tripping over R2 and spilling some batter, Thorn having to scold Jek and Rhys for eating half of their frosting. Nothing you couldn't handle. Commander Fox had everyone working like a well oiled machine, making sure everything stayed on time. Throughout both days, Padmé’s protocol droid busied himself with taking pictures of the event, and Padmé promised to send them all to you after the party.

It got down to the wire, but you managed to put the last slice of jogan fruit on the hundredth tart with forty-five minutes to spare. Your employees handled loading everything up into the speeder to take them to the venue. You watched them out of the corner of your eye to make sure things went smoothly. Padmé came up to you and thanked you profusely for rushing such a huge order and promised to promote your business to all her friends before she and the rest of her entourage hopped into the speeder with your employees and took off for the party.

You turned back to the clone troopers, who had already finished washing up most of the kitchen. “Don’t worry about the rest, guys, I’ve got it. You should probably start heading back and start getting ready.”

“Trying to kick us out so soon?” Fox mused.

You laughed. “Actually, before you go, I have a little surprise for you all. As a way to say thank you and as a pick me up before the party. I know those things can be tiring.” You went and retrieved the gift you had stayed up all last night working on, keeping it behind your back until you were right in front of them.

You held out a plate of cookies shaped like their helmets, each one customized to look like the helmet of each of the troopers there. You had recruited C3-PO to take reference pictures of all of their helmets while they were working, and the droid had really pulled through for you, even managing to get detail shots for you.

“Woah, are these our helmets?” Stone asked as you handed him his cookie.

“Look, it’s me.” Thorn said to Fox as he waggled his cookie in front of his brother’s face. Fox rolled his eyes but even he couldn’t fight his smile away.

You beamed as each of the troopers examined their cookies and thanked you for them. They all groaned as you forced them to get together for one last picture and the shutter had barely flashed before they were scarfing down the cookies.

Once they were done, Fox and Thorn started hoarding the group through the door. Before Toast could follow his brothers, Fox turned to him, “You stay here and help out with the rest of the clean up.”

Toast blinked for a moment before he responded with a “Yes, sir.”

He waited until he was sure the last of his vode were out the door before he turned to you. He planned on saying something funny or romantic, but all his words failed him as you launched yourself at him and pulled him into a big hug. “Thanks for all your help. I couldn’t have done this without you.” You told him, your voice muffled from your spot pressed against his chest. He returned the hug and rested his cheek against the top of your head.

You couldn’t be sure if it was him who tilted his head down or you who tilted your head up, but you soon found yourselves nose to nose. Maybe sleep deprivation lowered your inhibitions, because you soon found yourself raising up on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his. His arms tightened around you as he returned the kiss, letting out a groan as you both melted into each other. It started off sweet and gentle, but quickly developed into something more heated as you swept your tongue across the seam of his lips. He let out another tortured whine as he opened his mouth up to you, pulling you flush against him with one hand falling down to grab your ass while the other hitched your leg over his hip.

Eventually you needed to come up for air and reluctantly parted from him, a blush rising to your cheeks as the string of saliva that connected you broke and dribbled down your chin. He wiped it away with his thumb before bringing his forehead to rest against yours. The two of you stayed like that for a while, gazing into each other's eyes as you caught your breath.

You brought up one of your hands to brush a bit of flour out of his eyebrow. “You managed to get flour on you somehow. I don’t think we even used flour today.”

He grinned at you. “It’s one of my many charms.”

You giggled and pulled him back in for another kiss. Your lips had just met when you heard a camera shutter go off and you both whipped your heads around to the source of the noise.

Vella stood in the doorway to the kitchen, camera raised and a shit-eating grin on her face. “Haha, I knew it! Thire owes me ten credits!”

Both of you blinked at each other for a moment before joining in with her laughter.

#toast clone #clone trooper toast #toast x reader #toast clone x reader #clone wars fanfic #star wars fanfic #reader insert #won't fade into the background #fun fact: toasts ct number is the year sliced bread was invented

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Discretion (40s!Bucky x Reader oneshot)

Summary: In a sense, joining the Army made Bucky Barnes into a man. He’s certainly grown in a legal sense. However, there’s one other aspect of ‘becoming a man’ that he hasn’t quite achieved yet, and he’s tired of hearing all his Army buddies talk smack about it. So, he decides to consult an expert.

Word Count: 6.6k, and it’s basically alllllll smut so, wooo.

Quick random note: before anyone freaks out saying this poor prostitute is getting underpaid, inflation is an important factor here. $5 in 1940 is worth nearly $100 today. So, she’s actually getting a pretty good deal here. Also, wow, inflation is crazy.

“Hello?” came the nervous voice from your porch, after you failed to answer the first knock.

You opened the door to find an Army soldier, young and bright-eyed, wearing his more formal uniform, and looking like a fish out of water.

“Oh,” the man-- barely a man, but technically so-- said as he saw you, “are you… is this apartment 13?”

“That’s… what it says on the door, I hope.”

“Yes, well, I just wanted to make sure…” he began. “I just, I heard there was a woman that lived here, who…”

You gave him an expectant look, waiting for him to say it, but he choked a bit on the words.

“A woman that, um, a lady-- uh, it’s probably just a joke, or a rumor or something--”

“You heard that the woman living in apartment 13 get visits from soldiers?” you finally completed for him.

“Uh, yeah,” he agreed. “Is that-- is it you?”

“Yes, sir,” you answered with a small smile, “I’m quite the patriot. Would you like to come in?”

“Thank you,” he nodded, stepping past you once you opened the door fully. He jumped a little when you shut the door behind him, but took his hat off anyway and tucked it under his arm.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” he refused.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking you to pay first.”

“Of course,” he nervously agreed, pulling out a wallet, “all I have is this five…”

“That’ll do,” you nodded, “just leave it on that dresser. How’d you hear this rumor about the woman in apartment 13?”

"I got your information from my bunkmate; he gave a, uh, glowing recommendation."

You smiled a little. "Is that so?"

“And maybe a little more detailed than I personally needed to know,” he added with a frown. You laughed.

“Yes; I may exercise discretion, but many clients do not.”

“You see… a lot of guys, then?”

“Don’t worry yourself with that,” you dismissed. “It’s just you here now. Let’s talk about you.”

“Right,” he nodded, sounding like he’d rather not do that.

“You seem a little out of your element,” you presumed.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Sweetheart… is this your first time?” you asked gently.

“Of course, I’ve never seen a prostitute before-- is that… the right word?”

“You know that’s not what I was asking, darlin’. Are you a virgin?”

He looked away but nodded. “Uh, yes, I am.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart, you’re young.”

“Not so young, I’m 18.”

“That is, in fact, ‘so young,’” you frowned.

“If you say so. The Army’s made me grow up fast, though.”

“I’m sure it has,” you acquiesced. “Why don’t you have a seat on that sofa?”

He did as you asked, and you took a seat next to him, tucking your legs up on the cushions and leaning your head on your hand. He looked at you with a nervous smile, wiping his palms on the legs of his trousers.

“So, your chest says ‘Barnes,’” you observed, pointing to it.

“Oh, yes,” he nodded, “James Barnes, but, everyone calls me Bucky.”

“Is that what you would like me to call you?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Alright, Bucky,” you agreed, trying the name out, “it’s nice to meet you.”

You shook his hand, introduced yourself, and he smiled a little. “He told me your name. I thought it was pretty. Not… not necessarily what I expected.”

“What did you expect? I guess a stereotypical hooker name, right? Like Satine or Violetta or something?”

“I-- I don’t know,” he laughed. You tilted your head to look at his face.

“You sure you’re a virgin, honey? You have that heartbreaker look about you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he laughed nervously, looking to the floor. “Yes, I’m sure. I think I would’ve noticed.”

“I just mean, you could probably find some sweet little thing to do it with, especially when you’ve got this uniform on.”

“You know, you say that, and I suppose you’re right… and yet…”

“So what was it, then? Are you... waiting for the right person?” you asked coyly, your fingers trailing up his leg lightly. He watched your hand’s path with wide-blown eyes and shaky breaths.

“Uh,” he stammered, “no, definitely not-- definitely not that.”

“Good,” you smiled, “because I am all kinds of wrong for you. But you’re not alone, you know. A lot of people think it’s best to get it out of the way with someone like me, that way you’re ready when you meet somebody you want to take home to Ma.”

“R-right,” he nodded, “I’m not sure I’ve thought it through that much.”

“You’re just tired of waiting,” you posited. “You just really, really need to know how it feels to be with a woman.”

“Yeah,” he nodded with a sigh as your touch wandered impossibly close but never really got to where he wanted, “something like that.”

“Sounds good to me,” you smiled, pulling your hand away; he seemed simultaneously disappointed and relieved.

"So…” he began, “what do we do? I mean, what do you do?"

"Anything you want, hun. Within reason, I suppose."

“...anything?” he asked with wide eyes.

“Let’s not get too caught up in that,” you laughed. “Let’s start simple. Get undressed for me please, darling. I'd like to look at you."

He stood up and faced you, and you waited on the sofa expectantly as he began to work open his jacket, and undo his tie.

His trousers were next, and you noted the sense of urgency as he kicked off his shoes. You smiled a little as you watched him strip: it was an enjoyable sight, certainly.

Soon he was naked except for his underwear, which he nervously fiddled with but didn't remove.

"Well? You plan to do it with those still on?"

He laughed a little, and blushed. "It's just that… I'm not sure…"

"It's okay if you're not ready, son. We don't have to do anything you don't want to... I can give you the money back if you don't wanna--"

"No!" he interrupted sharply, then softened. "No, I wanna… I want to. I'm just a little afraid, because… this is usually the part where things go wrong. They see it and they change their mind."

"I'm sure I've seen worse," you soothed, "just let me get a look at it, alright?"

He nodded a little as he reached for the waistband again, and finally pulled the fabric down.

You tried to keep a poker face when you saw his cock, but it was the exact opposite of what you'd expected based on his nervousness. That said, you understood now why girls changed their mind when they saw it. It was an absolute beast, easily one of-- if not the-- biggest you'd encountered in all your work. It made the rest of him look a little more lean by comparison… and it wasn't even fully hard.

"It's… it's not too big, is it?"

"No, it's… I can handle it," you said with mostly-authentic confidence, but you figured your face showed your hesitation.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Let's not worry about that now. We need to get you at full mast first anyway."

"Am I gonna be alone in my nudity here?"

"If you want me to get undressed, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask."

"If only it were always so simple," he laughed, but then his face got more serious. "Um, can you stand up, please?”

You did as he said, and looked to him for your next command.

“Um, take off your heels,” he proposed, and you did. “Could you… please take off your blouse?" You nodded and unbuttoned it revealing the slip underneath. "And… and your skirt, please." You shimmied it off as well, and let the slip fall away without making him ask for it.

“You have a great body,” he praised. “Turn around,” he demanded, but then added a softer “please.”

You did as he asked, facing the opposite wall and feeling the heat of his stare on your back.

“Wow,” he breathed, “you’re… you look great.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you smiled, turning to face him again. “Come over here,” you requested, curling your finger. He obeyed, stepping towards you until his body was just inches from yours, his eyes scanning your face.

You wrapped your hand around his length, feeling it get a little harder in your grip.

"Oh," he sighed shakily.

"Anybody ever touched you here before?"

"N-no, ma'am. I mean, through my clothes, once or twice, but never like this… oh, your hands are so soft."

You hummed in encouragement as you stroked him a little more firmly, watching his face as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Can-- can I touch you?”

“Of course,” you cooed, and felt his arms wrap around you before trailing up your sides. He looked down at you again.

“You have… really nice breasts,” he said in a low voice.

“Thank you,” you smiled. “You can feel them, you know.”

“I know,” he nodded, “I’m, uh, working up to that.”

You giggled a little and felt his hands move in more.

He kissed you suddenly and you reciprocated; his lips were unexpectedly soft, yet his kiss was more demanding than the rest of him had been so far. It caused arousal to tingle between your legs, something you hadn’t felt from a kiss in quite some time.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled back, “I should’ve asked first…”

“Don’t worry so much,” you scolded, “I’ll stop you if I’m upset, I can take care of myself. And a kiss is the least of my concerns.”

“But sometimes it’s against the rules.”

“I don’t have any rules,” you shrugged.

“That seems dangerous,” he shuddered.

“It’s gone alright for me so far-- and I have a weapon in case it goes sideways.”

“Where?!” he asked with wide eyes.

“Hmm, if I told you that, it would defeat the purpose, darling.”

“True,” he relented. “But, you do trust me, right?”

“As best I can,” you replied coolly. “I don’t know you very well.”

“Would you like to get to know me better?”

You grinned. “Very much so.”

His hands finally trailed up to your breasts, delicately cradling them as he took in a deep breath. His thumbs traced over your nipples and you jumped a bit at the jolt of sensation.

“Is this alright?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” you nodded. “Do you like the way I’m stroking your cock?”

He seemed a bit uncomfortable with that language, and swallowed before answering. “Y-yes, I do.”

“Why don’t you have a seat in that chair, sweetheart?”

“What… what’s gonna happen there?” he asked as if he really didn’t know. Did he really not know?

“I’m just going to show you something,” you dismissed. He took the seat, looking up at you from it with an adorable nervousness in his eyes. You followed him and dropped to your knees, pushing his legs apart a little as you leaned in.

“Oh,” he sighed.

“So you do know what’s going to happen here,” you smiled.

“I… have a few ideas,” he admitted.

You wrapped your hand around him again and his grip on one of the arms of the chair tightened. “Why don’t you ask me nicely, soldier?”

“We both know what’s gonna happen,” he protested.

“Yeah, but I’d rather you say it.”

“Alright,” he relented. “Please, uh, put… put it in your mouth.”

You would’ve preferred he used the correct term instead of ‘it’, but you saw the look on his face and decided to show a little mercy. Holding his erection firm, you leaned down and licked the head lightly before taking it between your lips. He gasped a little, a hand instantly wrapping around your arm. You weren’t sure if he wanted you to stop, but figured he would say something if he did, so you just got to work, using a spit-slicked hand to cover the (significant) portion of him that your mouth couldn’t reach. The other hand started a path up his thigh before cupping his balls.

Soon you were in a simple pace of bobbing your head, opening your throat, twisting your hand… that part felt like a routine, but the way he gasped and moaned and squirmed underneath you made it feel new.

“Oh, oh god,” he whimpered, his hand sliding up your shoulder to wrap around the back of your neck. “Please slow down, please, before I-- I don't want to, in your mouth, oh please please stop I--"

"It's alright," you soothed, pulling off of him. "You don't have to finish yet. The session doesn't end when you come, though."

“It doesn’t?”

“You paid for the hour.”

“Well, what’s the difference?”

"You're 18,” you recalled, “I bet you can go twice in a row can't you?"

"Sometimes I can, when I'm really…" he trailed off.

"Are you really?"

"Yes," he nodded feverishly. "Very, very really."

"So, how's about I don't stop this time, and you finish in my mouth first?"

"That's an option?!"

"Did you not know people did that?"

He blushed a little. "I didn't think girls would let you…"

"Most girls won't. Hopefully you can appreciate that I am not like most girls."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I can."

You started back again, a little more lackadaisical in your pace this time, focusing now on licking for a moment, looking up at him all the while. The way he looked back at you would make you think you’d hung the moon or something.

He hesitantly weaved his hand into your hair, but pulled away.

“It’s okay to grab it, sweetie.”

“I wouldn’t want to mess up your curls,” he explained.

“If my curls are intact at the end of this, you did something wrong,” you laughed.

“Oh… okay.”

“Do whatever feels right, honey. You can pull me around with it. Or just let me get to work. But don’t be embarrassed.”

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded.

You took him into your mouth again, applying more pressure with your tongue this time, and forcing yourself not to smile when you felt his hand on the back of your head, not pushing you down but just stroking your hair.

“I’m not gonna take very long,” he admitted with a low voice. “It won’t be much longer, oh god, you’re so good… it feels really, really good.”

You doubled your efforts, gripping him a little tighter, taking him a little deeper into your throat; he responded by bucking his hips up into your throat.

“Oh god, oh my god, oh my fucking god,” he moaned, “fuck, I’m gonna-- oh god-- can I? I’m so close, oh fuck.”

You did your best to nod although you weren’t sure he could feel it. You couldn’t believe he was still asking permission, having come this far.

“Yes, yes, yes, like that, oh god, fuck, I-- yes!”

He yelped, and the hand in your hair tightened as you felt his cock flexing and pulsing in your mouth. You hummed and looked up at him, only to find him staring at you with the most erotic mixture of shock, longing, and pleasure on his face. His mouth was hung slack and he used your hair to pull you up a little, so he could look at you better as he filled your mouth with his seed. It was that perfect balance of sweet and filthy that made a surge of wetness gather at your opening. Honestly, you’d be surprised if it wasn’t running down your thigh at this point.

“Shit,” he laughed a little, sounding exhausted, “that was… you look so good with my cock in your mouth.”

His hand relaxed and you slowly pulled off of him, adding some pressure to make sure you had every last drop on your tongue. He shivered, and smiled.

"Can… can I see it?" he asked.

You leaned back a little and opened your mouth, letting his spend pool on your tongue.

"Oh… wow," he said softly, his hand running over your cheek. "Are you… gonna spit it out?"

You closed your lips and swallowed it, and he gasped a little. "No," you answered with a smirk, "but I am gonna rinse my mouth out now if you don't mind."

"Not at all," he nodded, and you stood up, grabbing a crystal glass and taking it to your sink to fill with water. "It doesn't taste too bad, does it?"

"No, I don't mind the taste," you answered, "it's mainly for your comfort. A lot of guys don't like to taste it later on if they wanna kiss."

As you brought the glass to your lips, you felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned to see him standing behind you, looking at you with a familiar expression-- want.

"Let me taste myself on you," he requested. "I want to taste what you've done to me."

You set the glass aside and let him pull you into him, kissing him back as his tongue instantly began to slide against yours. He hummed into you, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair, the other tightening at your waist.

You let yourself really fall into it, really think that this was a real kiss, just a guy and a dame on a date, irrelevant to what you had just done and that you were both naked and that you were going to do it all again at 6:30, and 7:30, and 9:00.

When he pulled back, and traced his thumb over your cheek, you were the one that had to stop yourself from leaning in and kissing him again.

“Can we get on the bed?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah, that seems like a good idea.”

You started to pull back so you could get on with the whole ‘walk to the bed’ plan, but then he suddenly scooped you up into his arms and you yelped in surprise.

Of course, it was just a walk across the room, but you let your head fall onto his shoulder anyways.

He dropped you rather unceremoniously on the mattress, but before you could complain he was climbing on top of you, caging your head in with his hands.

“You are beautiful,” he announced suddenly. “Why do you do this? You seem like you could find a husband real easy.”

“You’d think,” you smirked.

“Do to a guy what you just did back there,” he laughed, motioning his head back towards the chair, “and I’m sure he’d be breaking out a ring in no time.”

“Well, I just did it to you,” you recalled, “so where’s my diamond?”

“I meant a guy who wasn’t about to ship out to some godforsaken European village,” he explained.

“Yeah, not many of those left.”

He sat back and ran his hands over your legs. “You’ve got great legs.”

“Want me to open ‘em?”

“Of course I do, but I’m trying to be a gentleman about it.”

You laughed. “Let go of that dream.”

“Alright,” he nodded. “Open your legs, then.”

You bit your lip in response to the more dominant tone, and did it. You felt pretty exposed with him staring at you like that, but you were used to the feeling.

He reached out with two fingers and slid them along the trail of arousal inside your thighs.

“So wet,” he observed.

“Mmhmm,” you agreed.

“Is it always like this? Or is it just for me?”

“I prefer not to talk about my other clients during an appointment,” you frowned.

He leaned down, hovering over you again, with a serious look on his face. His fingers moved up to slide between your folds; he breathed slowly as if to calm himself.

“I won’t ask anything else, just tell me the truth,” he requested.

“It’s… been a while since I’ve reacted so strongly,” you admitted. “I hope that satisfies your curiosity.”

“I wanna taste it,” he whispered, “I wanna taste you.”

“Well, I’m not gonna stop you,” you smiled.

He leaned down to kiss you, softly, before beginning to trail down your body.

You closed your eyes, hoping to distract yourself from the sense of desperation growing in your gut, but he stopped. “Open your eyes,” he demanded. You did, and he continued only once you watched him kiss along your stomach, hips, thighs.

“Oh god, Bucky, just get on with it, please,” you begged.

“All you had to do was ask,” he grinned.

Shit, where had this guy come from? Amazing what one blowjob’ll do to a man’s attitude.

He licked a stripe right through your folds and you gasped. He did it again, this time putting enough pressure on your clit to make your leg twitch. He took note and repeated the movement, before finally wrapping his lips around it and sucking. You felt your back arch and you had to break the eye contact before you hurt yourself.

He stopped for a moment to speak. "Is this good? Am I doing it right?"

This Bucky was more familiar, and made your heart clench a little bit.

"Yes, sweetheart, you're doing great."

"Are you gonna come?"

You laughed a bit. "Well, that'll take a little while…"

"That's okay. I wanna make you come. I've got time. We've got time, don't we? There's 40 minutes left in the hour. Is that enough?"

You were taken aback by his desire to pleasure you. "Um, yes, I think I can manage to come in the next 40 minutes."

He got back to work suddenly, and you laced your hands into his hair. He moaned a bit against your skin as he licked and sucked urgently. You could’ve stood for a bit more a build-up but you certainly didn’t mind him cutting to the chase, either.

He hit the perfect spot and you involuntarily pulled him into you; he seemed to get the message, gasping for breath against you as he lapped at your clit incessantly.

He stopped only to spin his tongue in circles around it and sparks of energy lit up your skin until the hairs on the back of your neck were standing up.

"Oh, oh god," you moaned, "I'm gonna… you're going to make me come."

"Really?!" he exclaimed, voice muffled with your sex in his mouth.

"Yes, oh god, yes, just keep going."

It was a slow but sure build as you felt your body tensing up, your toes curling and your fingers unintentionally pulling his hair. He didn’t seem to mind, though he did encourage you as much as he could.

"Please come, please come, come for me," he whimpered.

“Bucky, I will, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Do it,” he begged, “oh god, I want you to.”

And your own moans mixed in with his as you started to rub your hips against his face, all of it culminating in a shock of pleasure as you came, your whole body feeling like a rubber band pulled until it finally snapped.

“Fuck!” you yelped as you reached the peak, loud enough to worry someone outside would hear.

He kept going until you had to pull him off of you, mustering all your strength to sit up and kiss him again. It was messy and wet with your come and you didn’t mean to moan against him but you did, and his hands felt so strong and rough in the most perfect way as they pressed against your back.

“Did you come?” he asked as he pulled back. You nodded. “Really? Oh my god,” he laughed. “I can’t believe I just made this amazing woman make those amazing noises.”

“I can very much believe it,” you replied. “You’ve got a talent, Barnes.”

“Probably not one that the Army can use, right?” he laughed.

“Let’s hope not.”

He laid you back down, kissing you one more time before sitting up and observing the way his cock cast a shadow over your opening.

You waited for a moment, but got a little nervous when he didn’t move.

“Is everything alright?” you asked.

"Yeah, it’s just… it's very peculiar," he breathed, “to have a beautiful woman lying naked underneath me… waiting for me."

It's very peculiar for a man to make me wait this long, you thought to yourself.

"All I have to do now is-- is push in," he added like he barely believed it.

"Mmhmm," you agreed.

"Do… do you want me to?"

"Yes, Bucky, I do," you answered, hoping that your slight impatience didn't show through. “Do you want to be inside me?"

"God, yes," he sighed.

"Then what's stopping you?"

"It's… it's a lot," he explained, and though you couldn't tell if he meant physically or mentally, your response was the same either way.

"Look at me, sweetheart," you encouraged, and he did. "Do whatever you want to do, that's what I'm here for. But as a woman, as the person underneath you right now… please put your cock in me."

He let out a shaky breath as you said that, and reached down to guide his head towards your entrance.

“Just, not all at once,” he said, somewhat to himself. “A little at a time.”

“Sure,” you nodded.

He pressed forward, just barely, and you hissed at the stretch even when it was just such a small piece. You could tell this was going to be an interesting ordeal already.

"Ohhhhhhh my god," he gasped, his voice getting shaky and a little higher-pitched. "Oh, my head is inside you, oh my god," he rushed as he looked down to where your bodies were joined, "oh fuck…"

"How does it feel?" you asked sweetly.

"Warm, so warm it’s almost hot. And-- and slippery… really wet, and smooth, and did I mention it's warm?"

"Yes, you did."

"'Cause it's so warm oh my god."

You laughed a little, but then he moved in a bit more and you had no choice but to moan. You forced your body to relax, but even then he was a lot to take. The edge of pain was more enjoyable than you cared to admit, and you felt yourself get even wetter, as if you weren’t already soaked.

“It’s-- it’s tight. You’re tight, fuck, so tight around me,” he groaned.

He pushed forward a bit more and your hand shot out to his thigh instinctively, holding him back.

"Does it hurt?" he asked with the sweetest tone of concern to his voice.

"A little," you admitted. "Just… take it slow, alright? There's no rush."

"Okay."

After a deep breath, you nodded for him to move forward again and both of you made an almost pained noise, for slightly different reasons.

"Stop," you winced.

"What did I do wrong?"

"No, baby, you're fine, I just need a little more time."

"Okay," he nodded, but you saw the desperation on his face.

"You're so good," you soothed, "you're doing so well, I can't wait to feel all of you."

"Fuck," he groaned, "don't… don't talk like that."

"Why not?"

"I don't want this to be over too soon."

"Give me a little more," you instructed, and he did, both of you moaning as your head fell back.

"Oh, baby," he praised. "Can I call you 'baby'?"

"Yes," you laughed, "you can call me anything."

"Please let me fuck you," he sighed, "please let me fuck you, please please please I need to be all the way in--"

"Go ahead," you nodded, and finally he pushed the rest of himself inside you, burying his cock to the hilt.

"Oh," he gasped, "oh, oh my god, fuck."

You hissed in a breath through your teeth, feeling your back arch somewhat without your input. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around you, his face burrowing into the curve of your neck.

“Can we just… stay like this? For a minute?” he asked weakly.

“Yes, of course,” you nodded, running your fingers down his back until he shivered under your touch.

After a few moments passed with only the sound of your collective breathing filling the room, you felt his hips shifting a little.

“It’s okay to move,” you whispered, “I want you to. I want you to fuck me.”

He pulled back just barely before moving in again, setting a slow and intimate pace. Each stroke was a little deeper than the last, and pulled another shaky breath from both of you.

“Oh my god, yes,” he hissed, pulling you closer.

“Bucky,” you moaned, sort of just to hear his name again, and he smiled, leaning down to kiss your neck. It felt wonderful, but you needed more, so you guided him to your lips by his hair; he kissed you, deep and hungry and needy, as he started to move faster.

"Oh god," he moaned, still so close to you that his lips brushed with yours as he spoke, "oh my god, baby, it feels so good, you feel so good."

“You too,” you nodded, “you feel good too.”

“I wanna fuck you so hard,” he admitted with a whimper.

“Do it,” you challenged, “I can take it. I want it.”

And just like that, his hips were slamming into you, fast and desperate. You nearly screamed as you felt him fill you more than you thought was possible, and more than anything it was, simply put, intense.

“Oh fuck, Bucky!” you yelped, wrapping your legs around his hips. He gasped, baring his teeth a little.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice so raw it was nearly a growl.

“Yes,” you nodded, “fuck me harder.”

He laughed a little, and bit your lip lightly as he obeyed, holding your hips down to pump into you faster, deeper, and so hard you knew you would feel it tomorrow.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you sobbed, accidentally digging your fingernails into his shoulders.

Pleasure surged through you as his cock somehow managed to apply pressure in all the right places, and you could barely believe that you were already tumbling down into another orgasm.

“I wanna come inside you,” he hissed, his lips right against your ear, his hands pulling you onto him by your hips. “I wanna feel my come inside you.”

“Please,” you whimpered, “I want it. Oh my god, I want it.” You weren’t sure which of you was more shocked by that statement.

"Are you gonna come? I'm so close. I want you to come with me. Please, baby, I wanna make you come,” he gasped.

If his cock inside you wasn't enough, which it was, his words certainly pushed you over the edge. His innocence and desperation were understandably endearing but also shockingly hot. You didn't often feel very special in this line of work, but something about this felt special.

“Yes, I’m gonna come,” you promised, “just don’t stop.”

A series of increasingly-louder moans poured from his lips, and finally it culminated in a gasp of your name as he spilled inside you, burying himself as deep as he could.

It was the way he said it that sent you spiraling into pleasure, and you felt your entire body tighten and release a few times as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

The first thing you perceived as you came down from your high was that you were gross and sweaty; the second thing you perceived was that you didn’t care as much as you thought you would.

“Thank you,” he murmured sleepily.

“Don’t thank me, darlin’, I’m not doing you any favors,” you chuckled.

“You liked it though, right? It was good for you?” he asked nervously, sitting up a little to look down at you.

“Certainly,” you smiled. “I thought that was obvious.”

“I was worried you would fake it,” he admitted, “but then you, uh, you tightened around me and… if that’s fake, consider me fooled.”

“Not fake,” you assured, “I’ve no interest in fooling you anyhow.”

He hummed a little, running a finger across the side of your face. “Maybe, but I’m a fool for you regardless.”

You scoffed, looking away. “Don’t go falling in love with me, soldier. Not gonna do either of us any good.”

“Alright, I won’t,” he smiled, “but maybe I could see you again?”

“As long as the money’s coming, honey, you can visit as often as you like.”

“You got a loyalty program? Punch card?”

You shoved his shoulder as you laughed. You didn’t think you’d ever laughed this much with a client before. “No, I don’t.”

He fell down beside you, and pulled you closer until you felt like your entire body was wrapped in his arms. “Can I just hold you until the hour’s up?”

“Of course,” you smiled, melting into his warm embrace. “My next appointment isn’t until 6:30. You can stay until then, if you’d like. But I’ll have to get up at some point to shower and fix my hair.”

“I won’t overstay my welcome,” he decided, and you felt oddly disappointed.

“You’re always welcome here.”

“Provided I’ve got the money?”

“Of course,” you agreed.

“And once I ship out? Could I… write to you?”

“Write?! I’m sure you’ll have better things to do than be pen pals with a Long Island hooker.”

“And you’ll probably be too busy,” he added with a hint of sadness gracing his tone.

“Gimme a call when you get back,” you offered instead, “how’s that sound?”

“You’re assuming I’ll get back in one piece.”

“Eh, I don’t mind if you’ve got a few pieces missing,” you smirked. “Just, keep this one intact for me,” you grinned as you gripped him between his legs.

“I’ll certainly do my best,” he laughed. “Rather fond of it myself.”

You did see him again, and he was the client you lied to the least, and the one you looked forward to the most. Mainly because he was so fun to talk to, but certainly not unrelated to the quality of the sex. He did get cockier over time, even going so far once as to make you say that he was the only one who could make you come like that. And even if it was true, you knew it was a really bad idea to be panting “only you” over and over during sex with a client. You figured he thought it was a lie, and you decided to convince yourself it was too. The conversations were the best, and worst, part of seeing him. Afterwards he’d always stay for the full hour, lie next to you and tell you about other girls he’d met, how knowing you had made it all easier, and you were genuinely happy for him even if an unfamiliar tinge of jealousy knocked on your brain.

And you did also get some letters from him after he deployed, like he promised, for quite some time. Those hurt even more than those pillow talk conversations, because he got a lot more sentimental, and a lot more honest. He asked you to send a picture that he could keep for morale; he talked about how a part of him was always gonna love you.

It was never the part he made decisions with, though, and you stopped replying when it got too hard to keep doing what you did because you could only think of him. You told him in your last letter that you weren’t interested in falling for a client at all, let alone one who was surely gonna get blown up-- and you really regretted saying that, but it got the point across and he stopped writing. If only you’d known then that it wouldn’t make your work any easier, and that it wouldn’t make you get over him. The last time you saw him was on a newsreel at the cinema-- you nearly threw up when you saw him, covered in dirt and blood, that innocent look entirely gone from his eyes.

“Is that your soldier?” the woman sitting next to you asked quietly when she saw your eyes get watery.

“No,” you answered softly, and you hated yourself for ever thinking that it made a fucking difference, as if this would be any worse if you could honestly say ‘yes,’ as if you could choose not to be attached just because you’d told him to get lost. You really hoped that he was somebody’s soldier, that somebody was gonna be there for him when he got back.

You had no way of knowing that he didn’t get back. And it was probably better that way. In your mind, James Barnes got a happy ending, the white picket fence and wife and family that he deserved. And at least he got it somewhere, right?

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #winter soldier fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x y/n

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 3 years

Text

Gold Rush

Finally venturing into writing for Brock, and so excited to put this out there!! Very appreciative of the encouragement I’ve gotten throughout this from @brockadoodles who had (rightfully so, man deserves it) made loving Brock her BRAND. If there was any hockey who’s made to be a dad, it’s Brock Boeser, and I’ve genuinely loved getting to put this together. Love hearing feedback and what your favorite parts were, so reblog and pop into my inbox!

word count: 3.8k+

Brock had loved kids his whole life. Being around them, looking after them, the first day a kid asked him to autograph his jersey was burned into his brain alongside precious few other memories, most of the others involving you. And anyone who had ever seen him with Easton could tell that Brock Boeser loved babies. He had wanted kids since he was old enough to know what being a dad was, and knew so strongly that was a path he wanted — needed, honestly, there was too much love in his heart to not share it with everyone he could — that he wouldn’t ever have let things get serious with you if that wasn’t a life you wanted for yourself. Parenthood wasn’t for everyone, and he never held it against the women he had dated who didn’t want to be moms, but it was for Brock Boeser.

He remembered the day he brought it up with you, his voice soft and hesitant as your head rested on his shoulder, a blanket thrown haphazardly over their laps as Return of the Jedi played on the TV. “Do you want kids someday?” Brock asked. He spoke gently, not wanting to scare you off with thoughts of the future coming too fast for you to handle, wondering if maybe seven months into a relationship was too early to bring up the type of commitment that lasted a lifetime. But he had to, had to protect himself from getting more invested and one more broken heart in a relationship that wasn’t just headed down the wrong set of train tracks, it was going the opposite way entirely. But, as you spoke, it turned out that he never had anything to worry about, and Brock wasn’t sure if he’d ever been more relieved in his life.

“I do,” you said, looking up at his face, trying to read his expression. “Always have. Not sure how many, I’ve always thought two or three sounded good. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Brock couldn’t help the way his heart absolutely swelled, the way you spoke of him in your future, with such ease and certainty as if you weren’t even entertaining a possibility that he wouldn’t be a part of it, that he wouldn’t be the one you would have children with. He twisted his neck, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. “We will.”

So Brock loved kids, and you loved kids, and it had been established over a year before he put a ring on your finger that they were something in your future. You bought a four-bedroom in Shaughnessy, the idea being that one would be a guest room and two would be reserved for the kids, whenever they came along. “We can always add on,” Brock had said as you signed the papers, the real estate agent dropping the keys into your palm with a warm smile. And you knew that he would, you knew that Brock wanted as many kids as you were willing to give him. But you’d start with one. That was the plan. That was the plan, so a few months after you got back from your honeymoon in Scotland you went off of your birth control. Kids would happen when they happened, but you both knew you’d rather them sooner than later, and thus had begun your journey towards starting a family. That was the plan, so a year and a half ago you had swapped the pill for a stock of pregnancy tests, taking one a month and whenever you were feeling even slightly off for good measure, sure that your nausea and headache wasn’t the beginnings of a flu but rather your baby making themself known.

When six months of trying came and went without a single positive test, you both started to get a little antsy, but you knew that these things took time, and you knew that it hadn’t been long enough for there to be any real cause for concern. But you still called your doctor, started exercising more and taking folic acid like she recommended, you and Brock both cutting down on your alcohol. “If you’ve got to do all this, it’s only fair I have to make some changes, too,” he had said. You loved your husband for many reasons, chief among them being the fact that no matter the circumstance, where you were or who you were with or how people were acting, he never made you feel like you were on your own. Everything was a team effort in the Boeser household.

It was six months, and you were doing okay, and Brock was genuinely winning the award for the world’s best husband with how deftly he could calm you down every time you saw the words not pregnant show up on a pregnancy test, but then it hit a year of trying without success and you started to get worried. It was July, and you knew it was common in the NHL to try and time births for the offseason — if you got pregnant in the summer, your baby would have been born in the middle of a playoff push — but you honestly would have settled for any timing. So you visited a fertility specialist at the Mayo Clinic, a quiet recommendation Brock’s mom got from a friend’s daughter. You loved your own mom, but Laurie truly had been your saving grace in everything. A quiet, steady presence who offered more love and support than you could ever ask for, giving her advice only when asked and never once betraying your trust by telling anyone. But Dr. Gonzalez got the tests back, both yours and Brock’s, and said that nothing was wrong. “Unexplained infertility,” they called it. It was nothing anybody was doing wrong, nobody’s fault, not a matter of hormonal imbalances or obvious lifestyle factors or anything that would have let you blame it on yourself. Which, on one hand, was so good and so relieving, so desperately needed. You needed to know that it wasn’t your body, and it wasn’t Brock, that was keeping the two of you from finally being able to grow your family. But on the other hand, there were few things more hopeless or frustrating than hearing that they couldn’t find a cause. That meant that there wasn’t anything you could have done differently, true, but that also meant that there wasn’t anything you could do. It was a waiting game, and you were never good with being patient.

Pregnancy scares were more common than people might know, if the experiences of you and your friends were anything to go by. There were high school boyfriends, college roommates, half of the people you knew had worried they were pregnant or had gotten someone pregnant far before they were ready. But now, when you were settled down and established and were building a life with the most amazing man you had ever had the fortune to love, and you wanted a baby, it wasn’t happening. The clinical definition of infertility was the “failure to achieve a clinical pregnancy after 12 months or more of regular unprotected sexual intercourse.” You had committed the definition to memory over the past 14 months, and whether you knew it or not, Brock had too. You had always been good at tests. Good grades, always the essay the teacher used as an example in class, graduated top of your class at UBC. But this was one test you couldn’t study for, and one you couldn’t believe you had failed time and time again.

Which brought you to December, normally one of your favorite times of the year but one that you had recently begun noticing all the doom and gloom in that others had always mentioned when speaking about the winter months. You still loved the holidays, Christmas and New Year’s and everything in between, but you thought that in your second year as a married couple, you wouldn’t still be a family of two. It was a year and a half since you and Brock had started trying for a baby, and there was still no luck. It was a year and a half, and you had started talking about options. Vancouver had some amazing fertility specialists, and adoption was something you had discussed looking into, but you had both agreed on waiting a few more months before taking that route.

---

Which brought you to almost three weeks later, two days before New Year’s Eve, your head in the toilet and your husband leaning up against the doorway. “God, I feel like shit,” you said, leaning up against the wall when your nausea had finally seemed to subside. “I bet, last time I threw up was our honeymoon,” he said, trying to make you laugh. Brock had insisted on trying haggis in Scotland, saying he needed the “full experience,” but regretted that decision as soon as he spent the better part of the second night of your honeymoon in the hotel bathroom throwing up from food poisoning. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, gratefully taking the cup of water Brock handed you as you leaned up against the bathroom counter.

You caught his eyes searching yours as you set the glass down, his face wearing an expression you had come to know well in the four years you had been together. There was something on his mind, but he wasn’t sure if he should say it. “Yeah?” you prompted, raising your eyebrows.

He gave a tiny shake of his head. “It’s nothing, seriously.”

Now it was your turn to look at him. “Brock, it’s going to eat you up if you keep it all inside. Spit it out.”

“How long has it been since you took a test?” Brock asked gently.

You should have known. God, you should have known that’s where his mind would go, and the worst part of it all, the part that made you feel even worse for getting your husband’s hopes up that maybe this was finally it, maybe it had finally worked, was that you couldn’t even blame him. You had been snappier at Brock the past few days, something both you and he had attributed to your overall weariness about the whole process, you had to practically slap his hands away from your breasts the other night while you were having sex, and this wasn’t even the first time you had thrown up this week. But it was flu season, and you worked with kids, and seemed to catch it more years than not despite taking the flu shot religiously each October. You’d be looking for a missed period, but they had always been light and you had experienced some spotting when Brock was on a road trip the week before.

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, shaking your head. “I don’t know...A month? A little over? I just hate that it’s getting so clinical, that’s not what it was supposed to be about, that’s never what it was supposed to be about.”

Brock ran his hands up your arms, back and forth, the same way he had been comforting you for years. “I know, baby. And I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel that way, more stressed or disappointed in yourself, because it’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. We’re going to have a baby one way or another, because I love you and I’ve never met anyone who’s more excited, and ready, and made to be a mom quite like you. And whether you have the baby yourself, or we adopt, or whatever path we decide is the right one for us, they’ll be ours, and they’ll be so loved.” Brock ghosted a kiss over your forehead, his eyes closing. “You don’t have to take another test if you don’t want to, the last thing I want to do is make you more anxious over all of this. But I think it might be good. I think it might help.”

You breathed out deeply through your nose, shooting your husband a weak smile. God, he was so good to you. “I’ll tell you if I do.”

Brock nodded, stepping towards you and wrapping you in his arms, whispering your name as he leaned his forehead against yours. “No matter what happens — tomorrow, next week, next year, I don’t care — nothing you do will ever make me love you any less. We’re good. We’re gonna be okay.” You could have filled a hundred books with the reasons why you loved Brock Boeser, and this was one of them. The way he loved you, so selflessly and sacrificially, without an ounce of ego and never expecting anything in return aside from your heart. You didn’t know what you had ever done in this life or any past one to deserve him, but there wasn’t a day you didn’t thank God for the privilege of letting you love this man.

---

It was finally New Year’s Eve, festivities having taken over the city — really, they hadn’t stopped since Christmas — and hardly a flat surface was left undecorated with posters or metallic tinsel, or both for good measure, including almost the entirety of yours and Brock’s house. He had volunteered your place weeks ago as the site for the team’s New Year’s Eve party. It didn’t generally draw a crowd as big as the holiday party earlier in the month, which usually had not only the players’ partners, but children and whatever family was visiting at the time, so Brock had asked if you’d be willing, and you agreed easily. You loved getting to spend time with the team, and you were even more inclined than usual to gravitate towards any kind of distraction that would take your mind off of the stress you were under. The stress that you put yourself under, to be fair. So you threw yourself into planning and preparation, pulling out the ice chest from the garage and filling it up, making sure people were bringing enough champagne, cleaning every inch of the house with Brock until it was spotless despite the fact that you both knew you’d have to do the same thing in the morning.

Some two and a half hours into the party and most everyone who was drinking was sufficiently drunk, the TV in the living room flipping back and forth between the broadcast from Times Square and Youtube karaoke that nearly everyone had been roped into at some point or another. You sipped your soda, half-sitting on one of your barstools next to Holly. “You’re not drinking?” she asked curiously.

“I had some earlier, trying to pace myself” you said, waving your hand. “Someone’s got to look after that one.” You nodded towards Brock, who was having what looked to be the time of his life in your living room while badly singing along to One Direction. Holly nodded. You knew she probably wanted to ask more, but she was too tactful to push. “It’s so nice to see them all like this, just letting loose, having fun. It’s hard to remember sometimes that these are just guys in their 20s and 30s when they’re constantly off travelling or away at games, doing things most people their age only dreamed of. They don’t get the chance to be normal hardly ever. And the season can get stressful...It’s just good to see,” you said.

“It is,” she agreed.

You checked your phone. Twelve minutes till midnight. “You want to help me get the champagne ready?”

Holly smiled. “Let’s do it.”

Nearly twenty flutes of champagne later — you had no idea where Brock had managed to find all of the glasses — you walked around the corner, your head poking into the living room. “Champagne’s in the kitchen, everybody. Five minutes till midnight!”

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Brock said, leaning in for a kiss after walking over.

You scrunched your nose. “Babe. It hasn’t even been ten minutes.” The second you had gotten back from refilling your drink earlier, Brock had dragged you into what turned out to be a very endearing but not-so-successful rendition of I’ve Had the Time of My Life in the living room, minus the lift. He wanted to go for it, and you trusted your husband with everything, but you really didn’t feel like spending your New Year’s Eve in the ER after having crashed into the Christmas tree. Dirty Dancing was one of the first movies you had ever watched together, so there was more than a little meaning behind the choice, but you doubted you were exactly making Jennifer Grey proud.

“Ten minutes away from you is ten minutes too long,” he said, nuzzling his head into your neck.

The fingers of your free hand carded through the hairs at the base of his neck; you loved it when he let his hair grow out like this. “Okay, babe, I believe you. How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Brock pulled back, rolling his eyes at you in exaggeration. “Only two beers since the night started. I’m not drunk, I’m not even tipsy, I just love my wife.”

“Could be worse,” you quipped. You squeezed his hand as the two of you walked into the kitchen, after half of the guests had already grabbed their flutes and made their way back into the living room for the countdown. Grabbing your drink from the other side of the counter, you held it in your far hand as you and Brock turned back around, taking your place by the Christmas tree. You glanced towards the TV, where the Times Square ball was slowly inching towards the ground. “Anyone else think it’s a little weird that we’re all staring at a TV waiting for something to happen that already happened 3 hours ago?”

“I don’t believe in tape delay,” Elias said.

Quinn nodded seriously in agreement, but the corner of his mouth twitched up. “It doesn’t exist. That little notice in the corner, saying ‘this is a recording of an earlier broadcast? Fake.”

You snorted into your glass as everyone’s attention turned back to the screen. Three minutes till midnight. “I was a little apprehensive at first when you said you’d put us down to host,” you said, leaning back into Brock’s chest, “but I’m glad you did. This is nice.”

“I’m glad we’ve got everyone around,” he said, looking down at you. “What are you drinking?” he asked curiously. He hadn’t noticed before, too caught up in the euphoria and exhilaration of the night, but the more he looked at it, the more he realized that your glass looked different than everyone else’s.

“Sparkling cider,” you said, your heart rate picking up. “I brought it in case any of the kids came.”

“But there was plenty of champagne left?” Brock questioned. “We’re at our own house, it’s not like you need to be playing designated driver.” You let out an airy laugh, the kind that made Brock’s eyes immediately snap to yours because he knew you so well, he could read even the slightest actions, the smallest shift in tone, and he knew what that particular laugh meant. It was your nervous laugh. “What is it?” he asked, guiding you around the corner to the darkened hallway, the residual glimmer of the lights from the Christmas tree glowing softly on the walls.

You looked up at him, the purest most radiant smile you had ever given him crossing over your face. “You’re not supposed to drink when you’re pregnant,” you whispered, your top lip trembling and letting you know that you were only moments away from tears.

Brock was speechless as he looked at you, the near-silence of the hallway a strange contrast to the growing noise in the living room as the clock ticked closer and closer to the new year. “And you’re...You’re not drinking because…” He faltered.

You gently took both of your glasses, setting them on a side table before taking his left hand in your own, running your thumb over his wedding band. “I’m not drinking because I’m pregnant, Brock,” you repeated, your voice cracking.

“Are you sure?” he asked. You felt a twinge in your heart, but you knew you really couldn’t be upset with him for not being sure. It had been a year and a half and there had been more than once where you both thought it was finally it, that it had finally taken.

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I took a test the other day, after you had asked me if I was going to. God, I wasn’t expecting anything different, Brock. I wasn’t expecting anything,” you said. “But three minutes was up, and I turned the test over,” his hand tightened almost imperceptibly around yours, “and I saw a plus sign. I’ve never seen one before, Brock, it’s never been positive.” You didn’t realize you had started crying until Brock reached up with the hand that wasn’t holding yours, wiping away a tear that had fallen onto your cheek. “But I didn’t want to get my hopes up again. Not until I was sure. So I found a midwifery center online, called — thank God they had a cancellation — and went in yesterday. I wanted to get it confirmed, but I didn’t want to do anything without you. I didn’t even look at the ultrasound, all I had her tell me was that everything looked absolutely perfect for seven weeks along.”

It was your husband’s turn for tears now, neither of you paying any mind to the deafening countdown that was happening just steps away. “You’re really pregnant?”

You nodded again. “We have an appointment again in two days. They’re going to show us the heartbeat.”

That was what broke him, bringing Brock down to his knees in front of you, his hand slipping from yours as he brought it up to rest on your lower stomach. Where his baby was. Where your baby was. “I’m finally going to be a dad,” he said, as if the knowledge that both of your lives would be changed forever come next July was just now hitting him, as if he’d never known purpose and fulfillment quite on the same level until you spoke those words to him.

You knelt down next to him, dropping a kiss on his lips just as the clock struck midnight. It wasn’t like any kiss you had ever shared before, not overwhelmed with passion or desire or want, nor the small, steady sort of kisses you had grown to love in your years as a married couple, the kind that said you’re my best friend in not so many words. This was a kiss of adoration, of devotion, of pure reverence for your husband and the life you had finally created together. “We’re having a baby.”

#hockey fanfic #hockey writing #brock boeser #hockey imagine #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfic #hockey imagines #nhl writing #hockey fanfiction #nhl fanfiction #realized four hours after posting that I never added a title oops

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

Note

A third part to the JangObi locked in a cell/ weapons courting if there isn’t one yet. Jango or Boba calling Obi Mandokar. At least I think that’s the word. A Mando’s wet dream basically.

(this one entirely got away from me and i didn't get to Boba actually using the word Mandokar, but both Obi-Wan and Satine know what he's getting at (ノ*゜▽゜*)

again, i do not hate Satine, but I also do not particularly like her! she's clearly got some stuff to work through here >.>

Thank you as always, Roxy!)

When Jango had told Boba that he'd finally get to see the inside of the Senate Rotunda (legally, this time), Boba hadn't been particularly thrilled. Why should he care about the politics of a Republic neither he nor his buir are a part of?

Well, Obi-Wan is a part of it, but he also clearly doesn't want to be.

To put it shortly, Boba hadn't had high expectations for his afternoon, especially since it was preceded by Obi-Wan taking him to Dex's and letting Kote teach him how to use two vibroblades at once. Why couldn't they have just waited by the Slave I for Jango to finish his politicking?

He supposes Obi-Wan makes it bearable, taking him on a tour and telling him facts about the building itself, as well as stories from the Sacking of Coruscant, but Boba's good will ends rather abruptly when they run into Kryze and Padmé in one of the main corridors.

Tense pleasantries are quickly exchanged, and Boba realises they haven't seen Kryze since Jango had helped Obi-Wan save her from Darth Maul; Boba still isn't sure of the details of what happened after, but his buir had been furious.

When it takes all of two minutes for Kryze to mockingly call Obi-Wan General Kenobi, Boba shares the kriffing sentiment.

Obi-Wan heaves a sigh, and Padmé looks wildly uncomfortable. "My lady, I do not know what you hope to achieve by reiterating your position on the Order’s involvement in the War; I am but one Jedi."

"A Jedi on the High Council. You are just as implicit in its continuation as the rest," Kryze retorts, and Boba may be thirteen and a little out of his depth with the Politician Speak, but he knows this isn't about the Jedi, or the War. "Do not think you can absolve yourself from fault."

Boba looks up at Obi-Wan, eager for his witty retort, but he just looks tired, and Boba has to remind himself that Obi-Wan had loved her, once.

Padmé smiles apologetically, trying to pull Kryze's focus. "The decisions of the High Council are not made by Obi-Wan alone," she says, even though they all know that isn't really the issue.

"You’re right," Kryze agrees, not sounding like she agrees at all, "individual Jedi have absolutely no control over their political participation in needless violence." Boba grinds his teeth as she gives up trying to hide her scowl.

And Obi-Wan just stands there and takes it, like Boba hasn't seen him talk entire armies out of battle, or fight off both Savage and Maul at once. He hasn't seen Obi-Wan like this since Waxer's death on Cato Neimoidia.

Obi-Wan sighs again, trying to offer Boba a little smile. "Individuals always have a choice," he says, more to Boba than Kryze. "But preventing the death of millions outweighs our personal beliefs, don't you think?"

Boba nods firmly as Padmé shifts on her feet, but doesn't disagree; she's certainly seen more battle in this war than Kryze.

Kryze who scoffs to hide what must be genuine hurt. Anger is rarely about the thing you're angry with, Boba remembers Lama Su trying to teach him, and he reminds himself that Kryze had loved Obi-Wan once, too. That was the real problem, wasn't it?

"Back then, you avoided conflict whenever you could," she says, flat and a little sad, "you would always rather go around than force your way through. It saddens me, Obi-Wan, to see what's left of your honor."

"At least Obi-Wan hasn't murdered an entire half of his people!" Boba snarls, deciding he's quite done listening to this nonsense.

"Boba, it's alright," Obi-Wan says softly, but he's also keeping his left arm behind his back, keeping Jango's vambrace out of sight, and Boba is livid.

"'Gar taldin ni jaonyc,'" he says, because he knows the "Duchess" still understands Mando'a, even if she pretends she doesn't. Bloodline means nothing. "I don't care who your clan was, or what title you claim to have: until you are ready to die for your people, they are not yours."

Kryze stares down at him, and Boba can feel Obi-Wan prodding at his mind in question, in an attempt to calm, but Boba shoves him back out.

"It's easy to call Obi-Wan a murderer when you're hiding in your glass palace, when you wouldn't know the first thing about defending it. Do not speak of honor until you even know what that is."

There is a tense beat of silence before Kryze rounds a glare on Obi-Wan. "I would hope you could speak for yourself, if the Senate trusts a third of the Galactic Army in your hands."

"Satine," Padmé murmurs, glancing at the passing senators who aren't even trying to hide their stares.

Obi-Wan’s eyes are colder than Boba has ever seen them, the hand behind him clenched into a fist, and Kryze had known him very well at one point, Boba knows she can read between the lines of Obi-Wan’s blank expression.

"And I had hoped we had reached an understanding that there was nothing else for us to discuss, my lady. There are only so many times we can beat a dead bantha."

Kryze sniffs. "You need not show me so much disdain, Obi-Wan: we are not sixteen and foolish anymore." Padmé tries to cut in, but Kryze waves for her silence. "But I agree, I do not think any new peace can be reached here, and you should be getting the child back to his progenitor, no?"

"Jealous hag," Boba chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet and wondering if she had had dreams of having kids with Obi-Wan. "You didn't deserve Obi-Wan back then, and you certainly don't deserve him now. At the very least, he can separate his feelings from his politics."

"Boba, please," Obi-Wan sighs, setting a gentle hand on the back of his neck, and Boba gets to watch with a vicious glee the exact moment Kryze sees Jango's vambrace, the only piece of armor Obi-Wan wears, and realises he is far past fraternising with her enemy.

Padmé puts a hand on Kryze’s arm and gently starts to lead her away. "We should return to the committee, Duchess. And I'm sure Master Kenobi has his own business to attend to."

"Of course," Kryze agrees icily, and actually returns Obi-Wan’s nod of farewell; she barely spares Boba a glance, though he smiles innocently up at her and mutters,

"Demagulka," just loud enough for her to hear.

Obi-Wan casts him a stern look, but luckily doesn't get the chance to scold him further, when Padmé quickly returns without Kryze and looks harried enough for all three of them.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan," she says, hushed in the still rather busy hall, "You did not deserve that."

"That's quite alright, my dear," Obi-Wan is quick to say, and smiles at his friend. "I'm afraid I'm quite used to such treatment, though perhaps not so... publicly."

"I don't know if I've ever seen you in the Rotunda without the council, and I highly doubt you came all this way just to butt heads with the Duchess. What are you doing here?"

"Ah, that would be this one's fault," he says, Boba yelping as Obi-Wan sticks his hand into his curls and tousles them roughly. He only smiles down at him when Boba growls and grabs onto his arm, and though he knows Obi-Wan could easily lift him like this, the Jedi would never do so here.

"It was Boba, yes?" Padmé asks kindly, folding her hands in front of her. "What brings you to the Rotunda?'

"Buir said he was meeting someone," he scrunches up his face. "But we're leaving right after so Obi-Wan was watching me and brought me over to meet him."

Padmé’s smile only slips a little, looking back to Obi-Wan. "Fett's meeting someone?" she asks, even quieter, "Here?"

"It is perhaps not my place to speak of it, we are still in the very early stages," he says mysteriously, tugging Boba around to lean against his front, arms draped over Boba's shoulders as if trying to make up for Jango’s resistance to public displays of affection. Grumbling, Boba still lets himself be held there, and meets every stare from passing politicians with a glare. "When we get a little further along, I would very much like to speak with the Delegation of 2,000."

Bemused but not particularly surprised, Padmé shakes her head. "Of course, Obi-Wan. Are we to see you on Coruscant more often, then?"

Obi-Wan winces and holds Boba a little closer. "The 212th is coming off leave at the end of the tenday, I'm afraid. And of course Jango and Boba will be returning to Mandalorian space."

Padmé looks over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, smile becoming strained but not quite unfriendly. "Speak the name of the Dianoga," she sighs.

Boba wriggles to look behind them and immediately perks up. "Buir!"

Jango pauses on his path for the elevators, turning instead towards Boba's voice; the lines of his face soften at the sight of them, joining them after an encouraging finger-flick from Obi-Wan.

"Senator Amidala," he greets with a nod, and Boba thinks his buir actually likes Padmé, but won't admit it because Obi-Wan would never let him hear the end of it.

"Mr. Fett," she returns, shaking his hand firmly like any good Mando. "Although, if my suspicions about your presence here are correct, I will be adjusting my term of address in the near future?"

Letting Boba latch onto his side like a Corellian limpet, Jango raises a brow at Obi-Wan. "Haat'ade do not change their clan names at marriage," he says, Boba rolling his eyes at his buir's failed attempt at humor, and Obi-Wan rubs his eyes with one hand.

"Jango," he sighs, Padmé looking like Lifeday came early.

"Obi-Wan, you hadn't told me the Council had approved your request," she plays along, "When can I expect an invitation?"

"After I'm done with him, never."

"Now, cyar’ika," Jango chides, "it's best not to publicly threaten your–"

"Finish that sentence, and I'll have Anakin steal the Slave I," Obi-Wan says it into his hand, but Boba can see the edges of a smile. "Padmé, please don't encourage him, he'll be insufferable after this."

Padmé casts a quick wink down to Boba. "You best tell Anakin next, if he's the last to know, he'll be whining for weeks."

Jango brushes his fingers over Obi-Wan’s back like a sap, and his smile is even worse. Maker, Boba loves the both of them, but no one should look as smitten as his buir does any time Obi-Wan threatens him. "I don't know how we're going to fit your entire family on Concord Dawn, or all the kids."

"You mean the vode? Buir, I think Obi has more people on the Negotiator than have ever even lived on Concord Dawn."

"Why in Corellian Hells would I agree to have it on Concord Dawn?" Obi-Wan wants to know. "Maker, but this entire conversation is ridiculous."

Padmé tilts her head with a small hum, expression entirely too innocent. "Didn't you agree to marry Anakin on Tatooine for the one mission with the three-lekku Twi'lek and their five footed goa–"

"Yes, THANK YOU, my dear, that's quite enough of that."

Jango looks put-out, just short of an actual pout, and Boba wriggles against him in embarrassment. "You didn't tell me about that mission," Jango says, feigning hurt.

Obi-Wan side-eyes him, and only gets a smile for his trouble. "You know," Obi-Wan starts casually, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that has only ever meant great deals of fun for Boba, "by Stewjoni rites, we're already married."

Jango chokes on nothing, and Boba wonders if he'd even known where Obi-Wan was from. He should probably tell his buir he's already met Obi-Wan's grandparents.

Mando’a: buir — “parent”, gender neutral Demagulka — (from mandoa.org) “someone who commits atrocties, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche” Haat’ade — slang for Haat Mando’ade, lit. “true children of Mandalore”, True Mandalorians cyar’ika — “darling”, “sweetheart”

*“Gar taldin ni jaonyc” from the full phrase “Gar taldin ni jaonyc; gar sa buir, ori'wadaas'la,” lit. “Bloodline is not important, but you as a [parent] [is] the most valuable thing”, used in the context of not judging someone by their lineage (blood or not) but by their own actions as a parent. I’ve used it here as Boba both calling Satine “dar’manda” and calling out her hypocrisy in criticising Obi-Wan/the Jedi from her ivory tower when she is a Kalevalen imperialist ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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13eyond13 · 3 years

Note

Do you really think Takada could have gone against Light's wishes or used him in return in a way that made sense with the way she was written morally, politically and personality-wise? How do you imagine that could have gone? What could she have wanted to do, achieve, or how could she have gone against his wishes? And do you think it would have been more morally related, like Mikami killing people that didn't fit Kira's criteria, or more at a personal level? Both?

I would also like to know if you think Light liked Takada to some extent or even harboured some feelings for her, despite his ultimate coldness, and if you think their relationship gets a different treatment in the manga and the anime.

Hello again! Thanks for both of your asks. I am only publishing this one with the questions, but I liked and agreed with all the insights you included about Kiyomi, Misa, and Light in the previous ask too. And I'm very impressed that you re-read the entire manga in such a short period of time! Please be warned that I'm too tired and lazy at the moment to reread anything myself lol, so I am basing this off super distant memories of last reading and watching the successor arc approximately 3 years ago now...

(under a cut bc it's a bit long)

Do you really think Takada could have gone against Light's wishes in some way? Or used him in return in a way that made sense with the way she was written morally, politically, and personality-wise? How do you imagine that could have gone? Would it be more morally-related, or on a personal level, or both?

I think yes, it could've been possible for Ohba to write Kiyomi that way instead while still keeping her in-character. But he normally isn't too concerned with emotionally developing most of the characters apart from Light. And any drastic changes in behaviour like this for Kiyomi in the second half would probably be more effective if Ohba had been consciously setting her character up from the very start to return again later on, or to play a role in the narrative of that sort. And apparently this was not the case. Ohba said in the behind the scenes book that he never originally planned for Kiyomi to return at a later date when he first introduced her; I think she was initially just meant to be one of the many expendable female classmates whom Light was camouflaging his social life with while being tailed at school. Indeed, barely anything of significance happens in Kiyomi's introductory scenes to even really warrant introducing her character by name. So when she was brought back as Kira's spokesperson later on I don't think it was because Ohba had some strong desire to further develop her emotionally. Maybe he was mostly just wanting to flesh out Kira's posse and the overall worldbuilding a bit more. This is typical of the series in general though, as most of the characters stay pretty static in their stances and their motives and emotional journeys apart from Light.

I don't have a ton of energy to come up with a lot of specific scenarios for Kiyomi to do something differently right now, and to be honest it's kind of even slipping my mind how the whole thing even was working between Light and Kiyomi plot-wise in canon as it was. Like I'm totally forgetting now what kind of faking they had to do initially with each other and the task force listening in on their meetings and Light secretly being Kira and such, lol.

But anyway, here are some things that maybe could have been done differently with her character:

SHE DIDNT ACTUALLY LIKE HIM BACK THEN -It could've been revealed that Kiyomi hadn't actually had sincere feelings for Light when they were dating back in the day at all, and that Light's vanity about his usual popularity with girls somewhat blinded him to this fact. I think this would be just as realistic as Kiyomi secretly holding a flame for him all these years and then agreeing to be his mistress, for sure. And it would make sense to me that she is equally as opportunistic and shallow and image-conscious as he is when it comes to who she dates, both in the past and in the present. Especially because apparently she was the one who made the first move and asked him out. Even if this didn't affect the plot all that much, I still think it would be funny and a bit of a refreshing break from everyone always drooling all over Light

SHE DID LIKE HIM BACK THEN, BUT SHE DOESN'T LIKE HIM NOW -She could have maybe genuinely liked Light when they briefly dated at school, but him being kind of a dick to her back then means that she no longer feels anything for him when he looks her up again. She could still act like she is interested in rekindling their romance, but really only be doing it for utilitarian and selfish motives of her own. Maybe career-building motives or ideological ones or personal ones, or a mix of them all, who knows. But she would be secretly playing him the entire time he's playing her; inwardly looking down on him for his vanity and his arrogant assumptions all the while he is secretly looking down on her for apparently being so gullible. It could possibly be pretty funny to watch

SHE LIKES HIM AGAIN, BUT THEN SHE CHANGES HER MIND - She could still be genuinely into it him when they reunite, but then experience something traumatic or shocking like the kidnapping a bit earlier in the plot that she survives and that radically changes her views. It could make her completely lose her faith in her Kira ideals, or her attraction to Light, or both. Or maybe just something like the grim reality of Light asking her to personally murder people with the notebook could cause her to rethink things that she previously stood for, because it all becomes a lot more scary and gruesome and real. She definitely had a horrified reaction when faced with the task of committing any murders herself, but she still went along with it anyway. That easily could have been a personal crisis that set her off down an entirely different path

I would also like to know, considering Takada's relationship and parallelism with Light, and how Light seems to treat her marginally better than he treats Misa while with her, if you think Light liked her a bit or harboured some kind of feelings for her, despite ultimate coldness, and if you think their relationship gets a different treatment in the manga and the anime.

I think Light treated Kiyomi with a bit more attention than Misa mostly because she is higher maintenance in the respect she requires from a romantic partner in order to feel trusting of them and devoted to them. But he still mostly looked down on her inwardly, and seemed to barely even pay enough attention to her to develop any feelings for her otherwise. All of Light's thoughts about Kiyomi are dismissive and mocking and unkind, no matter what kind of flattering and admiring things he's saying to her to win her trust. I don't think he particularly hated her or anything like that; but he clearly didn't ever respect her or find her very interesting, either. I think this is because he could successfully fool her with his manipulation, and because all he ever really cared about whenever he was interacting with her was using her to achieve his own goals.

Their relationship was depicted pretty similarly between the manga and the anime, I think? But it's been so long now since I've read or watched it that I can't really confidently say what the major differences between the anime and the manga for this relationship are now, sorry. I haven't been keeping fresh on canon these days, because I'm spending all my time this year trying to read and watch new things instead

#kiyomi #light yagami #misa amane #kiyomixlight #ask #anon #p #i hope this is coherent hahaha i am half asleep #also maybe a little stoned #meta

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marmolady · 3 years

Text

There Was This Girl

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC

Summary: Rourke Ending. Estela Montoya is a loner. She keeps herself to herself. But there's just something about the girl in her Chemistry class....

Word Count: 3738

Chronology: This the first part of my Rourke ending series.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic

There was this girl. Blonde… electric blue eyes. Not all that tall, not all that short. Just another average blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl in your average American college. The girl… Taylor she’d said she was called, looked to Estela to be just an ordinary anyone. Which was why she bothered Estela so. The way that girl played upon her mind after bumping into her just the once; that was anything but ordinary. After that… well, Estela didn’t seem to be able to keep herself from bumping into Taylor. It was almost as if that girl, that average, ordinary girl, had been seeking her out.

Estela had made a point of keeping to herself in the days since beginning her studies as a freshman at Hartfeld University. Though she’d been raised by her uncle in San Trobida, away from the trappings of her lineage, she was certain that it wouldn’t be long before she was known here as the daughter of the Emperor and the Second Empress. It was a connection she’d long despised. That she and her uncle had spent the last however many years fighting against a dictatorship was laughably ironic when it was none other than a cruel dictator who’d sired her… who still kept a hold over her mother. Had it been down to Estela, she’d never have come to this place, but at her uncle’s insistence that she arm herself with the best education they could give her, she’d relented. Quite an achievement in persuasion on his part. It was not every day that Estela Montoya backed down.

There must have been a reason she was drawn to that girl, Taylor. Maybe it was the simple fact that people tended not to talk to Estela. She liked it that way, for so long as she was left alone, her identity never seemed to be an issue—despite her striking resemblance to the Second Empress. Other students would whisper—or rather, not bother to—behind her back, mulling upon the reasons for her enforced solitude, for the scarring that marked her serious face. Their speculations were frequently cruel in tone. Perhaps that was why the openly friendly way that Taylor had greeted her; no hesitation, no mistrust, had stuck with her.

“Hey-- you mind if I sit here? It’s kind of crowded everywhere else; I don’t think I can handle the noise right now.”

A frown darkened Estela’s face, born of suspicion that had been drilled into her since she was small, but she nodded. It was hard to resent Taylor a simple desire for peace and quiet-- the new food court was for the most part a headache waiting to happen.

Taylor sat down with an exhale-- relief?-- and began to eat. After a moment, she looked back up, meeting Estela’s eyes before they could pointedly dart away.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I… I get the impression you like to keep to yourself.”

Estela’s frown deepened. Maybe… maybe she did. She felt lonely sometimes, but solitude was now second nature; it was easy.

“Let’s just say it’s better that way. For me… for anyone who doesn’t want to wind up hurt.”

Taylor studied Estela’s face, and a couple of times opened her mouth as if to start talking, before reassessing and remaining quiet. Estela looked back, unblinking, mirroring the curiosity before her. She’d never much been drawn to blue eyes. Used to the cruel, icy gaze of her father, that coldness was anticipated. But Taylor’s weren’t like that. Not at all. They were bright, sparkling and warm like the sun on the sea. They were kind. And when Taylor’s smile reached them, they made something both alarming and pleasurable bubble up in Estela’s stomach. Then, Taylor finally managed to get her words out; shaky, unsure.

“Well, if you ever feel like… you know, some company, you should know that I enjoy being in yours. And I wouldn’t mind just… hanging out sometime.”

Estela averted her gaze, painfully aware of the heat blossoming upon her cheeks, spreading rapidly to her ears and the back of her neck. She could only hope that Taylor didn’t notice that fierce blush. Was she attracted to Taylor? Like, really attracted to her. Was that what this was? Intensely focused as she’d been on the family business in San Trobida, she’d never had the time for foolish crushes. Any such feelings had been trifling, fleeting. She might have looked at a person and thought the nice to look at, but it hadn’t been like this. There hadn’t been the butterflies. There hadn’t been the throb between her legs, nor the goose-bumps rising up her neck. Agonisingly uncomfortable, Estela took her food and strode off without a look back.

And then, that night, everything changed.

She was on a hillside, overlooking a sparkling sea. Smiling beside her… Taylor.

“I’ve seen a few sunsets,” Taylor said, but this is something else.”

It was. The colours upon the vast sea were sublime.

“My view is better,” said Estela. She stared into Taylor’s lovely face, taking every feature in.

Taylor blushed a little, and deflected. “I think you found your light too. We should take some pictures while we’re up here.”

For a moment, Estela said nothing, unable or unwilling to tear herself from simply basking in the glow of the beautiful person beside her. Oh, how her stomach fluttered.

“Something like this is hard to capture,” she said at last. “It’s more special if we have to remember it.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s ours alone that way.”

Together, they sat down in the cool grass, knees touching, and watched the shift of colours across the water and sky.

“I…,” said Estela, “used to avoid getting this close to people.”

“I remember,” Taylor said… somewhat sadly. “There was a time when it was hard to talk to you.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was afraid of hurting you… of losing you and everyone else.”

“Believe me, I worry about it too. We’re gonna find the others though. We’re all in this together.”

Again, Estela fell quiet, thoughtful; then…, “Yes.”

It was getting too much. She had to be nearer to Taylor. She edged closer, reaching for her hand, and utterly powerless to look away from those gentle blue eyes….

Then Taylor moved in and was kissing her. So soft and tender. Estela closed her eyes, letting herself know nothing but for the feel of Taylor’s lips as they caressed her own. She let her arms wander, feeling, knowing every inch of Taylor’s body, and the kisses became harder, more urgent.

She shifted back, a fire in her raging wildly… an aching need.

“I want you, Taylor…. Now.”

And Taylor whispered back, “I want you too.”

Clothes were torn off, Estela’s heart pounded like a drum, and not for a moment did her eyes leave Taylor until they were both bare in the glow of the sunset.

“Come to me.”

Estela sat bolt upright in bed.

Holy fuck. What the fucking fuck was that?

What was this-- some sort of gay awakening? Never before had Estela felt so… so… intoxicated by another person. It was all at once frightening and addictive. Her heartbeat quickening, Estela let her hand delve into her pyjama pants, feeling. She shuddered to her own touch as her mind’s eye showed her Taylor’s lips… blurring out of focus… drawing her in until she was moaning against them. Then, as if zapped by an electric shock, she pulled her hand back up. Shit, shit shit… you can not feel like that! You don’t even know this girl!

But you want to.

Damnit, she was aching for that woman. That couldn’t have been a normal dream. In a normal dream, she wouldn't have woken up with the memory so vivid that she could practically feel the ghost of Taylor’s breath against her lips.

You could actually try talking to her. Maybe if you weren’t so fucking repressed it wouldn’t explode out of you like… that.

After an age, Estela managed to shut out her thoughts long enough to drop back off to sleep. But there she was again…. Taylor.

“I brought you a blanket… if you’re cold.”

Estela recoiled, eyes narrowing. “…Why?”

“I don’t know. To be nice?”

Though Taylor looked confused, she kept holding out the blanket. And Estela took it, draping it over her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She looked up to the stars-- stars that seemed to be… in the wrong place? “Where I’m from, people don’t do things for you without expecting something in return.”

For a moment, Taylor didn’t appear to quite know what to say to that. “Well…. Maybe people just want to be liked in return.”

“Isn’t that pathetic?” Estela quietly scoffed. “How lonely we all are?” She shifted her gaze from the night sky and smiled at Taylor. “But at least you’re honest about it.”

Again, she woke up. What the hell was going on?

________________________

The next week was unbearable. Estela wasn’t sure what it was-- was she putting out some kind of signal to the universe?-- but she couldn’t seem to keep herself from running into Taylor. If her presence had felt inescapable before, it had been nothing compared to this. In the halls. In the cafe-- which after a few days Estela had simply started avoiding completely. In Introductory Chemistry, in which of all the people she could have been grouped with for their practical component… of course, Taylor. Even just walking across campus between lessons, their paths would inexplicably cross. And each night, Estela would find herself lost in visions too vivid, too real to be dreams in the sense she knew.

Taylor holding her hand as they prepared to step through a mysterious portal with a group of other students. Taylor kissing her passionately while they tumbled, weightless in what looked to be some kind of space station. Taylor reaching desperately for her as she fell out the gaping side of a helicopter.

Whispered ‘I love you’s, exchanged huddled in a tent beneath the starriest of skies.

Awakening with tears streaming down her face was fast becoming Estela’s normal. Some weird crush, maybe she could’ve been able to handle, but the loneliness… it sent an ache down to her bones, a sadness that engulfed her whole body. She’d felt Taylor’s arms around her… the warmth, the comfort. She’d experienced some higher plane of bliss. But in reality, she hadn’t. And that hollow space left behind when she opened her eyes each morning hit like a slap in the face.

She lay in her bed, closing her eyes and trying to think of anything that might distract her from imagining Taylor spooning against her back-- why couldn’t she just be kept awake stressing about exams like all the other students? It would be better than this. Anything would be better than this.

With a groan, Estela hauled herself up and switched on the light. She poured herself a glass of water, and rubbed her temples.

I’m losing my fucking mind….

A piece of paper scrunched on her desk drew her eye. She’d thrown that thing out twice already, but somehow she couldn’t stop herself from rescuing it from the waste-paper basket within an hour. Taylor had given her a scribbled note of her details; where her room was, her phone number. ‘Just in case you ever need a friend’ she’d said.

It was too late to call. Estela downed her water in a single long gulp. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’m just gonna face her head-on.

What was the worst that could happen? This was just some girl she had a crush on, after all.

It was nothing but a very strange, very intense crush.

______________________________

The lecture theatre always filled up quickly for Introductory Chemistry. Estela never had to worry too much about finding a seat; as long as she didn’t leave it too late, all she had to do was move toward the area of her choice, and people would usually scatter. There was no denying that it hurt. Estela had gotten used to being alone; throughout her life, the only person who’d ever wanted to give her the time of day had been her uncle. And… well, the gentle-eyed blonde that she now found herself making a beeline for.

Painfully aware that her cheeks were burning hot and no doubt had flushed a bright red, she approached.

“Hi.” It wasn’t smooth. Estela tried to look anywhere but Taylor’s face. How was she supposed to look her in the eye when the things she’d been dreaming had been so… so… well, there hadn’t always been many clothes involved. “You don’t mind if I…?”

Taylor’s face cracked into a smile, big and broad and genuine. And the guy next to her-- Diego, Estela was pretty sure his name was-- looked, for some reason, almost as happy.

“Sit with us!” Taylor cried. “Maybe you can explain some of this crap to me. I swear these equations just go in one ear and out the other. Sorry-- I don’t think you’ve met properly? Diego-Estela, Estela- Diego.”

Estela nodded stiffly. It seemed that Taylor was around Diego a lot. A mortifying thought occurred to her… were they together? She couldn’t just assume Taylor was single. And… not straight. She certainly didn’t seem especially heterosexual in those blasted dreams….

God, my cheeks must be so bright-fucking-red you could probably see them from space. Joder.

“Hi,” she deadpanned.

“Hi,” said Diego, a little awkwardly.

And then, as if struck by a bolt from the blue, it dawned on Estela-- she knew his face. Not just from around Hartfeld; Diego had been there in the background in the dreams. He’d been one of the students. It wasn’t random… it was, aside from herself and Taylor, nine other people who were definitely Hartfeld students Estela knew by sight. Always those same students. And some other guy… and, uh, some tall elf-like man with blue skin, but that was probably just her dream-mind being creative.

All right. That’s very, very weird. Why those same nine people?

With the lecture beginning, Estela pushed those thoughts from her mind. She could ponder over her dreams later, when she didn’t have the woman who’d been on her mind all week sitting right there next to her.

As it happened, sitting with Taylor through a lecture turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. Perhaps because their focus was not directly on one another, Estela found she could relax a little. Taylor just slipped into her companionship as if it were natural, as if it were something they did every day.

As if they knew one another.

Taylor dropped her pen, and instinctively, Estela ducked down to pick it up. For a moment she hesitated, tucking a loose strand of hair behind hair, then handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, lingering there… and Estela felt a pleasurable flip-flopping of her stomach. When their eyes met, Taylor’s smile was sweet and soft.

“You dropped this,” Estela murmured.

“Thanks,” came the whispered reply.

Okay, Estela thought to herself, maybe… maybe getting to know Taylor-- actually getting to know Taylor, not some dreamland bullshit-- wouldn’t be the worst thing.

___________________________

In the days to come, Estela would sit by Taylor for their shared lectures. It became easy; she’d just sit and quietly just enjoy the company. If Diego was there, he’d usually chatter on about something or other that meant nothing to Estela, but it was hard not to be happy when Taylor was laughing along with her best friend.

The dreams didn’t stop. If anything, they were getting stranger. She dreamed herself pummelling some woman from Rourke International into the snow… punching the ever-living daylights out of her. Why? Taylor had been there, standing by. And then… a great, lumbering beast staggered out of the trees.… And she woke up. Then there’d been sea monsters, and pirates, and a hulking sabre-toothed cat…. What was consistent, though, was Taylor. Always Taylor.

During their next Chemistry lecture, Taylor seemed oddly… uneasy, as if something was on her mind. She was twitchy, and stared off into space as if oblivious to every word the professor was saying. What was more, Diego was quiet. Estela felt a sinking feeling in her stomach; something was wrong-- was it her? Of course it was her. It only made sense that Taylor got with the program eventually; no one wanted to be around the scary loner.

When the lecture finished and all the other students filed out, Taylor lingered, even after Diego had hurried off to his next class. She looked so lost and confused.

Estela spoke quietly. “Am I, um… am I making you uncomfortable? You don’t have to be polite if you’d rather I sat somewhere else….”

Taylor jumped, jolted from her clearly troubled thoughts. “No! No, I… I’m sorry. My head’s a mess right now.” She offered Estela a shaky smile. “But I do….” She took a deep breath. “I so need to talk to you about something. Not here-- the next class will be in here soon.”

Estela followed Taylor to the shade of a big tree, out of earshot of the crowds moving between lecture theatres. Every instinct in her told her this was bad news. Something was wrong… really wrong. She waited for Taylor to speak, not having a clue what to expect to hear.

“So, what is it? Are you okay?”

"This... isn't going to make much sense, okay? But it's the truth. I swear, I'm not lying to you." Taylor looked as if she was on the verge of tears. “You don’t know me,” she said simply after a tense pause, her tone at odds with the pain behind her eyes, pain that made Estela’s drop, “but you did once. Not in the past-- in the future….” Frustration played upon her face, and something like… desperation? “The world wasn’t meant to be like this. Rourke wasn’t meant to be ruling over everything. It was everything; all of history, hell maybe even time itself-- he bent it to his will and made it his plaything. You… think I’m crazy.”

Estela’s face clouded over as she digested what she was being told. Slowly, word by word, letting it sink in.

Yes. Yes, Taylor was clearly crazy. Fuck. Is that why she’s got me so wigged out? She’s obsessed with Rourke; no damn wonder she’s been trying to stalk me.

“Do you remember, ‘Stel? You’ve got to remember something-- La Huerta? We were on Rourke’s private island--”

“Listen.” Estela spoke with an ice-cold edge to her voice. She’d been taken for a fool. As if anyone could have wanted to be close to her simply for her. ‘Just want to be liked in return’?-- bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. How could she have been so stupid?

“That bastard is nothing, nothing to do with me. And if you come around talking insane conspiracy theories, it is not going to end well for you.” It wasn’t a threat, so much as a warning. Rourke was dangerous, and this weirdo was playing with fire. Whatever was wrong with Taylor, and clearly something was, it was messing with Estela’s head. She couldn’t be swept up in that bullshit. If she drew Rourke’s attention to herself, her very freedom could go up in flames. “Now, if you know what’s good for you-- if you don’t have a goddamn death wish… you stay away from me.”

She hadn’t been prepared for the look of utter devastation in Taylor’s face as it crumbled at those words. It threw Estela off-guard, and even through her anger, some inexplicable protective urge flared up within her. As if Taylor’s hurt was a knife twisting in her own chest. It was more than she knew what to do with. Her heart drumming furiously against her ribs, Estela pierced Taylor with a hard, lingering stare.

“Stay,” she growled, even as the effect of her words was terrible pain. Pain so all-engulfing that she could fall to her knees on the spot. “Away.”

And she fled.

#endless summer #rourke ending #estela montoya #estela x mc #gosh it's been a while since i've done one of these

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

Text

Raise the Stakes, Part 6

Moving right along...

Don't forget to read Place Your Bets and the first 5 part of Raise the Stakes, which you can find in the Master List.

Pairing: David Finlay x OFC x Jay White

Word count: 2,031

Content advisory: sexual references, cursing, giant dump trucks of angst and hurtfulness

There is nothing weird about this, you tell yourself. This is what adults do. They acknowledge their mistakes and achieve some kind of closure that leaves everyone a little sadder and wiser, but also peaceful.

“Yeah, idiot,” you murmur out loud, “that’s why you’re standing here scared shitless of a door.”

You have to knock. You have to do this. You’re so worked up you feel nauseous.

The last few days have been awful. You’d slunk around under a dark cloud of shame and guilt, which was only emphasized by the fact that Jay had been as cheery and relaxed as you’d ever seen him in his life. He was funny and attentive and you hadn’t been able to enjoy any of it because there wasn’t an atom in your body that felt like you deserved it.

Even worse, as you’ve been dragging yourself around work, you’ve been trying to get caught, wandering around where you’re going to run into David Finlay. It’s only half-conscious but you feel like if you could just get him to say something, scream at you, dump all the scorn and abuse you so richly deserve on your shoulders, it might actually make things better.

But as much as you’ve tried to worm your way into his path, Finlay hasn’t so much as glanced. It’s a conscious effort on his part. It has to be. But the only look he’s given is still that awful, gutting one you got when he’d reappeared in Japan and seen you on Jay’s lap,,,

Perhaps you wouldn’t be quite so shaken up if things hadn’t seemed a bit tense with Jay earlier. He’d headed out to go to dinner and clubs with some wealthy New Japan sponsors, something you knew usually meant hitting hostess clubs and all manner of other things. Yes, you were thrilled that it finally gave you the chance to force contact with David, but it also seemed creepily reminiscent of the way your life had been before Jay had suddenly decided to romance you.

You are not here because you’re insecure about Jay. You are here because if you don’t talk things out at least a little with David, it’s going to kill you. You’re grownups. You can have a serious, respectful conversation where you apologize for everything you’ve done wrong.

Finally, you grit your teeth and knock on the apartment door.

It swings open and there he is, a look of utter disbelief on his face for a second before he rolls his eyes.

“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He immediately walks away and back into his apartment but since he doesn’t slam the door in your face, you slip inside it and watch as he cleans up the remains of what appears to be a home cooked dinner. It smells nice.

“I didn’t know you cooked,” you offer meekly.

He doesn’t even bother to turn around. “What do you want?”

He couldn’t sound any less interested.

“I want… I owe you an apology. I mean, I wanted to say that I’m so sorry-“

“Good, ok, message delivered,” he snaps. “Trust you can show yourself out.”

“David, please, I just want to tell you how awful I feel. I never meant for things to get so screwed up and I know that it’s my fault. I’m just so sorry.”

He shifts to the sink and starts washing his hands, way too vigorously.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” You can see his shoulders shudder a little and it breaks your heart. All you want to do is hug him and tell him over and over that you feel horrible.

“Bye.” His voices rises enough that you can hear the anger in it.

There’s a wisp of hair that’s fallen over his face and you have to restrain yourself from walking over and brushing it out of the way.

“Can you just look at me, please?”

From what you can see of his face, he looks furious.

“I don��t want to look at you. I don’t want to have to see you at work. I don’t want to smell your perfume. I don’t want to hear your self-important, grating little voice.”

He wipes his hands and throws the dish towel down with a vengeance before he finally turns and meets your eyes.

“And what I really don’t want is to have you here in my home, the place where I’m supposed to be able to relax and clear my head, putting on this little contrite performance so that you can feel better about yourself.”

“That’s not fair.”

He lets out a painful sort of laugh and stares at the floor. “You are unreal, lady. I mean the ego on you-“

“I wouldn’t be here if I… I know you hate me and I deserve that but I want you to understand…”

He brings his hand to his head, pinching his temples like he’s fighting a migraine.

“I know how this looks terrible but it’s like I got hit by an avalanche.”

“I wish you had.”

The line almost makes you laugh out loud because it’s like something you’d say in the same circumstances.

“He just showed up and started freaking out because he saw us together the day before and I should have just tried to stop things but it just all escalated and I’m not trying to say that this isn’t my fault because it is.”

He holds up his hand, frowning and obviously trying to work through what you’ve just said.

“He told you that he saw us together the day before?”

“Yes, and it was like he thought this was some huge betrayal-“

“When did all this escalation happen exactly?”

Your jaw drops as you realize that you’ve just made things much worse.

“I don’t know, I guess it happened pretty quickly.”

“Like what, the day after I left?”

You move your mouth but you can’t make words come out.

“Jesus Christ, it wasn’t even that long, was it? You were probably riding his dick before I was even on the goddamned plane.” He breaks down in a mirthless, disquieting laughter. “Here I’ve been thinking that he was working on you and just wore you down. Son of a bitch didn’t even have to do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, starting to choke up. “I’m just-“

“So very sorry, I got it. I am not hard of hearing. Might be a bit naive and terribly fucking stupid, but yeah, the hearing is just fine.”

You feel like you’re about to crumple, like even your skeleton is so revolted that it wants to get away from you.

David shakes his head and stares at you, clear-eyed. “You are just pathetic. You know he doesn’t love you. You know this ends with you crying yourself to sleep at night because he’s right back to being the same person he’s always been.”

You feel like you’re on fire. “Alright, you’re hurt and you want to hurt me. I get it. But you know what a lousy thing that is to say.”

“It’s good that you’re back with him. You deserve each other.”

You clench every muscle in your face, determined not to start crying until you’re out the door. You think about the way he looked at you when you had breakfast together and wish that you could go running back to that man.

“No, really. It’s good,” he continues. “Because at least if the two of you are together, the rest of us are safe.”

There’s a long, painful silence before he speaks again.

“Great talk. Thank you for coming here to make sure I know that there was not one ounce of sincerity in anything you said to me, that what happened with us was just your way of getting Jay all riled up and possessive.”

Now it’s you who can’t look him in the eye. You keep mumbling apologies like a mantra, hoping that somehow you can break through this thorny armour he’s donned. Very slowly, head bent in shame, you make your way towards him, unsure what you’re trying to accomplish.

With every step, you expect him to scream at you but when he doesn’t, you move just a little closer. This is it. You’ve lost your goddamn mind. Just once more, you want to experience that profound sense of safety and calm you’d gotten on the two occasions when you’d curled up in bed with him. It’s all destroyed now, of course. You destroyed it. But you keep approaching, your eyes riveted to that perfect space in his shoulder where your head fits so perfectly. You’re close enough that you can feel the radiant heat from his body, the wave of his breath in your hair.

Lightly but insistently, he puts his hands on your shoulders so that you know to stay where you are.

“If there is anything I can do to make this even a little bit better… I know I can’t fix it but if I thought we could at least be… human to each other. Anything at all, I’ll do it.”

“Ok,” he murmurs.

The pressure of his hands on your shoulders grows a little heavier and his lips drift down so that you feel his calm breath against your ear. Your entire body feels electric.

“Here it is,” he whispers. “Get the fuck out of here and never come back.”

You straighten up and fall back a step, hoping you haven’t heard him correctly.

He nods a little. “Now.”

You sit on the tiny square of iron and cement that passes for a balcony in your building, knees pulled up to your chest, slowly smoking your way through the “safety pack” of cigarettes you keep in the freezer. You haven’t smoked regularly since college but there are moments when your body just demands it to function.

It’s just as well that Jay’s out entertaining and being entertained because you can’t make yourself think about anything but David. The idea that someone is out there hating you that much is bad enough, but that it’s him, someone you like… someone you’ve always liked. Every time you think of the things he said, the knife twists in your gut a little harder. Some of it was too much, no matter how hurt he was, but very little of it was wrong.

Maybe if the two of you had met up in a place where Jay White didn’t exist to trigger all your insecurities.

The worst part is the sense that you’ve been permanently dismissed, that what happened tonight was the end. You know that you should respect his wishes but you’re already thinking of ways you could trap him and make him speak to you. And you’re very aware that the way you’re thinking is creepy.

It’s ridiculous. You’re getting lavished with attention by the man you’ve been hung up on for years. Maybe he even wants this to be a relationship. But at the moment you feel gutted because the man you dropped to get to where you are now has indicated he doesn’t want to speak. Theoretically, you’re in a great position but it feels like you have nothing.

You’d like to think that you’re just crazy and you just want to find something to be anxious about, or you have a self-destructive compulsion. But that feels like it would be letting yourself off easy, claiming that you couldn’t be any other way, even if you tried. Maybe you can’t be any different here in Japan, isolated and constantly in the presence of the guy who’s been holding your leash for six years. In another universe, where you’ve made different decisions and learned from your mistakes, maybe you would be the sort of girl who could meet someone like David Finlay and revel in the way you feel about him and the way he felt about you.

But your reality is that you are here. You are in this strange position with Jay. And David, who seemed to smitten with you just a few weeks ago, never wants to speak to you again. Nothing you can do to change that. Right?

#njpw fanfic #njpw imagine #david finlay fanfic #david finlay imagine #jay white fanfic #jay white imagine #wrestling imagine #wrestling fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

Text

Whumptober2020 - Day 10

We’re almost a third of the way through Whumptober! On to part 10 of the oof!au, and over the crest of the wave into trauma mixed with the promise of recovery! I’ll be playing in this au for most of the coming week. They’ve got a long road towards healing.

General Info: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Eventual happy(ish) ending. Past/eventual Codywan. Previous one-sided Vaderwan.

WARNINGS: Relatively minor for this part. Discussion of injuries, fall-out from mind control and torture. References to character death. Considerations of suicide.

No 7. I’VE GOT YOU

Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker

Cody gestured at the troopers around the room to secure their chipped brothers. They had time to get to the hangar bay, he’d made sure of that, but not an indefinite amount. Leave things too long, and the possibility had existed that Skywalker would have beaten them and had time to undo the explosives.

The entire complex was going into the lava below. Even if they’d lost, even if they’d all died, Cody had made sure they were taking Skywalker with them.

The fact that they’d all lived through it still felt hard to process. Cody didn’t try. There were other tasks in front of him, things he needed to do. He focused on them, to the exclusion of all else. He had to get Obi-Wan out - get his men out - get them to the ship and away.

“Get to the hangar,” he snapped, moving across the floor to crouch by Obi-Wan, ignoring the agony in his side, the warm wetness of blood flowing under his armor. Obi-Wan was still sprawled against the far wall, collar a few feet away, where Skywalker had tossed him like a broken doll. He was breathing, shakily, bloody and trembling as Cody hesitated, all hopes that Obi-Wan would be able to walk out on his own dissolving into nothing.

Half the room had fallen on him. He’d pushed most of it aside with the Force, but not all of it. Cody had felt something tearing in his chest as it came down on him, felt himself breathe again only with the smoke cleared and Obi-Wan was revealed, on his knees, determination in every line of his face.

Determination only took you so far. He looked at Obi-Wan, slumped against the wall, panting, and knew it wasn’t taking Obi-Wan to the hangar.

Someone needed to carry him out. Someone--

Cody started to reach out, and froze, remembering the crack of Obi-Wan’s voice, the way he’d flinched and tried to get away, and--

Obi-Wan looked up at him, eyes dazed and unfocused, face streaked with both blood and tears. There was no relief on his features - not like the first time he’d seen Cody, there in Skywalker’s cruel care, their reunion had been a spoiled, awful thing - only exhaustion and pain as he gasped, “Cody. You’re--you again?”

Cody’s gut turned over, agony lancing through him that Obi-Wan’s first question would be concern for him, after what he’d done. He managed to find his voice, through the horror and anger inside his head. He rasped out, “Yes. We’re free. You’re free. He’s dead.”

He watched Obi-Wan freeze, just go still all over, breath catching and holding. Cody watched relief pass over Obi-Wan’s expression and a deep, terrible grief, at the same time. He was bleeding, hurt. So terribly, because Cody hadn’t moved fast enough, hadn’t-- he swallowed. His guilt needed to wait. “I’m going to get you out of here. Can I--” He stretched out a hand again, fingers curling back before he touched Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Obi-Wan didn’t flinch back from him. Cody wasn’t sure how he managed that. He only rasped, his voice cracking, “Please do.”

Cody couldn’t manage to speak around the tightness of his throat. He shifted a little closer, cautiously, trying to find a spot of skin that looked undamaged to touch, hesitating to touch at all, remembering, with a sudden lurch of his gut, gripping at Obi-Wan’s skin, holding him down, and--

Obi-Wan made a ragged sound and moved, lifting his right arm and curling his hand around Cody’s shoulder and--and the initiation of the touch unlocked something in Cody’s head. Obi-Wan’s breath was ragged and hitching. He was shuddering all over. And Cody could do nothing else but wrap an arm around him, and then slide the other under his legs, holding him carefully, both wishing he weren’t wearing his armor - the edges had to be cutting against Obi-Wan’s bare skin - and so grateful that Obi-Wan had more layers between them.

“It’s alright,” Cody said, unable to stop the words from bursting out. “You’re safe now.”

Obi-Wan gasped, making an effort to raise his head and then giving it up with a pained sound, cheek still resting on Cody’s shoulder. Cody didn’t know how he could bear it, how Obi-Wan could stand to touch him, but… Cody stood, lifting Obi-Wan easily - he’d wasted away, in Skywalker’s care, or possibly even before - and turned to look at the rest of the troopers, those who had waited to escort them to the hangar.

Cody couldn’t fathom even the idea of handing Obi-Wan over to any of them. As much as it hurt to lift him, as much as it pulled things inside his damaged side, as much as disgust tried to kick up through his chest, he… he didn’t want anyone touching Obi-Wan, ever again.

“I don’t,” Obi-Wan rasped, in his arms, shivering all over, “feel so well.”

Cody swallowed, nodded his brothers forward and fell into step with them. He didn’t feel so well, either. Light-headed. But he could work around that. The droids had said Obi-wan had internal injuries. Who knew how badly he’d aggravated them, in the fight. Who knew if Skywalker had hurt him before Cody showed up. Who-- “We’re going to get you help,” Cody said. “You just - just rest. Pass out, if you need to. I’ve got you.”

He’d carried Obi-Wan unconscious body through these halls before, after all. None of his brothers had ever looked askance about it. They’d just stared forward, for all that Cody knew they must have been screaming inside their heads, the same way he’d been.

“Might, ah, just do that,” Obi-Wan rasped, a thread of sharp humor in his tone that cut down Cody’s spine. He swallowed, heavily, when Obi-Wan stifled a sound, agonized, as the base shook with another explosion and Cody jarred him. Cody fought not to swear.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped out, instead, meaning about so much more than any inadvertent harm he was doing.

Obi-Wan said nothing, breath uneven as he turned his head back and forth on Cody’s shoulder. And Cody could only swallow, wishing he could wrap Obi-Wan up, wishing he could bandage Obi-Wan’s hurts, heart tripping over when he felt Obi-Wan go limp in his arms, blackness mercifully swallowing him up for a while.

Cody walked through the halls with his back straight, looking directly ahead, bleeding under his armor. He passed the medbay, kept going, straight for the hangar, for the end of all of his plans, for freedom and safety and his men.

“Sir,” Fret said, as Cody climbed the ramp into the ship they had made theirs. He fell into step beside Cody, gaze falling worried to Obi-Wan’s limp form and staying there. “The chipped are safely in their quarters, sir. They didn’t put up a fuss. Bones says he can keep working on them here.”

“Good,” Cody said, ignoring the dizziness moving through his head. He - probably - should have let someone else carry Obi-Wan. But he couldn’t bear the thought. Couldn’t make himself take the sensible path forward. Besides, they were almost to the med bay.

“He’s alright?” Fret asked, his tone clipped and anxious, a muscle jumping in his jaw.

“He will be,” Cody said, words like a promise. He’d make them true, somehow. Obi-Wan deserved to be alright again, after - after all of their failures. And if it meant Cody couldn’t find a useful airlock right away, that was fine.

He’d wait, until he was sure Obi-Wan was recovered.

And then he’d do whatever else needed done.

They reached the medbay as Cody felt the ship lift off the ground. They’d only been waiting for him, apparently. “Probably going to get bumpy,” he told Obi-Wan, who did not stir, his expression gone lax, his skin too pale, his breathing shallow. He was, Cody had a feeling, hurt badly on the inside, where Cody couldn’t even see, and--

And Bones stepped forward, turning away from a discussion he’d been having with concern written all over his expression. “Commander?” he asked, and Cody jerked a step back when Bones reached out, as though intending to just--touch Obi-Wan. Put hands on him.

Bones’ gaze jerked to meet his, held for a moment, before Cody managed to unclench his jaw, to remind himself that it hadn’t been Bones who nearly beat Obi-Wan to death. It hadn’t been Bones who held Obi-Wan down and--

Cody gritted out, forcing his voice to steadiness, “He’s hurt. Badly.”

“He’s not the only one,” Bones said, tone sharp, and, when Cody only glared at him, he added, “Bring him here.” He gestured to one of the beds, and Cody limped over to it, bending to gently deposit Obi-Wan on the sheets. Obi-Wan made a soft little sound, pained, and Cody wanted to brush back his hair, wanted to hold his hand, but--he jerked back a step, instead, listening to Bones bark orders that seemed to be coming from further and further away.

He took another step back and wavered on his feet, looking down at his body, finally. There was blood, smeared all down his side and right leg. Quite a lot of it, he thought, dizzily, was not Obi-Wan’s.

“--said how are you?” Bones asked, suddenly gripping Cody’s arm, concern in his expression.

Cody shook his head, made to step back again, and his leg went out from under him. He said, sitting on the ground, “Take care of the General.” That was what mattered. They needed to make Obi-Wan well. Everything else, all the rest of his objectives he’d achieved, he realized, as he felt the hyperdrive engines kick on from somewhere far away.

He’d killed Skywalker.

Freed his brothers.

Returned them to the stars.

Gotten back control of his own body.

It almost felt like a dream come true, but he knew, too well, the grip of the nightmare around his throat. It tightened, his vision darkening, as Bones yelled something urgent from a great distance.

Cody blinked and realized he was looking up at the ceiling. There were hands pulling at his armor. His brother’s hands, and their voices overhead, tight with concern. “Leave it,” he said, trying to push them away as his world went grey around the edges and then to nothingness.

#whumptober2020 #no.7 #carrying #clone wars #fic #past mind control #past torture #references to suicide #past character death #bleeding #injuries #my writing #oof!au #please heed the warnings #codywan

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lov3nerdstuff · 3 years

Text

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.15}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 6.2k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

They hadn't technically agreed to meet again before breakfast, but Robin almost counted on it that Snape would be waiting for her at some point between where they had parted half an hour ago and the great hall. And indeed, it was the entrance hall where they crossed ways as if by coincidence, and for a brief moment Robin wondered how he always did that. Snape seemed surprised to see both Jorien and Cas following after Robin, which was understandable after what she'd told him a few hours ago, and Robin didn't waste time to address the matter at hand.

"I gave both of them detention for today." She said with a small sigh. "And now they-..."

"She can't actually give us detention." Jorien cut in, glaring at Robin, then turned to face Snape. "Right? There's something called rules, which Robin obviously has never heard of before! She's in no position to give us orders!"

"And what, pray tell, gives you the audacity to judge that?" He replied with a sharp glance at Jorien, and it took the wind out of her sails immediately. "If you had questioned my decisions like that, Miss Blakeley, you would be serving more than one day of detention."

"So she's actually allowed to do this?!" Jorien looked entirely exasperated now. "Her word is law?"

"Obviously." Snape scowled at her in his usual manner. "I will be seeing you in my classroom after breakfast."

"That's got to be a bloody joke!" Jorien groaned and stormed off without another word, entering the great hall with anger radiating off her in palable waves.

"I, uh… Sorry, for… her." Cas said quietly, giving both Snape and Robin an apologetic look. "We, I mean, I… will see you. Both. After… yeah." Without another glance at either of them, she made her way through the large doors as well, disappearing into the direction of the Ravenclaw table.

As soon as the doors fell shut again, Robin closed her eyes and sighed deeply. After a night like the one she's had, this is not how the morning was supposed to go. And it certainly wasn't a good idea to treat the healing wounds of one relationship with the cutting edges of another.

"I'm so sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen, and it certainly wasn't supposed to happen like this." She finally said as she opened her eyes again to peer up at Snape. "Thank you for having my back nonetheless."

"Any time." He replied calmly, as if he hadn't just given Jorien a death glare half a minute ago. "And don't be sorry. This conflict obviously has great significance to you, and therefore I would like to see it solved as well."

"Thank you." She sighed softly, then ran a hand through her hair while collecting her thoughts. "I just wanted to sort this out… but then things escalated and I did the only thing I could think of."

"You gave them detention."

"Yeah." Robin still was entirely unhappy with that fact, but she would make the best of it now. "Cas was quick to accept it, but Jorien…"

"She reminds me of you in your first year."

"Ugh… I know." Robin groaned, rolling her eyes, but she still couldn't help smiling a little. "She's heard too many of the cutting remarks I direct at other people. She's gotten rather good at hurting people with her words herself."

"Perhaps I should indeed have given her even more detention for her behaviour then."

"Nah… Wouldn't fit in with your punishment policy, would it? She would hardly have learned from that; her problem is her anger, not discipline or authority."

"Indeed." He mused, watching how Robin leaned against the wall behind her with a sigh. Almost curiously, he raised his eyebrows at her then. "So why did you choose to give them detention in the first place? Not that I wouldn't approve of that decision, but it surprises me nonetheless."

"It's the only possibility to get them to stay in the same room, with each other and with me. The only legal one, at least." She shrugged, clasping her hands between her back and the wall.

"Clever. As always."

Robin's lips tugged upwards into a small smile upon the comment, but she tried not to let it cloud her focus on the problem at hand. "I'm going to make them talk to each other, and it won't be pretty. I've gotten a good glimpse of it already, and I'm honestly not looking forward to the entire thing unraveling. But they've got to stop what they're doing to themselves, and to each other."

"Their actions have an effect on you even more than on each other, I believe."

"Yeah… But they don't know that, and they don't have to. I'm good if they're good with each other, and I'm willing to do a lot to get them there. They won't have to thank me afterwards, not even talk to me if they'd prefer not to."

"You'd be surprised by how much some people are willing to forgive." He quirked an eyebrow at Robin, and she had to smile yet again. Alright, he had a point.

"We should go in, or breakfast will be over before we've had a bite." She finally said and pushed herself off the wall. "Should be dreadful as always, without anyone to talk to."

"Actually, I would be glad to miss the inquiries about my whereabouts that are certain to come up at the head table."

"Since when do you bother with inquiries about anything at all?" Now it was Robin who quirked an eyebrow at him with a small smirk.

"Just because I have no intention to reply to them unfortunately doesn't spare me from hearing them."

Robin couldn't help laughing at the pout in his tone, and she found herself wishing that she could just fight off all the inquiries he didn't want to hear. She didn't particularly like answering annoying questions either, but she didn't dread it nearly as much as Snape did. Somehow, she thought it to be her task, her privilege to spare him from that.

"You could always pretend to be listening while really thinking of something else. With your usual range of reactions in public, nobody would notice a difference." She mused with even more of a smirk, and for a short moment, she even got one in return.

They entered the great hall then, each moving to their respective tables in silence, but as far as Robin could tell, both in as much contentment as the situation allowed. Of course, both hid it in their own way. Snape with the usual public scowl, and Robin with the usual calm neutrality. She would get Cas and Jorien to talk to each other today, there was no doubt in it. She would make sure that this would be a good day after all.

… … …

The detention served its purpose wonderfully indeed. Being forced to stay in the same space for an entire day meant that Cas' and Jorien's conflicts were prone to escalate eventually, and once they did, it was also inevitable for the storm to pass. Even better, they were quicker to forgive each other than Robin had anticipated. By lunchtime they were mostly talking to each other again, and by the time detention was over they were back to being best friends after all.

Neither remembered to apologise to Robin when they left detention that evening, they didn't even acknowledge her involvement in their conflict at all. But on the flipside they were quick to treat her as their adult friend again, their big sister rather than their enemy, which left things off as if nothing had happened in the first place. To Robin that was a good enough result, she didn't need an apology nor a thank you. Only for things to return to normal between the three of them, and she had definitely achieved that.

So when she sat in the office again that night, drinking coffee with Snape while refusing to leave just yet even though she was tired enough to fall asleep over her mug, she knew that she had been lucky. From here on, things would start to be alright again indeed.

_______________

Robin cursed under her breath when she flipped the book in her lap shut with a bang that was loud enough to echo through the curves and edges of the arcades around her. Her free period was about to be over, having passed all too soon, while yet the dreadfully slow pace of her classes on this mid-May Friday seemed to be trickling by like endless seconds turned to dust. It was just two more weeks until the end of term, until exams. Two more weeks until her N.E.W.T.s in herbology and potions. She had been studying relentlessly ever since February, and ever since that day in March she's had Snape by her side again to help her as well. Still, she felt like there wasn't enough time to cram all that unnecessary and redundant theoretical knowledge into her head. All those facts she knew would never be of any relevance to her, or some of which she straight out believed to be wrong. But she still had to know them if she wanted a good grade, and thus she used every minute of every day for studying.

Things between Robin and Snape had returned to normal quickly after their shared crash-and-burn experience in March. Well, perhaps not quite back to normal. There were certain things that were different now, positively different. Honestly, they were closer than ever, and Robin couldn't be more glad about that. Ever since the beginning of May they had paused their usual evening lab work (which usually was of a more experimental nature by now, if not mandatory restocks or preparations), and instead started trying to perfect Robin's skills in making every and any potion that might possibly come up in the practical part of her final examination. It was a great way to practice, and she was thankful beyond measure for his help, but still Robin couldn't help feeling entirely unprepared. Snape kept on telling her that she would be fine, but honestly it didn't ease her nerves too much. She would never be as good as him at actually making potions, and she would never be as good as she wanted to be either. If that was even possible in the first place.

So when another free period ended with an entirely unproductive feeling, she climbed out of her arch in the arcades with stiff limbs and a scowl. Stupid textbooks… who the hell wrote these bloody things anyway? They were practically useless for anything other than passing standardized tests. She seriously considered writing a potions textbook herself at some point, while she made her way towards her charms class, just for the sake of it. Perhaps she would keep it in mind as a career option.

Luckily charms was the last class of the day, but it would still be a dreadfully long afternoon if Flitwick would continue his endless lecture about a spell to write in different fronts on blackboards, which he had started last week and never quite managed to finish. Robin sat down at her desk with a sigh, but only took off her sunglasses at last when Flitwick gave her a pointed look for it. Yes, perhaps it wasn't polite to wear sunglasses inside, but had he ever tried to see anything while facing a window the sun was shining through?! Obviously not. Thus, Robin was left squeezing her eyes together to keep looking at the charms professor while he started the class. But her misery didn't last long.

Two minutes into class time, the door flew open and in strode the only saving grace that was even better than sunglasses right now. Still, his trademark billowing robes and overall dramatic entrance made Robin smirk way more than she probably should have. Without even knowing what Snape was here about, she started packing up her things already on instinct. If this was coming to be a repeating pattern, she would gladly oblige.

"Severus?" Flitwick asked in mild surprise that equalled that of his students. Perhaps it was the fact that Snape never bothered to knock that came as such a surprise to everyone, or perhaps they simply were scared to be in trouble.

"I'm afraid I need to steal Miss Mitchell from you, Filius." He stated as neutrally as ever, and Robin tried her hardest not to smile like an idiot. Of course he was here because of her… he would've sent one of the second years he was supposed to be teaching right now for anything else. Robin took a quick moment in her mind to pride and chide herself for the fact that she knew his class schedule better than her own.

"Uh, certainly! I mean…" The slightly dumbfounded charms professor glanced at Robin who had already gotten up and shouldered her backpack without a concern in the world. "For… for how long?"

"The entire lesson, of course." Snape drawled in feigned annoyance and gave his colleague a look that made it abundantly clear that he wouldn't answer any more questions. Thus Flitwick merely nodded, averting his eyes from the intense gaze, and then continued his lesson as if nothing had happened.

Robin followed Snape out of the room, and only once the door had undoubtedly fallen shut behind them and they were alone in the hallway, she allowed herself to smirk up at him. "Am I needed somewhere or did you just miss me?"

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly in return, a shadow of a half-smirk ghosting over his lips for a second, but then he started leading her down the hallway with a serious expression. "I have a favour to ask of you."

Robin's eyebrows rose in an instant, and she looked up at Snape again instead of where she was walking. "Do go on."

"I need you to take over the second year potions class that I am supposed to be teaching right now." He said in an instant, as if glad to get the request out at all, but after a moment of silence, doubt obviously made him continue. "If you are in your right mind, you will straight out decline any participation in this and-..."

"I'll do it." Robin cut in with a small smile that threatened to grow into a smirk. When he gave her a surprised glance, she added, "Have I ever been in my right mind?"

"Probably not." He mused, and finally the doubt faded from his face to be replaced by subtle relief. "Thank you."

"Anytime." She smiled, then quirked an eyebrow at him as they made their way towards the stairs to the dungeons. "Might I ask though, why do you need me to watch over your class?"

"Because I need to teach Morgan's seventh years." He sighed, obviously discontent with the fact. "Morgan reported that he was feeling ill after lunch, and Professor Dumbledore asked me to take over the class in respect to the impending final examinations. That, however, leaves my own class unattended, which I strongly disfavour for the very same reason. Even second year students should be well prepared for their exams."

"And why would you ask me, out of all people, to teach a class? Don't get me wrong, I'm honoured… But why choose the one person who has close to no experience with this thing, while there's a bunch of competent professors at this school?"

"They are not competent." He said, but when Robin gave him a look, he rolled his eyes and added, "They are competent in their subjects, not in ours."

"Alright, so you picked me because I'm good at potions. Better someone who knows the subject and nothing about teaching than someone who knows teaching but nothing about the subject. I get that. But what if I'm horrible at both?"

"Keep in mind that they made Morgan a professor. I think you should reevaluate your perception of what it takes to teach a class around here."

Robin let out a snort at the comment, shaking her head, and she did indeed feel more comfortable with the circumstances in an instant. If bloody Morgan could do this, she could too.

"I can only hope I won't screw this up." She finally sighed when they reached the crossing where they would need to part ways. "But I'll do my best to fill in for you. Even if the gap is quite a bit too large for me."

"Thank you." He was quick to reply, but then paused for a second. "You will be perfectly fine; the gap isn't nearly as large as you believe it to be. In any case, you can always scowl and have them write an essay should you find yourself uncertain what to do next. Works every time."

"I'll remember that." Robin huffed with a small smile, and only when Snape moved on to his own class, she remembered to ask the important questions. "What am I supposed to teach them anyway?"

"Revision of the term, ideally." He replied over his shoulder, and Robin couldn't help wishing he wouldn't go. "But try to remember that they aren't you. Lower your expectations, or teach the students to meet them."

With that he was gone, rushing up the spiral staircase while Robin made her way down. Oh God… had she actually agreed to teach a freaking potions class?! Second years, admittedly, but still! What was she supposed to do, make an entrance like Snape and scare the hell out of them? Actually… no no no, she couldn't do that. Fuck. She should just try to do the same thing she always did when tutoring Cas and Jorien, that had always worked just fine. Even with up to twenty people at once! Wasn't much of a difference to an entire class, was it? Only that they were actually going to expect her to teach them something, not just help with revision. But then again, it was supposed to be revision after all. Breathe, Robin… She could almost hear Snape's voice in her head by now, as often as he had said that to her over the last few weeks when she started panicking over exams. And breathing she did indeed, as she stood in front of the door to the classroom. She could do this. It was potions, she loved potions. She knew potions. It would be alright.

With a perfect calm neutrality she opened the door, and made her way towards the front without a hint of doubt shining through. At least she finally got the desk she's always been meaning to trade for.

… … …

A little more than an hour and a half later, Robin was surprised to find that everything had been alright indeed. Nothing had exploded, nothing had been damaged, and everyone had come out alive and a little smarter than before. She had done a revision of the entire school year with them like she was supposed to, and surprisingly enough, the students had actually been more than willing to accept her as their teacher for the day. A good mixture of calm politeness and menacing scowls had kept everyone in line without making them despise her, which was as good an outcome as Robin could've hoped for. And perhaps some of them had actually learned from her explanations and little tricks after all.

It was only when the students started leaving the classroom that she allowed herself to feel out of place again, being the teacher, and sitting on the edge of Snape's desk like that. He surely wouldn't approve of such a thing, but for some reason Robin was intrigued to find out what he would do about it. Unfortunately, she wouldn't get to. Just when the last student had left the classroom, someone else came in instead.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Robin jumped off the desk immediately when the headmaster came sauntering through the aisle between the students' rows. "I, uh… Sorry, I didn't… What brings you down here? I mean, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Good afternoon, Miss Mitchell." He bowed his head ever so slightly with that small smile of his. "Actually, I-..."

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Robin looked at Dumbledore almost expectantly, uncertain what to do or how to react, but he merely mentioned for her to go ahead before retreating to a shadowy corner of the room, picking up and studying a few jars in well feigned interest.

"Come in." Robin thus called out, feeling like an idiot to do so when there was an actual authority figure in the same room, but Dumbledore's wordless prompt for her to see to whatever was the issue had been clear enough.

"Sorry… if I'm interrupting." A small voice spoke from the door, and a second later one of the girls who had been part of the class just moments before reluctantly came back into the room. "I… uh, I was just wondering if perhaps… you had a minute?"

Oh god. Robin's mind raced with a million questions in return. She wasn't supposed to be a replacement for Snape! Well she was, in a way, but just for the revision part of the class! But as long as he wasn't here, she might as well fill in as good as she could for this as well.

"Wouldn't you like to speak to… Professor Snape about whatever the issue is instead? He should return soon, you can wait here if you wish." She asked, but the girl shook her head vehemently in return.

"No, I mean... do you… uh, have time for me perhaps? Before he returns?" The girl asked again, barely loud enough to be heard, and Robin did her best not to display any of the unease she felt. This wasn't her place… but she wasn't one to let people down who asked for her help.

"Certainly I have, if it really is me you wish to talk to." She finally replied with a calm little smile, much like the one Dumbledore had shown her seconds before. Sometimes inspiration was drawn from the most desperate of places. With a certain glance at the young girl who only nodded, Robin motioned to the chair in front of the desk. "Come sit down then. I don't bite."

The girl quickly scurried to the place she was pointed to, then looked up at Robin who sat down on the edge of the desk again like it was the only suitable place for her to claim. Really, she wouldn't dare to take a seat on the other side of the desk. She didn't want to give off the impression that she actually had anything to say around here.

"What can I help you with?" She prompted when the girl still wouldn't speak up after a while of quiet observation. Bloody hell, this felt odd… she wasn't supposed to be in this position.

"Well, I… uh, I noticed that you are… explaining things differently than Professor Snape, and you know so much, and I… I'm just horrible at potions!" The girl broke into tears so suddenly that Robin had a hard time keeping up with the sudden shift. "I always feel like I don't understand anything at all, and everyone else got what you explained today so well and I just… I didn't understand at all! I will fail my exam for sure! I just… I don't even understand why I have to learn all this nonsense! All those stupid little details… Why is that even important for anything?!"

While the girl kept sobbing relentlessly even after her rant, Robin honestly just felt lost in return. For a moment she was frozen, then she frowned, and finally she simply felt helpless. What was she supposed to do now?! What's one supposed to do with crying children? Bloody hell...

"I am certain the situation isn't half as bad as you make it out to be." She started, trying to use her most comforting voice, but the girl just kept on crying and crying as if she had been holding off just to unleash it all on Robin now. Oh geez… what was a professor to do in a situation like that? Use their brains. So Robin did. "Hey, look at me for a moment, yes?"

The girl did look up indeed, which was something at least, and Robin grabbed the first object on the desk she could get a hold of (which happened to be a burning candle), then held it out in front of her. "You know this spell?" She asked, while at the same time turning the candle into a drinking glass.

"Yes…" The girl sniffled, looking first at the glass and then at Robin. Without hesitation, Robin handed the object to her.

"How about this one?" She asked again, and this time she filled the glass with water to the brim.

"No…" The girl replied in a quiet voice, and while the water didn't spill over the edges of the glass, tears kept spilling over in her cheeks nonetheless. She looked at the glass in confusion for a moment, then back at Robin.

"Drink it." Robin ordered calmly, keeping her eyes on the girl who frowned a little at the odd request, but obliged without protest. Half a minute later, the glass was empty and Robin took it from her to set it aside. By now the girl had stopped crying and merely looked a little confused, but by far not as devastated anymore. So far so good. "Do you feel better?"

The girl nodded quietly, so Robin went on.

"See, you knew the charm to transform the candle into a glass, yes? It is a very basic spell, one of the fundamentals of transfiguration, you could say. The second spell I used served to fill the glass with water. You didn't know that one, but I can assure you that you will learn it sooner or later. But now imagine… What would you do if you knew how to conjure water first, but nobody had ever taught you how to get yourself a glass? Would be awfully hard to drink, wouldn't you say?"

Again, the girl nodded, and she even smiled a little at the image Robin was painting with her words.

"So we need the basic spell first, to make any use of the more advanced ones after that. Because without the basics, the difficult things wouldn't be of any value to us. Do you understand where I'm going with this?"

"I think so… It's important to know the basics, because you need a ground and matter to build on and work with."

"Exactly!" Robin offered her a small smile, even if it was feigned. "And it is exactly the same with potions. You need the basics and the details first, if you want to understand the complex structures later on."

"I can see that, I guess…"

"Good!" Robin sighed under her breath. "Now, did I understand you correctly that you're afraid of the exam for this class?"

"Yeah... I've been having problems in potions for a while now. I just don't understand how things work together and how they relate to each other. And you obviously are great at it, so I just… wanted to ask for help, I guess. Or even just some advice."

"If you have problems in a subject, you shouldn't hesitate to talk to the professor as soon as possible. Not just two weeks before the exams." Robin replied, but tried to keep the accusation out of her tone at least, if it was already so very present in her words. Calling out wrong behavior probably wouldn't help right now.

"I know…" The girl peered down at her hands in her lap, picking at the edge of her skirt while effectively avoiding Robin's eye. "But I was too scared to say anything, before now. I just… I thought I would only get yelled at anyway."

Again, Robin wanted to sigh. Somehow, she always ended up stuck between what people believed about Snape and what he wanted them to believe. There was fairly little she could do in between those two, without disregarding the reality of either. "I understand. And I won't tell you to talk to anyone you feel afraid of, even if I probably should. But I will say, out of my own experience and sincere belief, that people sometimes will surprise you if only you give them the chance to."

"Really?"

"Yes. No matter what you believe to know about someone, you must always leave open the possibility for them to change your mind. Nobody likes being trapped inside a box not made for them."

"You mean people should stop categorising?"

"No. Categorising is important for us to function in a world of such complexity. It would completely overwhelm us if we didn't categorise. What I'm saying is that you should keep in mind that you never know all there is to someone, that the picture you have of them isn't necessarily who they really are. And that when you put the world into boxes in your mind, you should always leave the lid open."

"I've never thought about it like that… but I guess you're right. Thank you." The girl gave Robin a timid smile in return. "I will try to talk to Professor Snape tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps he can help me find a point to start catching up with the class."

"Make that tomorrow morning and you might actually find him in a good mood." Robin said before she could help it, and upon the girl's confused face, she added, "When you've known someone for a while, you also know the best time to talk to them about certain things. Tomorrow morning, yes?"

"Yes! Definitely!" The girl nodded and rose to her feet with more energy than anyone should have at this point. "Thank you, professor!" With that she grabbed her back and skipped down the aisle towards the door, where she disappeared and was gone two seconds later. Only then Robin's mind snapped out of it, and she frowned to herself for a moment. Had the girl actually called her 'professor'? Robin shook her head at the odd encounter and turned the glass back into a candle before she would forget about it.

"That was quite impressive, if you allow me that one remark." Dumbledore's voice startled Robin enough to make her jump off the desk once more, heart jumping into action equally while a rush of adrenaline spread in her veins. Bloody hell… she had completely forgotten about him. And honestly, Dumbledore was remarkably good at making himself practically invisible. Perhaps actually indivisible, who knew.

"I wouldn't call it impressive. Self-defense would be more like it." Robin replied sincerely, while trying to keep up her facades nonetheless. There was no use trying to fool Dumbledore, but she wouldn't make it easy for him to see through her either. "I really just wanted her to stop crying. It made me uncomfortable."

"Still, your advice was remarkable, even if perhaps a little difficult for a child to fully understand. Say, what did you put into that water?"

"Nothing." She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. "It's something my parents did with me when I was little. Just give a crying child a glass of water and they will stop crying to drink it. That means they will stop crying for crying's sake, and a great majority of children's problems will already be solved at that point. At the very least, it'll be easier to have a calm conversation from there on."

"Interesting. After long years of teaching at this school, I still find myself learning something new about human behavior every day. Even if by now, I believe to have quite a bit of insight into the… mind of the common person."

"I don't. I mean, I'm not good with people, neither with children nor adults. Remembering little tricks like that, or making use of logic and knowledge to manipulate someone for their own good… Some people might call that insensitive or rude, but it really only is a means to function like any other." She said, as the question about Dumbledore's presence here came back to her mind. "Anyway, I think the girl will be fine if she actually takes the advice about keeping an open mind. But what was it you wanted to say, before we were interrupted in the first place?"

"I meant to say that I came here looking for Severus." Dumbledore smiled, and finally sauntered out of the dark corner he had been dwelling in. "I believe he might be in the possession of a book I would like to borrow for a few days."

"May I ask which one?" Robin inquired, curiosity winning over reason and definitely over manners as well. "I've read all of them at this point, so I'll probably be able to tell you if what you're looking for is part of his collection."

"Of course you have…" Dumbledore's smile turned into a sincere one, and Robin couldn't help wondering why he seemed to be so very amused by what she'd said. "The book I am looking for is a collection of spells about literature and literary mediums. You see, I unfortunately made the mistake of leaving a book of great value too close to Fawkes when it was time for him to burn… You certainly can imagine the outcome."

Robin eyebrows rose in surprise at first, then she had to smile at the coincidence, and finally her brows furrowed into a frown. There was no such thing as a coincidence when it came to the headmaster. And even if that story was true, a great wizard like him surely didn't need a random book about literature spells to help him out. Curious…

"I believe I can help you with that. As it happens to be, I'm in the possession of the very book you are looking for as well. That might spare you plenty of waiting time." She said anyway, putting on her own calm neutrality once again as she turned to summon her copy of the book out of her bag. Then she skipped down the two steps in front of the desk and approached Dumbledore, handing it to him with a smile that mirrored his own. "Well, actually I was the first to have the book, but then I gifted him a copy as well… Anyway, you might find something suitable on page 46… or perhaps it was page 64, it's been a while since I've read it."

Dumbledore accepted the book with a small bow of the head, and a peculiar glance at Robin that to her was more unsettling than reassuring. "Thank you, Miss Mitchell. I will be sure to return it to you before the end of term."

"Oh, don't worry about it, Sir. I know where another copy is, should I need it."

"Of course you do…"

Somehow Robin found herself annoyed by the many times he said that, by the way he said it even more, but she didn't let it on. Instead she merely held his gaze, unfaltering and steady even though it was still so very unsettling. Deeply inquiring and invasive even, while yet hidden behind the calmest contentment and innocence. He was so much more difficult to read than Snape was. For Robin, at least, but she knew that it was an unfair comparison to make from her perspective. She was as biased as she could be.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Sir?" She finally asked, after what seemed like hours of silence.

"Not that I am aware of. Thank you for the book." He mused with a knowing smile, then turned around to leave. As soon as the door fell into its lock behind him, Robin let out a long breath and returned to the desk in a slow saunter. What an odd encounter. Another odd encounter.

When she took her perch on the edge of the desk again, putting the books she had used during the class back into their place, she finally realized what had bothered her about the entire thing. Dumbledore had been the one to tell Snape to take over Morgan's class, and therefore he must've known that he wouldn't find him down here. That means he had either come here to wait for Snape, which was highly unlikely, or he had meant to seek out Robin in the first place. In which case he must have known that she possessed the particular spellbook as well. And he haid lied to her without her noticing even in the lightest. But… why on earth would he do any of that?

______________________________

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smiting-finger · 4 years

Text

Previous HP AU parts: Here, here, here and here

“So, Requiem,” Wei Wuxian says as soon as the image on the surface of the bronze mirror ripples out into the uppermost three quarters of Nie Huaisang’s head.

(“My brother hung it in the office when he took over as Sect Leader,” Nie Huaisang explains during their first mirror-call after Wei Wuxian’s return.

Wei Wuxian immediately drops the topic.

“Do the other Sect Leaders just … let it go?” he asks Lan Zhan later, and receives a small headshake in reply.

“He adds extra seat cushions to his chair during official meetings,” Lan Zhan says, his voice uncoloured by emotion, his gaze steady as he turns to meet Wei Wuxian’s. “But he says they’re difficult to balance on.”

Wei Wuxian drops the topic a second time.)

“The song that we learned at school for calming restless souls?” Nie Huaisang asks with three quarters of an appraising look, and then adds, “Those of us who weren’t tone-deaf, anyway.”

“That’s the one,” Wei Wuxian agrees, and if that’s a dig at the time he deliberately played out of tune and almost sent old Professor Lan beyond the veil to soothe the spirits of the dead in person, he stands by his choices.

(If it’s a reference to Wen Ning, then - well, the poor boy tried his best. You can’t be good at everything.)

“I was thinking,” he continues, leaning back in his chair. He waves his wand at the small pile of paper birds in front of him, which line up obediently along the desk edge and take turns to divebomb the makeshift target drawn on the back of his office door.

“We use Requiem as a conduit to magically encourage emotional calm - so there’s no reason, in theory, that we couldn’t use music to do the opposite, is there?”

Nie Huaisang taps his fan against his chin a few times (or, at least, that’s what Wei Wuxian assumes is causing the soft patting sounds he hears, since his line of sight stops at Nie Huaisang’s upper lip), before asking:

“You want to ... compose a song that makes souls restless?”

“Not restless,” Wei Wuxian doesn’t need magic to do that, “I just want to … encourage them to feel certain things. Or have certain states of mind.”

He slings a dart at the door and sighs when it only barely makes it into the target’s outermost boundary.

“You mean,” Nie Huaisang begins slowly, “like that time with Professor Lan and your shitty flute playing in third year?”

“Well, yes,” Wuxian allows, because technically that is what happened, “but also no. I’m also thinking more through the actual music than the quality thereof. And ... I’m also possibly not looking to induce rage?”

His second dart lands closer to the centre, but not by much. A paper bird embedded into the next section over starts to shake its butt at him in a smug victory dance.

Rude.

“So instead,” Nie Huaisang prompts gently, “you’re looking to induce…?”

“...arousal?” Wei Wuxian offers hopefully.

There’s a moment of silence, which is eventually broken by the slide of Nie Huaisang’s fan as he flicks it open.

“Why?” he asks finally, doing a remarkable job of keeping the judgment out of his face.

“The pursuit of knowledge is a worthwhile goal in and of itself,” Wei Wuxian supplies in his loftiest impression of Lan Qiren’s lecture-voice.

Nie Huaisang simply looks at him.

“And maybe in this case, the knowledge might have some personal application, too,” Wei Wuxian admits, and is met with a second moment of silence.

“I truly don’t know if Lan Wangji deserves my condolences or congratulations,” Nie Huaisang says eventually, and shakes his head.

“Why not both?” Wei Wuxian shrugs.

“It comes down to a question of whether lust is fundamentally physical or spiritual, doesn’t it?” Lan Xichen muses between stirs. “Could you pass me the three-legged crow feathers, please? They’re in the box on the - no, the one next to - yes, that one, thank you.”

He takes the dish from Wei Wuxian, scatters the feathers evenly across the bubbling surface of whatever potion he’s brewing and immediately takes a step back, drawing Wei Wuxian along by the elbow. A second later, the feathers begin to spark, whizzing around in jerky figure-eights before finally sinking into the pale liquid with a soft hiss and a few wisps of white smoke.

“Now where were we?” Lan Xichen asks himself, picking up his wooden ladle to resume his gentle stirring. “Oh yes, that’s right. Requiem acts on the metaphysical component of the being - the mind and soul, if you will. We know that because of its effectiveness on ghosts, who possess no physical component at all. Therefore, it follows that if lust is purely - or, otherwise necessarily - physical, then Requiem will not be a useful basis for what you’re trying to achieve.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding slowly. “And that’s not even considering that the physical and mental components of lust might vary in comparative size from person to person...”

Lan Xichen hums in agreement and opens a box of yao grass, carefully selecting a sprig and then slipping off the small cord binding it together.

“We’ll just have to test it, then,” Wei Wuxian decides firmly.

To Lan Xichen’s credit, his hand, outstretched as it is over the mouth of the cauldron, only pauses for the briefest of moments before his fingers uncurl to allow the yao grass to fall in.

“I look forward to your findings,” he says serenely.

“Get out,” Lan Qiren says.

“But-” Wei Wuxian protests, because he has an entire speech prepared to explain why, as the Theory of Magic teacher, Lan Qiren should be absolutely be interested in this project.

“OUT,” Lan Qiren thunders.

Wei Wuxian gets.

“Can ghosts even … release?” Nie Huaisang wonders from his perch on the edge of the water, on one of his rare visit to the Gusu Academy.

With both classes and Nie Huaisang’s official business finished for the day, the afternoon presents a perfect opportunity for Wei Wuxian to indulge in nostalgia for their schooling days. And so, as soon as lunch is over, he drags Nie Huaisang and Wen Ning out the door and into a romp all over the grounds to marvel at all the things that have changed, as well as all the things that haven’t.

Somehow they’ve ended up at the cold springs, the scene of many a student tryst (tragically, not a single one of them involving Wei Wuxian), and countless youthful fantasies.

None of which the three of them are calling to mind, sitting as they are with their pant legs rolled up to their knees so that they can soak their feet (or, in Wen Ning’s case, hold their feet above the water in a good approximation thereof) like the old men they are.

It’s not quite like the old days (the absence of a familiar, derisive snort; of the loud words that are almost sharp enough to hide the fondness thrumming beneath them like heartbeats under breastbone, is too pronounced for that), but in the miracle of After, it’s more than Wei Wuxian thought he’d be able to have.

(It’s enough.)

“Let’s say lust is metaphysical enough for your reverse-Requiem to work,” Nie Huaisang continues, “and then you play it for a spirit, and get them worked up. What do they ... do with that? Can ghosts-”

He makes an unmistakeable jerking gesture with his hand.

Wei Wuxian frowns. He hadn’t considered that.

And then, with an eerie synchronisation that Wei Wuxian can only attribute to the seven formative years they spent living in each other’s pockets, they turn as one to look at Wen Ning, who lets out an alarmed squeak.

“Does it matter?” Wei Wuxian asks, deciding to take pity on Wen Ning and refrain from pursuing that line of inquiry,

“Well,” Nie Huaisang answers, turning to him with a significant wide-eyed glance, “think about it this way: if you were a resentful spirit, and someone played a song for you that made you build up all this lust that had nowhere to go … wouldn’t you become more resentful?”

Wen Ning squeaks again, his eyes like black saucers in his pale face.

“Hm,” Wei Wuxian says, pausing to consider this most excellent point.

“Actually, wait” Nie Huaisang says after a moment. “There’s at least one outlet that I’ve just thought of-”

“Possession,” Wei Wuxian supplies immediately.

“Right?” Nie Huaisang exclaims, waving his fan excitedly. “Can you imagine, a horny, possessed horde-”

“-charging around the countryside” Wei Wuxian continues, grinning with mixed horror and delight, “humping everything in its path-”

(They spend the next hour casting bubble-head charms on themselves and taking turns to swim to the bottom of the cold spring so that they can promise Wen Ning that no, they certainly won’t be asking him to help them test any of this, and they won’t be testing anywhere near him, either, Wei Wuxian will make sure that all testing happens far, far away, so can he please come back out now, the students would be sad if he stayed hiding inside the pool forever-)

“WHY ARE YOU SO EMBARRASSING?” Jin Ling yells, not letting the fact that he’s currently upside-down and hanging from the ceiling get in the way of his outrage.

“Students who break into my office to poke around my things have no right to complain about what they find,” Wei Wuxian replies calmly, leaning back in his chair so that he can look up at the two bodies suspended in mid-air and wriggling fruitlessly against the confines of their bindings.

“IT WAS A DARE,” Jin Ling shouts defensively, starting to swing back and forth from the force of his own righteousness.

“I wouldn’t be so proud of that if I were you,” Lan Jingyi mutters under his breath.

“Oh?” Wei Wuxian inquires politely, leaning forward so that he can rest his elbows on his desk and pointedly steeple his fingers at his miscreant students.

“A dare to look through my notes?”

“No,” Jin Ling shoots back hotly, before subsiding into a muttered, “I just looked at those because they were there. AND,” he resumes, remembering his earlier indignation, “when I did,” it turned out to be all - all -”

What the boys have managed to find are actually all Wei Wuxian’s half-sketched plans of ways to surpass (or just match, Wei Wuxian would be more than happy with even approximately matching) Lan Zhan’s patently unmatchable love confession.

(Ten years of waiting and the first thing out of his mouth when he sees Wei Wuxian’s face again is “Wei Ying, I love you.”

What was the first thing that came out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth after seeing Lan Zhan’s face again?

“Ho ho ho, you think your puny barrier charm is gonna make me sleep in this box when I could be sleeping in your bed? Well think again!”

It really doesn’t compare.)

So far, each one has ended in a frustrated jumble of scribbled-out lines and some variation on WHAT WAS I THINKING? THIS DOESN’T EVEN COME CLOSE, but he’ll get there eventually.

“-all-” Jin Ling continues to splutter, “plans to - to have your way with Professor Lan!”

Wei Wuxian hums in agreement. What a charmingly missish turn of phrase - Jiang Cheng’s fingerprints are all over the boy’s upbringing.

“Everyone’s always talking about all the things you invented during the War,” Jin Ling continues to rage, unaware that his intended audience is only half-listening, “talking about how you were the best mind of your generation - The best mind, and THIS IS WHAT YOU’RE WASTING IT ON?”

“Can you stop?” Lan Jingyi hisses. “If you make him angry, he’ll never let us go!”

He jerks his hip in a clear attempt to nudge his fellow prisoner. Unfortunately for him, he uses too much force and overshoots the mark, excess momentum instead sending them both spiralling around each other as the charmed ropes holding them up begin to rapidly intertwine.

“What else would I use it on?” Wei Wuxian asks, watching with badly-concealed amusement as the boys’ efforts to stop spinning only make them spin faster. “I don’t know about you, but I certainly can’t think of anything more important than getting into Lan Zhan’s-”

“SHAMELESS!” Jin Ling howls as he and Lan Jingyi begin to spin in the opposite direction.

“STOP YELLING!” Lan Jingyi yells.

“You wouldn’t have seen it, because I haven’t written it down yet,” Wei Wuxian continues mercilessly over the top of the resultant shouting match. “But if the song doesn’t work, there’s this part-human creature in Europe that does an apparently irresistible seduction dance. It shouldn’t take me too long to learn it-”

Jin Ling’s answering bellow of rage, Wei Wuxian notes fondly, is almost an exact copy of Jiang Cheng’s.

“So what’s this actually about?” Nie Huaisang asks during their next mirror-call, after Wei Wuxian plays another three notes that create a curl of something in his belly that could maybe be mild interest (or could maybe be just gas).

“What do you mean, ‘actually’?” Wei Wuxian asks reflexively, picking up his brush and carefully crossing yet another failed stanza off his list. “It’s about what it’s about - expanding my foreplay repertoire so that Lan Zhan doesn’t get bored and leave me for Mianmian.”

“You said it wasn’t about inciting rage,” Nie Huaisang continues thoughtfully, completely ignoring him. “So what else would you need to draw out of people?”

He tilts his face up towards the ceiling and purses his lips.

“It wouldn’t be happiness - we’ve already got charms for that - sadness? But why would you-”

Nie Huaisang freezes, and then slowly, carefully, brings his eyes back down to meet Wei Wuxian’s.

Theirs is a generation that grew up in war. Who among them doesn’t have unresolved grief? Who doesn’t have emotions they’ve repressed (trauma, resentment, guilt) - at first because there wasn’t the time or energy between the fighting and the surviving to properly work through them, and then afterwards because it just seemed easier to move on and try to forget?

(How many ghosts are unable to move on because they cannot resolve worldly attachments that they’re too afraid to remember?)

Nie Huaisang clears his throat.

“Why don’t you play me that last one again?” he suggests lightly. “I think you inverted one of the chords wrong. After we fix that, maybe it’ll work better.”

“Oh good, you’re back,” Wei Wuxian says when he steps into the Jingshi to find Lan Zhan already waiting. “Shall we-”

“Am I not passionate enough for you?” Lan Zhan cuts in, apropos of nothing. His voice is mild, but there’s a glint in his eyes that puts Wei Wuxian on immediate alert.

(And Little Wei Wuxian on immediate alert too, but that’s basically a given when Lan Zhan is involved.)

“...no? What makes you think that?” Wei Wuxian asks carefully, and Lan Zhan mutely lifts up a very familiar, half-finished composition.

Ah.

“I can explain,” Wei Wuxian offers quickly, holding his arms out between them and automatically stepping backwards in response to Lan Zhan’s very forceful (and very long!) step forwards.

“I have very valid reasons,” he adds, continuing to scramble back as Lan Zhan continues to advance, until he finds himself pinned between a rock and Lan Zhan’s hard, manly chest, “none of which are in any way a challenge to the strength of your ardour-”

He has just enough time for a half-laugh, half-yelp as he’s picked up and thrown onto the bed, and then all further protests are put on hold while Lan Zhan proves, aggressively and comprehensively, that he’s more than passionate enough.

With Lan Zhan’s musical expertise involved, the deconstruction of Requiem into its core magical components goes a lot more smoothly, and much more quickly.

The “testing” of Wei Wuxian’s derivative composition also becomes a lot more fun, if a lot less reliable in terms of producing valid results.

In the end, Wei Wuxian is only a little disappointed that they don’t manage to get an aphrodisiac song out of it.*

In the second year after his return, Yiling Patriarch Wei Wuxian developed the song Release, which has since been adapted for a wide range of therapeutic applications, including use in treatments for anxiety, depression, stress and trauma.

With assistance from noted symphonimagus Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian deconstructed the then-established Requiem and, by applying its foundational magical principles in reverse, was able to create a song that, when played, encouraged the controlled expression of emotion under the player’s guidance.

Unfortunately, his notes and experimental logs have since been lost.

-excerpt from the Annals of the Cloud Recesses

“LAN ZHAN, LOOK!” Wei Wuxian shrieks, running down the side of the hill towards him, waving a handful of leaves and flowers, “APHRODISIAC GRASS!”

#The Untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #wangxian #HP AU #CQL

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nctinfo · 4 years

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[TRANS] Chenle & Jisung’s interview with ELLE June 2020 issue!

It's the first time for Chenle and Jisung to do a magazine shoot together. Both of you seemed to have given your fans spoilers ahead of the shoot. Jisung: Really, the time went by so fast. Rather than a shoot, it felt more like I was just playing around with Chenle. Chenle: <ELLE> is a magazine known by many people. I've known it since long-ago too. So I was even more excited about the shoot. Jisung: Me too! Ah, but how old is <ELLE>? 28th anniversary this year? Wow...

We are much older than you two, aren't we? Is this year your 5th summer together? Jisung: We've known each other since 2016, so yes, that's right. Chenle: We should stop seeing each other (laughs).

Although you get along as friends [same-aged friends], Chenle is in fact born in November 2001. He is one year older than Jisung who was born in February 2002. What was the reason to become friends [to drop formalities]? Chenle: Our birthdays are only two and a half months apart, and since we get along so well, I felt like there was no need for formalities [a hyung/dongsaeng relationship]. Of course, I regret having made that decision now. I mean it. (laughs). Jisung: I jokingly said, "Can't we just be friends?" but he took it seriously. Thanks to this, we can now comfortably talk with each other like this. Chenle: It's definitely more comfortable. In Shanghai, where I grew up, we don't mind much if there's a one or two year difference. And since the NCT team has a lot of members from overseas, the atmosphere is a bit more open.

Still, it must have felt weird to see your friend Chenle become a legal adult a year earlier than you. Jisung: I've seen the older members of NCT DREAM become adults one after another so I felt relatively indifferent. It's not like people suddenly change when they turn 20 years old. But, since we all debuted as teenagers, it is kinda weird that I'm the only minor left now.

How did the YouTube content 'ChenJi's This and That', that you two do together, start? Jisung calls it 'JiChen's That and This'. Jisung: Thank you for acknowledging it (laughs). It started from the thought that it would be great to make content that uses the advantage of us two who are like real friends. We make gifts for the members, stack dominoes, and also make menus that are popular on SNS Chenle: Although we also bring up ideas here and there, the staff ideas are always more fun. Ah, it was our idea to visit my home in Shanghai.

Chenle went to a lot of rides alone at the amusement park right. Chenle: He says he is too scared to go on rides that are hard, but thinks rides that are easy are lame. Isn't it really funny? Jisung: The easy ones don't look cool (laughs).

You just finished the promotions of your 4th mini album <Reload>. You have achieved many good results such as ranking first in the domestic music chart and music shows, ranking first on iTunes in 51 countries, and selling over 500k albums. How do you feel looking back? Jisung: I always have regrets whenever we finish promotions. Even though I have worked hard and had fun, when I look back, I feel like I could do better? Chenle: I'm completely the opposite. When the album promotions finish, I think 'It was really fun this time again, I'm satisfied!' I think especially for 'Ridin'' the stage was very exciting, and it was even better because I had fun with the members.

'Beyond Live', a live-streamed concert and video call fan signings are promotions that were not imaginable last year. Jisung: I'm glad that we can do something, but it's a shame we can't meet the fans in person. Chenle: It was a new and very exciting experience. Although it was through a video, you could clearly hear the voices and see the faces of the fans like this.

You also performed solo stages on ‘Beyond Live’ Chenle: I prepared our song 'Best Friend' on the piano, but the staff made the stage really cool. On the stage the moon was floating over the sea, it was very pretty and I'm really grateful and satisfied Jisung: I danced but I don't think it was to the extent of 'Awesome~ I did a great job!'.

With you two being the youngest out of NCT’s teenage team NCT DREAM, your growth is bound to be the most impactful. You must be surprised when you watch videos of when you just debuted. Chenle: Actually, as soon as we met today, Jisung had watched an old video of mine and said 'You were so cute back then but why are you like this now?'. Jisung: It was videos of him during promotion interviews for our debut song 'Chewing Gum' and 'My First and Last', and he was so cute. It was also when Chenle hadn't been in Korea for that long yet so he was still bad at speaking. Chenle: I couldn't watch the videos at that time. Still, when I look at the other members, I think everyone was so young and cute.

I heard that Jisung played a significant role in the fast improvement of Chenle's Korean. Jisung: Yes I was Chenle: I admit he helped. Although it's a problem that my weird Korean skills are also improving (laughs).

You have done TV shows and stood on stages before debuting at 15 and 16 years old. When did you feel like this is something you're good at and wanted to do something music-related? Chenle: I love to sing, so I released my first album when I was 7 years old. However, at that time, I thought it was a hobby and an experience rather than thinking of wanting to be a singer. After coming to Korea, I knew for certain that this was the path I wanted to take. Jisung: Rather than realizing it at some point, I think the expression 'right now' is right. While watching sunbaes at SM, my desire to be like that grew and I've come here doing what I wanted to do.

For broadcasts or special stages, Jisung has danced with the hyungs of SM's 'Dance Line' such as Super Junior Eunhyuck, SHINee Taemin, and EXO Kai. Jisung: They are really good at dancing and have a lot of experience on stage so it's really helpful when they watch me dance and talk to me [about it]. It felt like I was taking years of dance lessons all at once. Chenle: For me, I learn quickly thanks to Jisung. These days, Jisung is working hard on learning how to sing so I try to help a little too. I would say things like "I think this would be better?'. Jisung: Don't you tease me when I sing though. Chenle: Me? No, not me.

What song would you like to perform if you were to do an NCT stage together? Chenle: Since there are two of us, how about NCT U's 'Baby Don't Stop'? that Taeyong and Ten hyung did together. Jisung: Uhm, that's kind of a sexy song, don't you think we should do that in a few years? For me, I would like to do NCT U's 'Without You'. I think it's a good song to sing for us together.

NCT DREAM members have often said they still lack the skills and think they can do better. Where does that ambition come from? Chenle: There are times when I feel like I'm not good enough when I watch a video clip [of myself]. Other people might not see a big difference, but I do. In that case, I really concentrate and work hard. Jisung: I think everyone has that kind of desire because we debuted at a young age. When I watch the stage of the sunbaes, I feel like that even more.

How does it feel to be the youngest in a big group called NCT? Chenle: It's so good! Originally, I'm the type to prefer when it’s crowded. It's also fun to chat and play together when we practice. Jisung: I don't have a lot of friends from school. [NCT] is like a replacement for those relationships so I feel reassured. It feels like I have a bunch of people or hyungs who are close to me. Though the dinner costs are enormous (laughs).

What's the reason that two people with different personalities can be good friends and teammates? Jisung: Oh, now that I think about it it's really interesting. We're really the opposite Chenle: I think we get along so well because we are so different. The thing we have in common the most is that we like to play around with each other? And we're the noisiest. My voice is loud and Jisung talks a lot. A while ago he was talking to himself in the car while watching the night view. It's really funny to see it from the side Jisung: If you say it like that it makes me seem kinda weird, doesn't it? (laughs) I love to fantasize. What would I say if I were to go on a program like that? I think I was playing around while thinking about those kinds of things.

Are there any aspects of your friend that you want to be more known? Jisung: There are a lot of people who think of Chenle as a bright mischievous boy with a lot of laughter, but he also has a lot of serious conversations with me. He also has a lot of ambition. Unlike the introverted me, he is cool and outgoing so I learn a lot of things through Chenle. He is much cooler than he looks. Chenle: I'm a chic person (laughs). Jisung is the type of person who worries a lot about himself, and he is also evenly worried about the members' concerns. After taking care of this and that he proudly says 'Ah, why do I look like a leader'.

There are many adults and role models around you. Since you achieved your dream of debuting early, you must be worried about growing up well. Chenle: Instead of following someone with the burden of having to grow, I want to grow up naturally while keeping what I want to protect. I can learn good things and keep regretful things to consult, but I think my own standards are important. Jisung: When I first made my debut, I wanted to be a good adult and a good influence, and I still feel the same now. Sometimes I feel sorry for someone's behavior or words, but I don’t think that anyone can be perfect. Regardless, I try to absorb the good and positive aspects only.

When do you feel like you've grown? Jisung: When I have serious conversations with Chenle and the hyungs. The spectrum of the conversations has widened. I also think I have grown when I'm able to objectively look at myself without being too biased. Chenle: When you're going through puberty, you don't know that you're going through puberty. If you think you're grown up, I think it's because you're still young. I think you've grown up when you can admit to your shortcomings and immaturity.

How will the summer be for you this time? Chenle: First of all, Jisung will have 6 ice creams all at once. Jisung: (Back then) I had them throughout the day!

Translation: Esmee @ FY! NCT (NCTINFO) | Source: ELLE Scans — Do not repost or take out without our permission!

#NCT #chenle #jisung #t:trans #t:interview #ELLE #ELLE: July 2020

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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Life And Times of Scrooge McDuck Retrospective: The New Laird of Castle McDuck! “And I’ll Remember It Poppa! There’s Always Another Rainbow!”

Hello all you happy people! And welcome back to my look at the Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! And to make up for lost time im’ doing two instalments this month, and with luck and my schedule holding out I plan to finish the main series in September, doubling up again for the last two months to finish this up.

Background wise there’s honestly not a lot this go round, as it’s less rooted in history and more Don Rosa’s need to settle an annoying flaw with continuity. Man oh man do I relate to that and having read comics for at least half my life, i’ve seen writers do this by the bucketload to fix decisions from other writers. Sometimes for the write reasons and sometimes because EVERYTHING WAS BETTER ON MY EARTH. Don Rosa, like most writers.. has done both.

Here though it’s for the good and for understandable reasons: Barks had Scrooge’s origin as a poor shoeshine boy from Glasgow.. but also had a rather famous and awesome story, the Old Castle’s Secret, that also gave them a giant ancestral castle. Rosa fixed this by having the McDuck’s having lost it due to a combination of being driven off the land by a fake ghost dog and poor turns of fourtune meaning they coudln’t pay the taxes to live there and were behind on taxes on it, hence the Whiskervilles having taken it over in part one.

But obviously the Whiskervilles coudln’t KEEP the castle as Scrooge owned it in present day, thus this chapter explains how he got it. It was a stroke of genius plot wise too as it allowed him to open each act in Scotland and using the castle to measure where Scrooge is in life: As a boy dreaming of getting it back, as a young man who while not a success succeeds at this, and as an older hardned man who realizes he simply doesn’t belong here anymore who has to leave his family’s legacy here behind to start a better one in America.

The only other real story is that a sequence here was based on the film A Matter of Life and Death, and Rosa detailed in his notes his quest to get a copy as the distribution rights here were a nightmare at the time. Thankfully that’s clearly changed as a quick look on Amazon shows both a standard DVD release, mentioned by rosa in the book and a snazzier release by the Criteron Collection are both easily available. He ended up getting a copy from Canada, and while he didn’t get any insight at least got a neat addition to his collection. Admittedly this dosen’t add much to the story, I just thought it was neat. So with all of that settled, join me after the cut as Scrooge tries to buy back his family’s legacy.

And Scrooge has already arrived in Scotland, having reunited with Downy and Matilda, who as a refresher is more responsible and straightlaced here versus the 2017 incarnation. Part of me DOES wish they hadn’t glossed over the reunion especially since this chapter is the last time we’ll see Scrooge and his Mom together before her utterly heartbreaking passing a few chapters down the road. But I get why we opened here instead: it’s a captivating open, with Scrooge speeding to the castle, his mother and sister trying to stave the rain off and time clearly of the essence. It sucks you in as we don’t know WHY Scrooge was summoned last time, only that it was bad enough he needed to come home, and thus ratchet’s up the tension until we find out shortly.

It turns out the back taxes on Castle McDuck are up and the castle is being sold., doing so with some glasses, foreshadowing his iconic specs wearing as the snow and brightness of the praries in various seasons mean his eyes are all done fucked up like mine. The Whiskervilles are naturally not only the prospective buyer but already trying to take the property prematurely, with Fergus and Jake holding the line, because love isn’t always on time. But Hortense is and when the Whiskervilles mock her daddy and uncle, planning to tear down the castle out of spite, her response reminds us why donald is a ball of rage and badassery...

Have I mentioned she’s my favorite part of this story? Because she is. Her response to scrooge being back is also just pure adorable.

Scrooge does get a big reunion with his dad and uncle, getting a big hug from Fergus, if squshing his cream cheese sandwitch... and yes that’s apparently a real thing. I mean I do love me some cream cheese don’t get me wrong, but it just feels weird to put it on bread as the only thing, but I guess i’m a bit spoiled with crackers and bagels in my day and age or putting it on tosat with salmon and.. saying all of this both makes me very hungry for cream cheese. So I guess i’ts not all bad it’s just weird to me, especially since I don’t think it’d keep all that well unregrigrated but I also don’t know the times that well. Or maybe when your that poor and hungry, it dosen’t matter how good it is and maybe i’m just spoiled by my upper middle class existance. I dunno. The point is i’m going to go get me some cream cheese be back in a minute. Here have some music.

youtube

For all two of you that didn’t clear out, Fergus naturally for the time, turns out to be sexist, insisting Jake get “The Women” home.

Though Rosa gets a great joke out of it by having Jake wonder if he can even reign Hortense in. And I do love Hortense’s character. Whlie i’ts simple, she’s simply an angrier version of her son without the penchant for half-assed schemes, it works and makes her stand out against the more subdued rest of the McDuck family outside of Scrooge.

Fergus explains HOW it got so bad to Scrooge: While the McDuck ancestors pooled resources to automatically pay the taxes, eventually only having two poor old men who could barely keep their family fed and a slightly less poor pulp fiction writer somewhere in America meant the taxes piled up and the Whiskervilles are within a whisker’s reach of gettng the castle, something mentioned in part 1.

It also provides a great payoff to the first part of Scrooge’s journey: while the boy bemoans only having gotten the 10,000 dollar check from the mine sale, and that will only just about cover the castle’s taxes, he feels disheratned as it’s ALL he’s accomplished.. but in a nice moment from Fergus he points it WASN’T all for nothing: Thanks to his work they get their home back. His family can move from the cramped confines of Dismal Downs back to their ancestral homeland like they always deserved. While he may of not achieved his goal of being rich yet.. he still achieved his goal of buying the castle back, the very thing that set him on this path in the first place. It’s telling though that it takes a reminder of that, that Scrooge is loosing sight of the very human, for lack of a better term, reasons he set out: while he’s finally built a better life for his family, if just so.. all he can see is that he’s not RICH. The money is starting to cloud his judgement.. and i’tll roll over him entirely before the series is over.

The Head of the Whiskervilles shows up with the Sheirff.. whose also a Whiskerville lest you thought unfair and crooked policing was a strictly american thing. But Fergus points out their too early.. and Scrooge flashes his check. And when the Head Whiskerville scoffs at a mcduck having money... Scrooge points out he didn’t believe in ghosts either and brags about his awesomeness in the first chapter, revealing what he did and leaving The SHierff pissed and the older whiskerville ready with a plan: he decide......

Sadly not with children’s trading cards but with swords, and gets past the legality issue by simply challenging Scrooge’s pride and angering him into accepting. Argus, the head whiskerville whose name I just got from the comic, reveals his plan to the Shierff: While he’s dueling Scrooge Sheirff can snatch the bank statment.. though why Scrooge didn’t you know, cash it before coming and how an american banks tatment is valid in early 1900′s Scotland...

So the Duel is on.. and like the money he’s made, the Duel is another Marker of how far Scrooge has come and how despite still not having made his fortune yet he’s rich with EXPERINCE. His experince fighting cattle rustlers and pirates means he has the reflexes to easily outfight his opponent.. though him saying he learned how to fight “Injun Style from Buffallo Bill”, i.e. learned how to fight like a native american from a white guy and beat Sitting Bull with it just makes me feel like i’m watching that episode of Saved by the Bell where Zach has to learn not to be racist but then thinks this outfit is acceptable.

Scrooge also tracks the guy using the tracking skills he learned from the blackfeet which again feel like the picture above , but send Argus running.. only to lure Scrooge into a fight on the castle battlemnt in the pooring rain and disarming him. Luckily the spirit of Sir Quackly gives the lad his sword back and Scrooge wins the fight.. but promptly gets hit by lighting while celebrating Caddyshack style.

No really Scrooge is.. or close as he got knocked into the water and is now in heaven. Sir Quackly naturally doesn’t want to see the last hope of the Clan McDuck dies and goes to talk to the tribunal of McDucks to sort it out hence the Matter of Life And Death connection.

The Tribunal is made up of former McDucks.. it turns out Scrooge is here because of Quackly: the lighting was SUPPOSED to hit the tower, distracting Argus, and they prepare to write Scrooge off because their more concerned with golf than the fact that their whole clan’s future is on the line.. which I do not get because unless you are Tiger Woods or the Film Caddyshack, golf usually is the boring garbage water of sports and this is from someone who dosen’t like sports to begin with. I do like the Missing Links of Moorshire though so there’s that. And golf episodes of shows are usually good.. the sport itself is just incredibly boring. And I sat through Mank. I know boring. I know wanting hours of my life back. Golf is the Mank of Sports.

What we get is a pretty tiresome sequence honestly: Quackly points out the tribuanls faults while their just dicks who only care about golf. Which again, Mank of sports. Or if you prefer the Cloud Atlas of sports but with SLIGHTLY less untetionall racisim and sadly much less Tom Hanks and Hugh Grant. The point is golf sucks and while I ilke the REST of this chapter this bit just dosen’t work for me and was clearly funnier in Rosa’s head, with the assholes not thinking much of Scrooge’s achievements and only liking him when they find out he’ll be a tight wad, the only funny joke in these draggy as hell three pages, not counting the start and finish of the sequence which arnet bad, as they send him back to earth with Quackly mentioning the dime, but not giving out WHY it’s important. That he has to figure out on his own and all that good stuff.

So Scrooge uses his dime to unscrew the bolts and back at the castle while Argus TRIES to pawn it off as Scrooge being a coward and depart with the bank draft....

Damnnnn that’s badass, he gets the bank note back (only knowing because one of his ancestors mentioned it, though with his memory of the dying dream gone he dosen’t know WHY), and has Fergus run into town to pay the taxes tonight before any other shenanigans happen while he keeps the two scheming dogmen captive long enough for Fergus to get too far for them to catch up. Argus plans to go with plan “Do a murder on Scrooge”.. but fines Scrooge is far from unprotected and not the only badass in his family.. I mean Hortense exists but I mean that ther’es more than two... you know what jut look at the ghost heads.

So the two run for their lives..... also they forgot you know Hortense exists.. she’d revenge murder all of them and they both know it.

So with the land safe and the taxes paid so the Family can implicitly move in, we end on a beautiful sunrise as Scrooge prepares to leave soon. Despite all the setbacks and hardship Scrooge is deterimend to still make it and knows he won’t fail forever. When Fergus mentions Gold at the end of a rainbow, Scrooge takes that, and the golden dawn as a sign. WHen Fergus understandably asks if he’s sure he’ll make it this time.. we get a nice nod to Bark’s best and most notable painting “always another rainbow to close us out”

It’s a beauitful and inspiring statment.. no matter what you face.. there’s always a light at the end of it. Always another opportunity, another goal to reach, another hill to climb.. and life to live... and it’s one i’ve taken to heart and always will.. and one that will land Scrooge his fortune yet.

Final Thoughts: This chapter is alright but like I said the two page sequence in heaven dosen’t really work for me. It’s just not funny enough and really shoudl’ve been trimmed down a page so we could get more character stuff with Scrooge and his family> Otherwise it’s a tightly paced thrilling chapter in Scrooge’s life, showing just how far he’s come and how far he has left to go. The DIsmal Downs chapter serve as a good marker of where Scrooge is and where he’s heading as I mentioned earlier, with this one showing that while he’s not hit his goal yet, he still got his family their true home back, beat his enmeis and is a legend to be. Ther’es always another rainbow.. and he just needs to find it. All in all a decent chapter outside those two pages, and a good setup for the next three glorious chapters.

Next Month on LIfe and Times: One is Scroogey and the other is FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD, as Scrooge meets his arch enemy and rides a motherfucking lion. And if “rides a motherfucking lion” doesn’t make you come back I do not know why you read this. Next Time On This BLog: What is that, that Freaky Thing? It’s A naked Mole rat as we return to Kauai this time with Kim Possible and Co as Drakken tries to capture stitch and Jumba wonders if Rufus is one of his or not.

See you at the next rainbow

#the life and times of scrooge mcduck #the new laird of castle mcduck #scrooge mcduck #fergus mcduck #jake mcduck #downy mcduck #hortense duck #hortense mcduck #matilda mcduck #don rosa #comics #fantagraphics

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missfluffywriter · 4 years

Text

Purple Irises I Mafia Park Jimin x Reader

Author’s note: Ooof it’s finally out. That took way longer than I expected!!!! I’ve been MIA for like almost two weeks now. I am so sorry this was lateeee!! And we’re almost as 100k!!! Ahhh I don’t want to dissapoint anyone! Sheesh anyway, that’s it for me. Happy readings!

Word count: 12.3k

Genre: Mafia AU, (slight) Doctor au, (slight) Florist au

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

(Series) Summary: You were supposed to be delivering flowers, how did you end up in an operation room digging out a bullet from a mafia boss’ shoulder?

Purple Irises: Royalty and wisdom

Warnings: Guns, language, discription of gore, minor character death, inconsistant grammar lol

Yes I had make that a header, the gore is like pretty discriptive and I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable. I have put markers where the discription starts and where it ends if you would like to skip the the gory bits look out for the markers and just skip that little bit, you won’t miss anything important I promise!

Previous chapter I Next chapter I Masterlist I Requests are open!

‘Tansies’

“(Y/n)? What’s wrong?” Unease lacing Jimin’s voice as he shadowed your path.

‘No, never theorize before you have data,’ You reprimand yourself, recalling one of the many pieces of advice you had filed away for future use. For all, you knew Duri may have simply liked the vibrance of the golden blooms and added the sunny flower to accent the otherwise monochrome room with a pop of color.

“(Y/n)?” Tenderly taking your hand into his Surprisingly larger ones. His attention wholly focused on your ever-changing expression.

“Oh, uh, flower一uh tansies一 where? Where is she?” Mind working faster than your mouth could articulate, you stumble on your words, (e/c) orbs searching for a certain peach-blonde female.

“Where is who?” Jimin questions, his honey-brown orbs narrowing in confusion, your jumbled mess of a sentence further perplexing the silver-blonde.

“Soomin!” Your answer is immediate, almost urgent as your body makes a full ninety-degree turn, holding onto Jimin's comforting grasp, your eyes hunting for the peach haired woman in the space behind you.

“What?!” The woman in question squeaks, startled by your booming voice as she enters the room, having just returned from stationing her men to accommodate the situation. Preparing them to move out at a seconds notice though maintaining a certain level of organization.

“Flowers, did Ji-Eun like flowers? Or did she have an interest in them or anything?” You question the female eagerly, gesturing to the lavender vase as she fluidly makes her way towards the object of your concerns.

Her facial features fold into a frown at your question, looking at you as though you had just asked the most bizarre of questions. “Not that I know of,”

“Do you know who might have put those there?” You blurt, eyes actively scanning over the blonde girl's expression. The imperativeness in your voice may have come out more of as panic as Jimin’s hold around your hand tightens comfortingly, which does to some length relax your posture.

“Why the fuck would I know?” She glares, exaggeratedly dropping her hands to further display her incredulity.

‘Damn it,’ Your teeth grab onto your lower lips, softly nibbling on the soft muscle. The tightness of frustration seizes your chest. This did absolutely nothing to narrow down the variables and possibilities of what had really happened, and this largely widens the margin of error when making predictions or even planning your next move. There was nothing more aggravating than missing pieces of information, especially when lives were on the line.

“But,” Soomin’s sharp voice breaks you from your train of thoughts. “I do know that Duri would never own something as hideous as that,” Emphasizing “that”, she gestures to the slender lavender vase that held the flowers.

And she was right, although the vase in itself wasn’t all that awful. It was just that the lilac of the vase clashed with the golden petals of the tansies and the overall aesthetic of the room. But did that actually mean something?

The skin of your palms tingled as sweat accumulated on them from both excitement and fear. Your instincts scream at you in warning, there was more to these flowers. ‘No, that still doesn’t account for every variable. One of the maids could have put it there. Or maybe she just felt like having flowers in her room,’ But this was too perfect, flowers with a meaning of a declaration of a war placed at a kidnapping site of a possible ally. But then why bother leaving a declaration of war in the language of flowers? It would have been much easier to leave it in writing, would it not?

As a matter of fact, not leaving any sort of note or evidence of their presence would have given the kidnappers - or rather the Yeongs - a bigger advantage. So why go through the trouble of declaring war through flowers? And flowers of all things; if you hadn’t been there, the men and even Soomin together wouldn’t have caught it.

Your eyes widen at the thought; if you hadn’t been there no one would have noticed this message - if it was a message. And it clicked, this was a warning, a proclamation. And the reason behind the effort put into this covert notice. This message wasn’t just for anyone to find, this was a message for you to find and in translation for Bangtan. This was Yeong's declaration of war against Bangtan. But more than that, they were targeting you. They chose to relay their words through you.

In other words, this was a warning to you as much as it was for Bangtan. This was their way of letting you know they knew you existed and that they were preparing to deal with you as well. If they knew of your hand in the recent achievements then their mole must be much closer than you might have earlier anticipated.

“Jimin,” You breath out, your grip on his hand tightening in distress.

“What is it?” Jimin soothingly rubs his thumb back and forth, trying to ease your hold and worry.

“Tansies,” You say. “Tansies mean hostility, “I declare war against you”,” Eyeing the male you guide his thoughts to where yours were. The whites of his eyes are a little more visible as his eyes spread a tad apart, understanding what you were insinuating to.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice breathy in the same disbelief you were in earlier. You reply with a tentative nod, his expression souring as he turns to the peach-blonde female leaning against the wooden desk. “And you’re positive it was the Yeongs that called for this attack?” He asks Soomin.

“Well, considering we have security footage of one of Yeong’s closest men calling the shots on the scene,” She scoffed at the male’s question. “So yes, I’m sure,”

“So does this mean what I think it means?” Taehyung quips from his seat on the sofa.

“This is Yeong’s move,” Jimin mutters, his honey-brown orbs narrowing as he moves towards Taehyung and Hoseok.

“So Yeong’s called a war against you, huh?” Soomin’s voice audibly drops an octave, her chocolate-colored orbs sharpening into a glare.

“We’ll have to be extra careful from here on out,” You state, singing as you rest your weight on the desk behind you.

“What a shit storm,” The chestnut-haired breaths out as he rests his head against the back of the sofa.

“I can’t exactly speak for Duri but,” Soomin pauses. “Know that you can expect my full support going on out,”

“Oh?” Taehyung eyes the female.

“Yes,” She affirms confidently. “Yeong dares to take one of my own, my mother, no less. The bastard isn’t gonna get away with this,” Growling as she spoke, anger burned in her chocolate irises.

“We appreciate your support,” Jimin replies formally. An action you wholeheartedly agree with. If Yeong was on the move then Bangtan had to begin preparations as well.

“Don’t worry we can go over those details some other time,” Soomin waves her hand dismissively, knowing you wouldn’t have been satisfied with just her vow.

“Thank you,” Your eyes fall to the floor, head tilting down in respect to the girl.

“And I guess I should thank you too, huh?” Looking to the ebony-haired male that had been standing silently to the side.

“Huh? Me?” Hyuk questions, his eyes blowing wide as he points a finger to himself.

“Yes, you,” Chuckling, you nod. “If you hadn’t pointed out the flowers I would have totally missed it.”

“Oh, no!” Hyuk furiously shakes his head from one side to another. His cool disposition melting in a flustered mess. “I was just trying to make conversation, and those flowers were the first thing that caught my eye was all.”

“Well, I’m glad it did,” You smile at the slender man as he fakes a cough, gathering together his composure. “Thank you, Hyuk,” You softly express your gratitude, partly to further fluster the male.

“Uh, no probl一”

“We found her!” Namjoon charges into the room, cutting off the ebony-haired male. A cell-phone in hand, Namjoon power walks to Jimin. “Ji-Eun was there at the location,”

“She was?! Are you sure? Was she okay?” Soomin kicks herself off the desk as she practically rushes Namjoon.

“Yes,” Namjoon speaks. “The location you gave me led us to an abandoned building way far up in the mountains. I had operatives closest to the location scope it out and the building was guarded by Yeong’s men and she was there. Ji-Eun Duri was seen on the third floor of the building,” He narrated the situation.

‘This feels too easy,’ Your forehead knitted together as you listened to the male. Now that you knew of Yeong’s awareness of you, this was too easy, too simple, too straightforward. After everything that’s happened, it couldn’t be possible that straight forward. Almost as if someone had dictated the direction of the scene, like this was meant to happen.

Really thinking about the whole situation, this worked out too perfectly, considering a thousand variables that could have been in play. This scenario was far too ideal. If Duri’s captors had the time to place those flowers. ‘The footprints!’ Your head snaps to the floor as you examine muddy footprints left behind by the kidnappers.

And sure enough, none of the footprints led towards the vase, all of them stopped quite a distance from the desk. So unless they threw the vase onto the desk, someone else either planted the flowers late on or there was someone else with the kidnappers. But the question was who? And if all of this was scripted by the Yeongs then what was the real goal? What were they after?

‘Think, come on think. There must be something I’m missing! What could they gain by kidnapping Ji-Eun Duri? Why Ji-Eun Duri? And Why today? Why would they take her only to let us find her?’ Your breath caught in your throat as you realized you had just answered your own question. ‘So that’s what’s going on,’

“Well then, what the hell are we waiting for?” Soomin’s booming voice startles you from your thoughts. “Let’s get going already!” She briskly stomps out of the room.

“Hyuk,” Jimin calls for the charcoal-haired male. “Follow her and make sure she doesn’t get herself killed,”

“Sir,” Hyuk salutes before hurting after the female that had stormed out the room. Though normally the peach-blonde was a rational woman, however, going by the way she charged away. Her sense of reason may not be at its peak at the moment.

“Where is our team right now?” Shining, Jimin asks Namjoon.

“I told everyone to be on standby a good distance from the actual building. Which was made easy thanks to the place being surrounded by a forest,” The syrup-brown haired man reports.

“Good, tell them to stay there until we get there,” The silver-blond nods approvingly, making his way toward the exit before noticing your lack of presence.

“(Y/n)?” Calling for your name, the don pivots on his foot to meet your rattled expression as you stiffly stood by the desk.

“Where are Jiyoung and his family being kept?” You ask the two men.

“At one of our safehouses farther away from the city… Why?” Namjoon answers his calm features hardening into a serious expression.

“Jimin, Namjoon before we leave, can you do something for me?” You request.

“What do you want me to do?” The taller of the pair inquires, looking down at his boss questioningly.

“Man, they really dragged us out, huh?” Taehyung yawned, stepping out of the luxurious short limousine, he stretched his limbs.

“Where is Duri?” Soomin demands the minute she steps out of her sleek black SUV.

“Over there,” One of the many well-dressed men points to a cloud-grey, four-story building situated a distance away, and the more you examined it, the more it looked like a school. “She is being held in one of the rooms on the third floor.”

“How many of them are there?” Jimin comes to stand beside the peach-blonde as he questions the man standing before them.

“Not many,” The male answers. “Ten or fifteen at most,”

“That’s it?” Soomin blanches at the man’s reply.

“Yes, ma’am,” He respectfully responds.

“Report,” Jimin commands as the other man bows before beginning.

“The main and back entrances are each guarded by two guys. From what we could see there are men on each floor stationed around the stairs or hidden in rooms. The first floor has the most men, the second floor has fewer men, but the third floor is the least guarded,” He gives a detailed report of the situation.

“Do they have a sniper?” Namjoon asks.

“Not that we’ve seen,” A diplomatic answer if you’d ever heard one. The hickory-brown haired male that had been explaining the situation cleanly offered his findings without promising or assuring you of anything. You would have to remember to bring him up at the meeting, he could prove useful in a higher position, but at the same time, he could also become a threat. ‘No, stay focused,’ Shaking your head you refocus yourself on the task at hand.

“Send out the snipers, we’re going with the usual,” Jimin directs both the man standing before and Namjoon, who acknowledged the command with a nod, walking towards the group that had been gathered.

“The usual?” You question the silver-blonde.

“We attack with all our forces while our snipers provide support from a distance,”

“So basically you’re gonna rush ‘em,” You retold what you had taken away from the mafia don’s plan.

“Pretty much yeah,” Taehyung chirps in, hands behind his head, he strolls over to where you stood.

“What if they use Ji-Eun as a hostage and threaten to kill her?” A questioning brow lifts on your face as you ask the group of three men and a woman.

“I… didn’t think that far,” Taehyung pauses, surprised, his eyelids fluttering as his hands drop to his sides and into his pant pockets.

“Right,” You huff a breath as your brain moves to formulate a plan that would give you a better chance of getting Duri out of her captors hold, safely and quickly. Eyebrows furrowing together, your forefinger moves up to rub the skin underneath your lower lip.

Duri’s safety was the top priority, you needed a plan that ensured Duri’s well being while effectively dealing with the armed men and minimize damage and loss for both Bangtan and Soomin.

“First things first, we need to take care of the men closest to Ji-Eun. Then we can deal with the others as they come,” Heaving a deep sigh, you decide to speak your thoughts aloud when your imagination begins running rampant and muddling any coherent plan that may have formed.

“Tell me,” You call for the attention of the three men standing before you, the same thoughtful expression present on each of their faces. “Can the snipers take out the people guarding Ji-Eun?” You ask.

“Uh. We’ll have to draw them to a place where the snipers have a clear shot,” Jimin answers.

“But that doesn’t mean we would get them all and I don’t think the guys from the first and second floors would do nothing when they hear gunshots firing,” Taehyung adds, waving his hand dismissively as if rejecting your idea.

“If we could somehow clear the first floor, lure the men from the second floor to the first and take care of them there while taking out the guys up top, then we’d be golden,” Stringing together the few intelligible thoughts that you retained from the jumbled mess your mind had been.

“We sure would, wouldn’t we?” An aloof hum leaves the chestnut-haired mafioso’s lips.

“Thanks, Taehyung,” You grumble at his unproductive contribution to the conversation.

“Well then, why don’t we do just that?” A rich, honeyed voice resounds in the vicinity.

“Hyuk,” You say the name of the owner of the sweet voice. “There are too many variables, too many things that could go wrong,” You explain, providing examples of the many mishaps that could occur. “Like what if we don’t get all of the guys from the third floor? Or what if someone from the second floor got to the third floor?”

“Plus, we can’t exactly use guns,” Jimin chimes into the conversation.

“And why can’t we use guns?” Nose scrunching in confusion Taehyung asks.

“Were you even paying attention?” Your question flatly, your black gaze staring him down. “The loud sound would give us away,” You explain with another deep breath as exasperation made its way into your system. The situation was much more complicated than you had originally expected.

“No. I think guns will be plenty useful,” Hyuk strums as his forefinger swipes across his cupid’s bow.

“Oh really? And how would that be?” Shifting your weight in your other foot, you ask.

“Just leave it to us,” He says, much to your confusion.

“Us?” You repeat.

“Well, them,” The charcoal-haired mafioso gestures to the group of men and woman standing behind him.

“Them?” Your face scrunches at the male’s vague words.

“Yes, with the team gathered here today,” Hyuk further explains with a proud smile. And though your expression remained muddled with confusion.

“And just what exactly do you intend to do?”

“Hm, I’m surprised you don’t already know,” Your features sour at his words, though it wasn’t exactly his words that off-put you, it was his mocking tone of voice. Besides, did he expect you to know everything?

“And just what might that be?” You ask the ebony-haired male.

“It’s simple really,” He answers. “We’ll need a distraction upfront while people sneak in from the back. And when it comes to Ji-Eun-ssi, our snipers will be watching her until our rescue team has a chance to get to her,”

You fall into silence as you consider Hyuk’s plan. It was by no means a foolproof plan, but a plan nonetheless. It was a gamble seeing as you would be risking the lives of those who would be playing decoy, but it was absolutely better than just rushing into the enemy’s fortress without an organized plan of attack. You look to Jimin for his take on the matter and you see the same consideration that you had displayed on your face.

“Jimin,” At the call of his name he lifts his gaze to meet yours. To find the same question in your (e/c) orbs that he had been mulling over. After seeing a deep breath leave Jimin’s plump lips, you decide it would be better to do something than doing nothing.

Tentatively you pull Jimin’s soft hand into yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze simultaneously letting him know of your thoughts. His eyes fall to your hold before returning the comforting gesture, a soft smile curling onto his plump lips.

“Alright then, change of plans,” The don finally speaks. “Namjoon split the team into two, we will be going with this new plan,” He commands, piercing gaze landing on the syrup-brown haired man.

“Got it,” With a sharp nod, Namjoon turns towards the crowd standing by.

“Taehyung, Hyuk, you two are with me,” Removing his expensive navy suit blazer, then undoing the cuffs of his shirt, Jimin instructs his operatives. “We’ll be going with the infiltration team,”

“Oh. You’re dead fucking wrong if you think you’re leaving me here,” Soomin’s pointed voice cuts through the atmosphere as she shrugs off her black, business-casual blazer. Subsequently revealing a glossy, cinnamon-brown, leather double shoulder holster, two jet-black guns neatly tucked in their spaces.

“Do what you want,” Jimin’s voice drowns in apathy as he inspects one of the guns from his double shoulder holster - the gun you recognized as a tanfoglio force. You don’t exactly remember much about that particular gun; it looked awfully similar to the one you were carrying. ‘Now’s not the time for that!’ Admonition yourself for drifting thoughts, you return to the situation at hand.

“We’re going to be in enemy territory, be careful, watch yourself. And remember, the idea is not to get killed,” Separating from your little huddle, Jimin continued, once satisfied with the state of the weapon and securing it back into its place. Soomin and Taehyung wordlessly followed as the mafia boss made his way towards the decently sized group of men and women gathered.

Unsure of what you were supposed to do, you quietly trail behind the trio, assuming you would be tagging along as you had been up to this point. However, you were sorely mistaken as you were stopped by the baritone voice of a certain chestnut-haired mafioso.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Taehyung asks, stepping directly in front of you.

“Uh, with you guys?” Your answer comes out as more of a question, seeing as you yourself weren’t sure of where you were supposed to be or go.

“No, you are not,” Jimin interjected, gently pulling you into him with an arm, a gesture you gladly obliged, making yourself comfortable in his hold.

“Well, then where am I supposed to be?” Craning your head towards the silver-blond you ask.

“Here,” Jimin casually replies.

“Here?” Mimicking the mafioso’s words, you look at the male questioningly.

“Yes, here,” He says, his eyes drifting to Hoseok’s form. “While we take care of that, you and Hoseok are staying right here,”

“So, you want me to stay back?”

“Exactly,” Jimin nods.

“Why?” The question flies out of your mouth before your brain could register what was coming out of your mouth.

“You already know why,” The silver-blond’s response is immediate as his eyes narrow at the unusual amount of attitude that laced your voice. You lowered your head as his hardened gaze fell onto you. He was right, you did know why you were being left behind. With your current level of skill, you were more of a hindrance than any help.

“Just stay here, okay?” Sighing, Jimin pulls you into a proper embrace as he speaks to you softly, delicately even. “We’ll be back soon enough,” The warm breath of his whisper brushes against the inner shell of your ear ticklishly before moving his lips higher tenderly placing a lingering kiss on your temple.

The action sent the metaphorical butterflies of your stomach into a frenzy. There it was again, the Jimin effect, you contemplated officially naming this - now - regular phenomenon. With an inaudible groan, you bury your flushed face into his neck, sluggishly nodding a ‘yes’. Before a single coherent thought is finally able to process in your brain.

“Wait if I can’t go, then why are you going?” You ask, tilting your head upwards to meet two gorgeous pools of honey - which are Jimin’s eyes.

“Because I’m the boss,” The nonchalance in his tone truly astonished you, your agape mouth a clear sign of your amazement and dismay. How could he talk about walking into a dangerous and very much so a life-threatening situation so calmly, so easily?

“Isn’t that more of a reason to not go?” You blanch at he male’s coolness.

“No,” You receive a single worded answer as he gently presses a chaste kiss on your forehead before releasing you from his warmth.

“But一”

“Everything is set, we’re ready to move out,” Namjoon’s firm voice interrupts your oncoming rebuttal to Jimin’s short statement.

“Then let’s move out,” The silver-blond moves further away from you, though you suspect he was purposefully ignoring you.

“Jimin wai一” You call, only from the man to completely discounts your voice, continuing on his path. ‘He’s ignoring me isn’t he?’ Relenting with a sigh you instead decide to wish the group their best. “Be careful out there,” To which Jimin acknowledges your words, turning to give you an adorably sheepish grin. Before his gaze flickered to the crimson-haired male standing beside you, his golden honey orbs hardened into a chilling stare, a wordless warning.

“And they’re gone,” You say, heaving another breath, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. In your mind you were sure Jimin would be perfectly fine, he had been in the business for years, life-threatening situations were nothing new to him; he had faced and survived many of these situations since before you had arrived. So why would this be any different? He had survived many times before, he could surely do it again. Yet you still couldn’t help but worry your head off. The rational side of you knew he would be fine, but the irrational side of you ached to be by Jimin’s side to personally make sure he returned safe and sound. Not that you had the skill to actually pull that off.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, okay? As long as Taehyung’s with him, nothing will happen to Jimin,” Sensing your inner turmoil, Hoseok offers words of cheerful reassurance. “Besides I think he’s just trying to protect you,” He was absolutely trying to protect you. If the scowl Jimin had given him was anything to go by. Hoseok was convinced that regardless of if you had prior experience in the field or not, Jimin would have most certainly made you stay behind. A cold shudder reverberated through Hoseok’s body as he recalled the withering glare Jimin had thrown at him. A silent warning, saying something along the lines of “anything happens to her and it’s on your head”.

“Let’s go sit inside the car, yeah?” The scarlet-haired male gave you the best smile he could muster with Jimin’s warning still ringing in his head. Hoseok had seen the young don when he was angry - when he was truly angry. The palpable chaotic fury that rolled off the don moved in waves, crashing against all those who stood around him. The reason not many knew of the true extent of Jimin’s anger was that few ever survived his wrath. The silver-haired mafia boss was nothing to be trifled with on a good day, one could only imagine what he was like on a bad day.

Hoseok may have been close with the don, but you too held a special place in the mafia boss’ heart. Considering that factor, it would be near impossible to anticipate Jimin’s reaction should anything happen to you.

“Aren’t you going to sit with me?” Your delicate voice brings the mafioso back from the flashbacks of an angry Jimin on catastrophic rampages.

Hoseok gulps down the saliva that had pooled in his mouth before answering you, “Uh, no, I need to be out here, just in case they need me,”

“Oh, okay,” You return, closing the car door as you did.

Just as you had settled into your seat, the sharp, deafening sound of gunfire reverberated through the area, the pops of gunshots so loud they were heard over five-hundred feet away.

For minutes you sat silently, (e/c) orbs thoughtlessly tracing the stitches and ridges of the leather seats. The popping and booming of gunfire becoming nothing more than white noise, a strange emptiness taking over you. No thoughts passed your mind, you could feel yourself sitting down, you could feel the sharp biting sensation of running your nails up and down the first knuckle of your forefinger. Eyes zeroing in on a single point on the plush seat, it was almost as if your body had been locked in place, you could feel but you could not move - not fully at least, but it was more of you didn’t want to move.

You weren’t sure just how long had passed in this frozen state, but you were broken from your spell-bound state when your ears started ringing from the silence of the area. Inhaling through your nose, you leaned against the back of the car seat, stretching your arms as a drawn-out yawn leaves your lips. Wiping away the tears that had pooled at the corners of your eyes, you rub circles on the pinna of your ear once the ringing from the quiet becomes too uncomfortable. ‘It’s too quiet,’

Fully registering your thoughts, your eyes fly open, head swinging towards the car door where Hoseok had been standing against. The crimson-haired male had a similar look of confusion playing at his expression; head sawing from one direction to another, trying to make sense of the sudden quiet that had fallen on the previously bustling battlefield.

“What’s going on here?” Quietly mumbling to yourself, you gently push open the car door. Hoseok jumped, his hands automatically reaching for the guns tucked away in his shoulder holsters when he heard the door behind him open, his attention having been concentrated on gauging the situation, deciding on whether to send you home or not.

“Hoseok, what happened? Did they win?” Dangling your feet out of the car, you awkwardly ask, your proper communication skill having disappeared in that instance.

“Aish, (Y/n),” He sighs moving aside, allowing you space to step out of the car. “You surprised me.”

“So, are we done here?” Pushing the door closed, you ask the mafioso.

“I’m not sure,” He mutters, his hand coming to brush against his lips. “I haven’t heard anything from either team,”

A soft ‘oh’ leaves your lips as you watch the direction the two groups had left. ‘I don’t like this,’ The eerie stillness felt something akin to the calm before a storm. Anxiousness bubbled and churned in your chest, your palms getting clammy with your sweat when you suddenly felt your heart drop. A cold pricking sensation rapidly spreading throughout your body like vines of ice wrapping around your insides. Inhaling through your mouth while your mind flies in a thousand different directions trying to figure out why you felt that chill.

‘Just as BBC Sherlock Holmes said, “Intuitions represent data processed too fast for the conscious mind to comprehend.” So think! There has to be something!’ With your brain running a mile a minute, no coherent thoughts were forming, and even if they were forming you would forget them not a minute later as too many thoughts and scenarios all playing out in your head at once. Deciding your brain had once again failed you and that nothing comprehensible was coming out of it the next best thing would be to go into the building in person.

“We should go up there,” You breathe out, which was also the only warning you gave the crimson-haired male before storming towards the abandoned building.

“No, we’re gonna stay he一 (Y/n)!” Hoseok gets no more than five words in before he is chasing after you as you scamper off in the direction of the building.

“Come on slowpoke!” You exhorted, daring him to catch up to you. A horrible idea really, seeing as he was faster than you and would probably catch you before you even reached your destination, but more than that you weren’t sure what you would do once inside the building.

Usually, you would never rush into unpredictable situations where you weren’t sure just what exactly could happen or situations you had an obvious disadvantage in, but here you were charging headfirst into a practical battlefield with little to no fighting experience. ‘So much for being rational,’ You scoffed to yourself, though you knew you were running straight into the belly of the beast, you could feel the light flutter of excitement, however today, you didn’t have to bite back an excited grin. The ominous chill you had felt earlier was still ever-present, sitting at the forefront of your mind. And you knew this somehow involved Jimin, which only caused your stomach to churn.

“(Y/n), come back here!” All of the scarlet-haired mafiosos’ words fell to deaf ears. Not really, truthfully you were hearing every on of Hoseok’s words and you actually wanted to go back to the limo as there was a large possibility you would become a major hindrance to the people fighting, but something was happening, something bad, and you needed to be there to prevent it, only the question was, what was happening?

“What?” A quiet whisper that leaves your lips as your head frantically sways one side to another taking in the sight, or rather a lack of one. There were no people, no cars, no weapons, nothing; just barren empty grounds. You slow down to a jog as you cautiously enter the building. What exactly was happening here?

BANG BANG

You flinch when the loud booms of gunfire reach you, your eardrums ringing as you slowed further into a stalk as you navigated through the desolated building. But a single question rang in your head louder than any gunshot had, if there were people inside then why wasn’t there anyone outside?

As you quietly climb the staircase to the second floor, once again notice the lack of personale, enemy, or otherwise. The first floor was supposed to be just as heavily guarded was it not? So why was it deserted?

“(Y/n),” Hoseok growls, roughly tugging at your upper arm, you turn to look at him as his grip tightens. “We’re leaving now.” He barks, pulling you down the steps.

“Hoseok, Hoseok, come on,” Your attempt to call for his attention fails as he continues on his path with you in tow.

“What were you thinking!?” He chides you sternly. “What if something happened to you? What if you got hurt? What if they took you hostage too, huh?”

“Hoseok, listen to me,” You struggle against his stronghold, though your intent was to break free from his grasp, all you could do was struggle as Hoseok’s vice-like hold being too powerful for you to break. And thankfully he does. Halfway down the stairs he pauses and turns to you, though begrudgingly, he gives you the attention you requested.

“What?” The single word comes out like a quiet snarl.

“Guns are firing on the second floor, you can hear the fight going on up there. But the first floor is deserted, practically empty, why?”

“How about we go back to the car and then you can sit there and figure that out, yeah?” He says stiffly, turning to continue on his path.

“Hoseok, listen to me,” You plead, futile wrestling against the stronger male’s grip.

“I did and now we’re leaving,” Huffing, he turned raring to leave.

“Look, we're already here,” You exclaim, jerking your arm towards you, though his hold doesn’t falter in the slightest, instead just moving with your actions.

“Not for long,” Scoffing, he simply ignores your struggles as he moves.

“Hoseok,” You call helplessly, which is again met with indifference. ‘Alright then, be that way,’ If Hoseok was going to be difficult then you would have to get creative. You needed a distraction, something that would loosen his hold. But what?

You desperately searched for something, anything you could use when a wicked smile danced on your lips as you found your distraction.

“Jimin watch out!” Hollering at the top of your lungs, you tear your arm from Hoseok’s grip, his hold loosening as he processed your words. Immediately you break for the second floor, skipping steps at a time, you launch around the corner and into the corridors.

“Jimin, where?一 (Y/n)!” The red head’s voice booms as he races after you. “Wha一 (Y/n)! Don’t!”

All sense of caution out the window you focus on getting as far into the building as you could before you were caught again, a terrible idea.

“(Y/n)! Get down!” You barely register Hoseok’s words before the next thing you knew the floor was getting larger. ‘Larger?’ The only thought you were able to make out as a series of ear-splitting gunshots echo throughout the floor. And this was much, much louder than the one you had heard earlier as if they were right beside you.

‘Oh, right,’ Perhaps they sounded as though they were beside you because they were right beside you.

“My God! I thought you were supposed to be smart!” Hoseok shouts as he brings you closer to his body. Leaning against the wall next to the door, he returns fire, making sure to push you further against the wall to completely hide you from sight.

You wince when more gunfire follows, the already blasting noise of the shots reverberating against the wall of the abandoned building and becoming louder. ‘Earbuds,’ Quickly fishing out the noise-canceling earbuds and stuffing them at the entrance of your ear canals, effectively muffling most to all of the sounds.

“What the fuck?!” Hoseok curses while with practiced movements his hands automatically remove the used cartridge, changing them with new ones. ‘How many of them are there?!’ Carefully aiming at one of the two men that had been shooting at you he manages to injure one of them. But this wasn’t right, the first and second floors should have been cleared by now, so why were they still here? Alive at that?

“Shit,” He mutters as he ducks back behind the wall as a few more shots follow. His head snaps to his side when he feels a hand tightly clutching at his arm. ‘Now's not the time for that,’

Heaving out a sigh he uses the hand he had been holding the gun with to cover yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze with the gun still in his hand. His eyes soften when he sees your expression, eyes wide, eyebrows knitted, and lips tugging downwards, worry, and concern written across your face. However, this expression was different from your (e/c) orbs pooled with guilt and anxiousness. And he knew the idiot of a woman sitting beside him was worried for him much more than herself.

“(Y/n), listen carefully,” He speaks gently. “Go to the first floor and hide, then when you can get back to the car and get out of here. Here are the keys一” Your eyes fall to the single key with a sunflower keychain he places in your palm. “一It doesn’t matter where you go, just get as far as you can. Then contact one of the guys, and they’ll come to pick you up wherever you are. But, if you can, go back to the mansion, okay?” He instructs, but this felt much more like a goodbye, which you absolutely did not like. He didn’t even ask if you could drive or not. Regardless, you were not leaving, not yet, not without Jimin... and everyone else of course.

“And don’t forget, Yoongi gave you those for a reason,” His gaze points to the two firearms strapped to your thighs. “If you think you need it, use it,”

“Why are you talking as if you’re not gonna be with me?”

“Because I’m not,”

“Like hell, you’re not,”

“Okay, you were right. Something’s going on here, all this,” He gestures to the space around you. “Doesn’t feel right. And it’s become too dangerous for you to be here. So, you need to go home”

“Then you’re coming with me,”

“No, I am not,” He sighs. “I need to stay here,”

“Why?” You ask petulantly.

“Look, if we both leave then they’ll follow us, so I need to stay here and distract them while you get the hell out of here. Then I’ll just meet up with Jimin and the others,”

“I’m not going, Hoseok,” not without him, the words are left unsaid and you’re not sure whether Hoseok understood the unheard words or not. But more than that, no matter how experienced he may have been, one man against - god knows how many enemies - were not the odds you were leaving him in - not that you were leaving.

“(Y/n), you need to go,” The male pleads, exasperation evident in his voice. “Please,” He adds.

Beats pass though not a moment goes by without the constant barrage of enemy fire, just how many of them were there?

“Fine, I’ll go,” Gruffly, you mutter. You didn’t like the idea of leaving Hoseok in such unfair odds but you also knew that this was perhaps the only opportunity you would get to find what your senses have been roaring at you to find.

“Thank you,” Hoseok breathes a sigh of relief. “Alright, when I say go, you go,”

You nod at his instructions, you face to the opposite direction Hoseok was, reading yourself to bolt away.

“Alright go!” You launch off of your position, straight towards the staircases, and up to the third floor. Hoseok’s eyes widen as he watches you ascend to the third floor.

“(Y/n)!一shit!” Ducking away from the gunshots his eyes fill with panic as he sees your figure disappear up the steps.

“Jimin’s gonna skin me alive,” He snarls before digging for his second gun and fully entering the room, pure rage and irritation filling his veins. ‘Oh, you’re gonna get it the minute I find you!’

“I’m sorry Hoseok, but I need to do this,” Though in hindsight you never said you were going back to the car, you only said you would go, not where to.

‘Okay,’ Crouching, you cautiously approached the closest room to the staircase, though making sure to divert a part of your awareness behind you.

You could hear the muffled booms of gunshots as you made your way closer to the first door. Though judging by how faint the sounds were, you knew the shootout was happening farther up than where you were.

✧•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•✧

However, you maintained your cautiousness as you slowly peeked into the room. And the sight that welcomed you was nothing less than bloodcurdling, it was like you were in the set of a horror movie as any normal human being seeing this would be retching their guts out. Not many people understand the true extent of damage a bullet can really do. They don’t realize that a single bullet has the ability to not only pierce tissue but also shatter bones and even dislocate limbs, especially when in close quarters.

Bringing your palm to cover your mouth, your eyes rove across the room, taking in the sight before you. Lifeless bodies were scattered across the floor. For some you could see the damage that had been done; one of the bodies had been shot somewhere on the jaw, and the whole jaw had been destroyed, as a matter of fact, not much of the jaw was left. You could see some portions of the cheeks though the tissues frayed and torn with only parts of the upper jaw remaining.

The other bodies were in similar conditions, holes blasted through the flesh and bones alike. Leaving ruptured cracks and gaps in the muscles, chunks of flesh litter around the bodies, blown off by the bullets that pierced the flesh. Large rust-colored splotches decorated all corners of the room, no area had been left untouched, almost as if carnage itself had washed over. Although the sheer amount of dried blood would have been enough to make the sight gruesome, in this case, the blood was only a cherry on top.

✧•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•✧

Tearing your eyes from the horrendous sight of the room, you quickly charge ahead, caution once again was thrown to the wind as you try to accept your new reality. This was your new reality, this was your life, this was the world you had entered.

Your eyeballs burned as tears pooled at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. When coming into this life, you thought you knew what you were getting into, what lied ahead of you, what would become of you. You thought you knew, and you did, you knew this would become a part of your life. But knowing that something is a part of your life and watching it become a part of your life, were two very different things.

It was true you had your strange bouts of excitement at the most inappropriate times, in places where you should be fearing for your life, or fearing for someone else's life. But that didn’t mean you weren’t scared, that you didn’t fear the worst, however, that also didn’t mean you fully understood the worst.

Back then, perhaps you didn’t, it was more likely that you didn’t. Sure, you knew people would get hurt, blood would be shed, lives would end. You knew that in your mind, you understood it in your conscious, but seeing the death, the hurt, the destruction was much different from simply knowing about it.

And now that you truly understood the weight of death, you were scared - terrified. Perhaps it may have been much more bearable if you had only your own life to fear for, but you didn’t. You had eight other lives to worry about. Shelty, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, Taehyung, Jeongguk, and Jimin. Jimin.

You could feel a bitter-cold chill spread through your back, all the way to your feet as images of your dear friends in the same state as those people you had found earlier came to mind. Swallowing the lump in your throat you forcefully push away the image as far away as you could. Trying to forget the horrifying thought altogether, you shake your head clearing your mind, refocusing on the task at hand.

Breathing in a deep breath, then slowly exhaling, you steady yourself before moving on.

As carefully and as discreetly possible, you poke your head through the next door. And this room was in a similar condition as the first one. Tearing your eyes from the sight, you move on to the final door. However, the final room before the turn that continued onto a new corridor was without any traces of bloodshed. The room itself was old and worn down but bodies didn’t litter the floor or blood painted the walls.

Heaving out a breath you continue down to the end of the hallway before turning to the new corridor. And you could hear the muted booms of gunfire, though this time there were a lot fewer than before. And seeing as you were on the way to - what you were assuming - the only set staircase in the building, so there could only be one explanation to the reduced numbers of gunshots. People were dying. And you could only hope your friends were safe.

Quietly, you unlatch the strap holding your tanfoglio witness in place, removing the gun from its holster, you point the nose of the gun towards the floor. Inhaling and exhaling deeply you stabilize any shaking or jittering. If you were going to use such a destructive weapon you couldn’t afford to make many mistakes.

Muzzle pointing downward, hands tightly clutching the grip, you move into the new hallway. Taking deliberate steps you stalk towards the first door in the hallway.

Courtesy to the noise-canceling earbuds protecting your hearing you couldn’t hear much aside from muffled gunshots and muted shouting coming from the end of the long hallway. And because of those earbuds, you had almost missed the sounds of struggles coming from the first door.

Leaning against the wall along the door, you prepared yourself for whatever awaited you in that room. ‘What?’ Eyes the size of saucers, you watched motionlessly. The scene before you looked as though your nightmares had come to life.

Jimin, pinned to the wall by a tall, bulky man. Held to the wall by his throat, you couldn’t clearly see his face, but you could never mistake the silver platinum mop that was Jimin’s hair.

“Why don’t you just die already!?” A cry so loud you could hear the hulking man with dark mocha brown hair through your earbuds.

“Jimin?” A faint whisper leaves your lips. The words are so soft that it goes completely unnoticed by the two men.

Seconds pass of you standing there, unmoved, mind blank as you thoughtlessly started. But then your body moves as if it knew what to do before you did. You don’t feel yourself moving however, as your eyes remained fixated on the figure before you, there was a gun held up in your peripheral vision. And it was your arms that held the gun. You don’t feel anything happen but you were leaning forward, arms ready to support the backlash of gunfire. For seconds the gun bounces with the rhythm of your breathing. Up and down and up and down, before slowly the movements steady and you finally regain control and feel of your body. And you know what you have to do.

‘Always aim for the center of the chest. Hitting something is better than nothing,’ You recall Yoongi’s words, reciting them like a prayer. ‘Once you have an aim, lock it. Watch your breathing...then,’

Breathing in through your nose, you click off the safety at the side of the gun, then holding the breath you took in its place before slowly letting it out, watching the minuscule movements that came with the action. Then at the trough of your breath, you squeeze the heavy trigger, bringing it all the way to its end.

BANG

Your solid stance efficiently absorbs the shock of the gunfire. Though the powerful blast of the gun ricochets throughout your body, adrenaline pumping through your veins, you feel your heart’s rapid thudding in your chest cavity.

Your eyelids flutter as you gather your bearings, readying yourself for another shot if there was the need. But as you watch red bloom across the white suit jacket the man wore, your shoulder slack, arms falling to once again point the mouth end of the gun to the ground.

Breaking into a fit of coughs, Jimin gasps for the oxygen his lungs had been deprived of. Taking in as much air as he could and too occupied with accommodating his body for the air it had been denied he had failed to notice just who exactly his savior was.

“Holy Fuck!” He chokes out as he uses the wall he was being held for support. “Ha, ha, Taehyung一 Have (Y/n) sent home,” Taking in another deep breath he continues. “Tell Hoseok to take her home. It’s too dangerous for her here,” He speaks, head down, steadying his breathing, he was still unaware of just who he was talking to.

“Jimin,” Your voice came much softer than you intended to, though it was enough to get the male’s attention. The silver-blond’s had snapped up to meet your quivering form.

“(Y/n)!” He exclaims, immediately walking over the corpse lying on the floor, swiftly pulling you into the room before poking his head out of the door, looking both ways. After determining the area was safe he turned on his heel to face you, his vice grip locked onto your wrist. “What are you doing here?! You shouldn’t be here!” Gently pushing you closer to the back he hisses.

“I told you to stay back didn’t I! What are you doing here? Where is Hoseok?” He releases a barrage of questions, but you stand there wordlessly, eyes tracing his visage. You had almost lost him, you had almost lost Jimin. If you hadn’t come up here, no one would have found him, you would have lost Jimin…

The tears that were pooling your eyes earlier came crashing, cascading down your cheeks as a river of tears soon following the first few droplets, soft hiccups left your lips as you collapsed into Jimin’s arms, not caring the exterior of his suit and shirt were curated with dried blood. And pushing away the thought that you had just killed someone.

“(Y/n),” The don whispers softly, wrapping his own arms around your frame.

The tears slow once you feel Jimin’s comforting warmth surrounding you. Burying your head into the crook of his neck, you take in the scent of Jimin’s cologne as you felt the calm thudding of his heart and the soft rise and fall of his chest. It takes much longer than you had expected it would take to convince yourself that Jimin was indeed alive and breathing, that he was alright, and that he was with you.

“Yo, boss一oh,” You entirely ignore Taehyung’s voice as a ginger sigh leaves your lips, tightening your hold around the male, nuzzling further into Jimin’s familiar warmth. Though you feel Jimin’s head turns towards the owner of the nonchalant voice.

“What’s she doing here?” The chestnut-haired male asks the mafia boss, only to receive silence as an answer. “(Y/n), what are you doing here?” Taehyung questions you directly, and this time his voice was a deal gentler than what it had been before. Though again his question was only met with silence.

“Is the floor cleared?” Jimin looks at the male standing by the door.

“Uh一 yeah, we secured the building, and uh一 Ji-Eun Duri was freed. And well, everyone gathered back in the room we found Ji-Eun, you were the only one not there… so I went out to look for you,” The younger awkwardly explained. “I’ll just head back, you guys come whenever you’re ready,” Taehyung quickly adds before scampering away.

“(Y/n),” Sighing softly, Jimin speaks. “We need to go,”

“Okay,” You mumble as you reluctantly let go of the male. Jimin tenderly takes your hand into his as he leads you back into the hallway and to - what you assumed was the bigger room.

“(Y/n)! There you are! Oh my god! Never ever pull something like that again! Do you hear me?!” Hoseok’s voice booms in the room as he comes in barreling towards you, though his intentions to chastise you fizzle out as he takes in your dazed form, clinging to Jimin’s arm.

“I’m sorry Hoseok, I promise I won’t do that again,” Your eyes flutter open and close, a small smile curling on your lips as you are brought back from your disoriented state.

“You better not,” Hoseok adds, his eyes narrowing playfully.

“I won’t,” Chuckling, you return. Your quiet laugh smoothly eased the tension that had built on Jimin’s shoulders, his expression reflecting the release of tension as his scowl morphs into a fond smile.

“So you actually found everything I left, huh?” Duri’s crows from her position on the single chair that sat at the center of the room.

“I guess I did,” You hum.

“Well, good job then,” She gives somewhat half-hearted praise.

“Hah, thanks,” You huff out a playful scoff.

“(Y/n),” Namjoon calls and you hum at the call of your name. “About the thing, you asked me to do before we left,”

With the progression of Namjoon’s words, your mind instantly sobers, now wide awake and fully aware of your surroundings and situation. ‘You can contemplate life choices after we get home. For now, focus,’

“Right,” You reply. “What happened?”

“It was exactly as you said,” The syrup-brown haired male speaks grimly. “There was an attack at the safe house Jiyoung and his family were being kept in. As well as an attack at the hospital Gu Joon’s sister was being treated in,”

“I see,” You mumble, bringing your index finger to rub the skin under your lower lip.

“Wait. Wait, What?” Taehyung arms flail in the air, his eyes wide as he questions you.

“Wait, we did make it in time, didn’t we?” Ignoring the chestnut-haired male, you continue the conversation.

“Thanks to your warning we did,” Namjoon says. “Jiyoung and his family were moved as soon as we left for this location. So was Gu Joon’s sister,”

“That's good,” You breathe a sigh of relief, it would have become quite problematic if anything were to happen to those people.

“Oh? So the little fox able to see past Yeong’s trick?” Duri's eyes narrow as a smile curves onto her lips, amusement dripping from her onyx orbs. ‘So she knew?’ You thought, examining her overly entertained expression.

“I certainly hope so,” Grumbling, you tug Jimin closer to you, more so than you already were. ‘The tansies!’ The words jumped in your mind as you talked to the female, almost as if triggered by the presence of the older woman.

“Tell me, Ji-Eun, do you like flowers? Or have any interest in them?” You ask, tentatively waiting for the charcoal-haired woman to answer.

“Flowers?” She parrots, her eyes narrowing quizzically.

“Yes, flowers,” You affirm. “I didn’t really take you for someone who would be all too interested in flowers, but the flowers on your desk were really pretty and very well taken care of,”

“What flowers?” Duri questions, your eyes narrowing at the woman as a sly grin twisting onto her lips.

“You know, the pretty yellow flowers that were on your desk,” You describe tansies without mentioning the flower by name.

“I don’t have any flowers on my desk,” She answers, head tilting back as she crosses her legs. With the sly smirk the woman wore one would assume she was lying, but this Ji-Eun you were talking about. This woman could never be as simple as that.

‘So it was the Yeongs after all,’ You watched as his expression grew ever more amused as the time passed. You may have not known her for longer than a single night, but anyone could tell, she was not a woman so easily interested. She was a cautious woman, you knew that much. It was not possible she would just let herself be kidnapped, for someone who's been in the business for as long as she has, she was taken without much of a fight. From all the experience she had, one would think she had precautions taken for such events.

Though there may have been a few explanations, at the moment the most probable one was that she let herself be caught. She did this on purpose, but then, she also let herself be found. Why? Why would she let herself be caught then leave a way for people to find her? Though it was more of she was allowed to be found and yet. She had this whole elaborate plan for people to find her. ‘An elaborate plan?’ Your eyes widen as you register your own thoughts.

‘Of course!’ You had assumed that her whole iCloud rescue plan had been created in advance, a just-in-case precaution - seeing as she didn’t carry any trackers - so the iCloud tracking method was near perfect for this situation.

But that was precisely it, it was perfect for this situation. And that is why the method is so flawed - as a matter of fact - the iCloud tracking may have been the most flawed tracking method of all. For one, if the mobile phone had been switched off the computer wouldn’t have been able to track it. And what if her battery had run out? What if they had taken her farther and possibly out of the tracking radius? What if they had destroyed her phone? Or taken it? Like any serious kidnappers would. There were too many uncontrollable variables and not enough information. Simply put there were too many conditions to be met for the plan to work successfully.

And thus the conclusion, she knew she was getting kidnapped and that her kidnapping was nothing more than a distraction for something else. It was a distraction for the Yeongs to be able to regain control over their former operatives or possibly even revenge against them for betraying the Yeongs.

‘But was that really it?’ Revenge against the former members? Did the Yeongs even have the resources for something so petty? But then, why would someone smart enough to make a two prompt plan - infiltrating Bangtan’s ranks then using a ceasefire signing and attack to send Jiyoung into the fray - do something so brash and unnecessary as taking revenge when they had already suffered heavy losses.

“Unless,” too absorbed in your own thoughts, your mouth moves before your brain does.

“What?” Hoseok questions, unsure of what you were saying.

“Nothing, I was just thinking,” A sheepish grin curls onto your lips as you reassure the men around you. The redhead eyes you doubtfully, but drops the subject nonetheless. Sighing in relief, your drifts from the male to land on the awfully entertained expression dancing on Duri’s face, her onyx orbs taunting you as she watched you reach the somewhat guided conclusion.

The many puzzle pieces were coming together, the jigsaws were fitting into their places. Only for you to realize the puzzle you had just solved was nothing more than a piece in a larger whole.

“Right, so how about we postpone that meeting for another time and call it a day for today,” Soomin quips, a hand on her hip - she tries her best to maintain a blank expression, however, an exhausted scowl breaks through her usually well-crafted mask.

“We can hold the meeting five days from Wednesday,” Duri says, massaging her wrists as she stood from the chair she was most likely bound to. “I’ll send your right hand the exact date.”

Humming in acknowledgment, Jimin looks to the three core members present, a silent command lying in his gaze. Quickly recognizing the order the men swiftly move into action. Namjoon turns away, fishing out his cell-phone and calling god knows who; while Taehyung moves to talk to - who you were guessing - the many Bangtan operatives that were standing to the side. Hoseok on the other hand, entirely excuses himself from the group, jogging down the hallway you had come from - probably to get the car ready, though you weren’t too sure just what exactly he had planned to do as you had the keys to the car.

“Five days from Wednesday then,” Jimin bids the two women goodbye as he places a hand on your back, gently nudging you towards the same way you had entered form.

You weren’t sure just how long the whole ordeal had actually taken, but the sharp orange light that covered the grounds told you it was much longer than what you had may have felt.

The rest of the daylight passed in a blur as there was much to do. Many of Bangtan’s members were injured, few fatally so. Those who were gravely wounded were rushed to the gang’s official doctor, but most of the operatives only had minor injuries: cuts, scratches, bruises, easily treatable wounds. And though it wasn’t part of your original job description, your inner doctor wouldn’t let those injured go without cleaning and dressing their wounds.

That was where the rest of your day had gone. Cleaning and dressing wounds of the twenty or so operatives that had participated in the day’s rescue mission. However, with only you on the job, getting to everyone - quickly - would have been nearly impossible. Fortunately, Jin had joined you in your endeavors, putting the skills you had taught him to use. And going by the speed you were getting through people, it was almost as if two long term professionals were on the case. A pleasant surprise really, you had assumed Jin would fumble with the bandages of the first few patients - a sound assumption, seeing as Jin didn’t have official training before working with you - but you were proven very wrong as the older male swiftly and deftly handled the bandages, efficiently treating one patient after another. And thanks to that great efficiency, you were done with everyone long before the moon had reached its peak. Though, you couldn’t help but feel as if the day’s patients were used as exercise tools to improve the male’s skills.

A soft chuckle left your lips as you stepped into the luxurious waterfall shower, where the shower head was attached to the ceiling. The controls of which were actually quite easy to operate; there was a knob for hot water and a knob for cold, the only problem was - they were both identical to each other… and the shower head was right over the controls as well. So you did the only thing any sane person would do, you turned both knobs to where you thought would be the right temperature, then ran like hell to the other corner of the shower space.

You sighed as the hot water soothed your tense muscles. Looking up, you let the water splash you face, and though the temperature of the water may have been a tad too hot for your face, that was the only thing you could do to distract yourself from the feeling in your chest, or rather the lack of feeling. The warm liquid cascaded down your body as you motionlessly stood under the falling water.

‘Who am I kidding?’ Brining a palm up to cover your eyes, before lowering it, you gaze falling onto the limb. This was the hand you used to pull the trigger, this was the hand you used to end a life. But it doesn’t shake, it doesn’t quiver, it doesn’t tremble now and didn’t tremble then. You remembered it, you remembered everything - vividly - like a film in HD.

How you held up the gun, how you aimed, how your body moved, everything. Though you also recall not feeling nothing.

No, that wasn’t true. That wasn’t true at all. You did feel it, you felt every bit of it. From raising the gun to pulling the trigger, you felt it all. Your body wasn’t moving on its own, it was you, you were the one in control, everything that happened was what you did. Then why did you think your body was moving of its own accord?

A question you were doing everything possible to avoid, a question you didn’t want to think about, a question you already knew the answer to. And you knew, part of the reason you insisted on treating the wounds of those injured was so you had something else to focus on, something to distract you, something you could use as an excuse to not think.

‘Maybe I am heartless,’ You thought as you used a fluffy white towel to dry your body, quickly slipping on a pair of penguin shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you shuffle out your door towards your last patient of the day.

Softly knocking on the double doors, you wait for Jimin to allow you in. Though minutes passed not a sound came from the room. ‘Is Jimin not in?’

“I’m coming in,” You announce as you hesitantly twist the golden door handle, poking your head through the crack you had opened. And the sight that welcomed you, had to be one of your favorite scenes you had ever seen.

There he was - a ferocious mafia boss - sitting on his bed - running his fingers through the fur of Shelty’s fluffy head on his lap as he read to your seventy-pound puppy dog.

“Well hello, you two,” You playfully greet the pair as you take your usual route to the first-aid box.

“Hey,” Jimin returns, closing the book in his hand, he shifts farther into the bed, making room for you when you return.

“You didn’t come by earlier,” You mention, as Jimin - in fact - hadn’t shown up to the medical room for an injury check. And coincidentally enough happens to be the only one of the four that you had yet to examine. Granted, you did somewhat corner the other three into an examination.

“Were you injured?” You ask, easing your way back to the bed - tentatively sitting beside the male.

“No,” The silver-blond answers shortly.

“Don’t lie to me,” You huff

“I’m not,” Removing his shirt over his head, the boss pouts.

“Uh-huh,” Nodding in mock agreement, you eye the small cuts and scratches littering his forearm.

A peaceful silence falls as you wordlessly apply antibiotic ointment to the healing wound. And even though you had repeated this routine nearly every night since your arrival, skipping removing the bandages still leaves an odd discomfort. It felt as if you had missed a step when in reality it was just the night bandaging happened after Jimin’s before bed shower and the old bandages were removed before he would shower.

Gently wrapping the fresh, clean gauze around the boss’ shoulder your mind drifts as your hands move with practiced ease. The events of the morning felt almost as if it were part of the distant past, not something that occurred just hours ago. The kidnapping, Duri’s clues, her clues actually leading you to her, the tansies, the attack on the two former Yeong operatives, you little epiphany, you killing someone. So much happened in the span of fewer than twelve hours. Your movements slowed as your thoughts drowned your consciousness. A familiar melancholy settling in your chest once again.

“(Y/n),” Jimin’s voice is soft as he calls for your attention.

“Huh? what?” You snap from your thoughts with a heavy sigh as you look to the silver-blonde in question. “What’s wrong?” You ask.

“Nothing,” He pauses. “It’s just, you were spacing out,”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You apologize, moving on to the smaller cuts and scratches. “It’s gonna sting, okay?” Softly, you warn the male, bringing an alcohol pad to his forearm. For minor injuries, you used band-aids to cover them up.

You fall into another silence as you individually place each band-aid on each scratch. While reflecting on the events of the day, you fail to notice the stiffness of this silence. It was unlike when you enjoyed the silence and simply basked in each other's presence. This was a familiar silence, a silence that had fallen once before. And Jimin was quick to recognize.

“(Y/n),” He mumbles, gently taking your hand into his then pulling you into him. “I never really thanked you for saving me, did I?” He whispers, rubbing soothing circles on the small of your back.

“Thank you, (Y/n),” The silver-blond murmurs in your ear, placing a chaste kiss on your temple.

“Jimin,” You mutter into his bare chest, turning your body to comfortably rest against the male. “It’s happening again.”

“(Y/n), you did what you had to do,” The hold around your body tightens as he speaks.

“I felt nothing, I feel nothing. Even as I pulled that trigger there was nothing. All I knew was I had to do it, but there was no reluctance, no hesitance, I wasn’t scared,” You barely make out as your throat constricts, eyes prickling with tears that threaten to fall at any given moment. A hollowing feeling burning in your ribcage.

“But that’s exactly what scares me,” You lift yourself from his chest just enough to meet Jimin’s honey-brown orbs. “It scares me I could kill someone so easily, then move on even easier,” Your tear ducts run loose as droplets of salty liquid freefall down your cheeks.

“Once I even thought my body was moving on its own,” You scoff at your own miserable excuses. “But it wasn’t, it was me. I was moving my body - I raised the gun - I pulled the trigger, I killed the man.” Your voice comes out much stabler than you had expected.

“You know, I think the only reason I thought my body was moving on its own was that I was trying to justify my feelings. I was trying to justify not feeling anything as I killed a man.” Your voice elevated as you spoke, getting louder and louder as the sentence went on.

“Who does that?!” You exclaim, hand moving wildly, exaggerating your words. Jimin opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off - continuing on your tangent.

“And I know I said that I would take things as they came, but I killed someone. I ended a life with my own two hands. I should feel something shouldn’t I?! Remorse? Pain? Guilt? Something? Anything? But I don’t. And that’s terrifying, but maybe even that maybe I’m just tricking myself into thinking I’m scared, maybe I’m not even scared!” Your voice rises as your words bumble together into barely coherent blubbers.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, it’s okay, you’re okay,” He shushes you, pulling you back into his embrace, tenderly running his fingers through your locks. The feeling of his digits combing through your hair instantly soothing you.

“It’s alright, there is nothing to justify,” He speaks slowly, calmly. “You did what you had to do to protect your own,”

“That’s not it! I killed someone just hours ago and I just moved on like it was nothing!” You try to convey your thoughts, but your thoughts were getting louder and muddling as time went on.

“(Y/n),” Jimin murmurs.

“Just what kind of monster am I,” You rest your forehead against Jimin’s bare chest, all your bravado draining from your body as tears continue to run down your flushed cheeks.

“(Y/n),” All he could do was try his best to comfort you and hope you snap out of your current mindset. Jimin wasn’t all too sure how to react when you reprimanded yourself for something those in the mafia community were trained and schooled to do. The first kill is never light, most aren’t even able to pull the trigger, while some retch their guts out once they do. He had been carefully observing your behavior and temperament from the moment he realized you had just had your first kill. He was prepared for you to hurl your guts out the moment you saw the dead body, or even later, thinking it may have been a delayed reaction. And yet there was nothing, especially after you had regrouped with everyone else. He could see you were distracted, but quickly regained composure then almost instantly returned to your work. As you were standing, he could practically see the wheels in your head-turning. And if there were ever a ranking or a test for newcomers, you would have passed with flying colors. Yet you couldn’t see how useful and quite honestly necessary abilities you had.

Eventually, as it was made clear you would be spending the night in Jimin’s room - he fully pulled onto his lap. Continuing to rub circles on your back as you cried.

“I don’t know what to do,” After what felt like hours of bawling your eyes out, a quiet whimper left your lips as the exhaustion of the day and the crying hit you like a freight train.

“Just keep going as you are and you’ll be fine,” Jimin whispers next to your ear, his warm breath against your skin sending goosebumps down your spine.

“Whas that supposed to mean?” A muted whine resounds in your chest at the feeling, you bury your head into Jimin’s neck, nuzzling into his skin as you basked in his warmth. The strong pull of sleep swamped you as the pleasant heat of Jimin’s body and his comforting touch ease you into sleep’s embrace. And at that moment, it was just a tad too tempting to resist.

“Goodnight (Y/n),”

◇─◇──◇─────◇──◇─◇

A quick taglist!

I saw your message and I felt like I should lol hope you don’t mind. Thank you for reading! Lots of love! 💜

@crookedstarlitnight

Comment or send in an ask if you would like to be tagged too!

#purple irises #mafia au!#bts mafia au #mafia park jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #Mafia Park Jimin #MAFIA BTS #Mafia Jin #mafia jungkook #mafia boss Jimin #mafia yoongi #mafia Namjoon #mafia taehyung #mafia hoseok #Doctor reader kind of

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