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more-cardigan-than-woman · 1 year

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The Babysitter - Day 5 - Midnight / 8

Summary: You ran away and now you're at a club, what could possibly go wrong

Thief!Reader x The Red Hood

4.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, semi public sex acts, chasing, minor primal kink, swearing, alcohol, chocking, slapping, canon typical violence.

AN: This chapter is split into night and day, as it starts at midnight and it was way too long.

Day 4

The metaphorical clock strikes midnight as you approach The Bunker. There is no line, no security, just one singular light hanging above a random steel door. To say this club was underground, well, it would be wrong. Sure, it’s called The Bunker, but that's mostly because the place is run by hench folks and they’re not exactly a creative bunch. You remember when you first asked Harley about it and she just rolled her eyes and sounded surprised that it was still open.

Shimming down the dress that you fished out of your go bag and very carefully changed into in the park restroom, you approach the club. Your eyes wander up and you notice the beam in the sky, he's out tonight. Which must be why everyone's here and not with their bosses causing mayhem.

You knock in sequence on the heavy door, surprised when a familiar face greets you.

"Janice! Bestie! I didn't know you got a job here. I haven’t seen you in so long! What have you been up to? Aside from this sweet side gig? It must be good work? Do they pay well? Do you get to meet heaps of cool people?”

"It's Janelle," Janice says, looking wholly unimpressed to see you, she flips her long dark braid over her shoulder, seeming to type something into her tablet before rolling her eyes at you, "go in."

"We should catch up soon! It's been ages since we hung out!."

"Not long enough." She mutters as you walk past her and walk down the long corridor towards the club.

With every step you hear the music grow louder, the lights grow brighter and you grow closer and closer to the party. "Good luck finding me here, Macho man." You mumble, stepping into the crowd and locating your first mark.

"Where are you going?" Jason thinks as he stares down at the little dot on his map, "there's nothing that side of crime alley, little trouble maker."

Revving his motorcycle he follows the dot, ending up at a random street. "Where are you?" He peers around noting the large apartment buildings above and garbage covering the alley way. "What the fuck?" He grips his phone so hard he can hear the screen crack as your dot vanishes, "she can't just fucking disappear."

Pacing back and forth he tries to think, his brain almost combusting before an idea springs to mind. Lucky for him the idiot answers in a second.

"Hey boss, wassup?"

"Jamie, you know any hangouts near park and renegade?"

"Just the bunker, heard they was having a party tonight."

"The bunker?"

"Yeah, it's the henchman hangout."

"The-"

"Henchman's hangout. Used to go there all the time. But you got me so busy these days while you're out, i-"

"How do I find it?"

"Got a light over the door, big steel one."

"Thanks Jamie, take the night off." He ends the calls before the man can keep talking.

He scans the alley again, noticing the single light hanging from a patio a bit further down. Jason bangs on the door with his fist and when it doesn't open he kicks that fucker down.

"Mr Red Hood sir, I didn't realise.." Janelle says, "Sorry, we don't normally get-"

The Red Hood walks right by the flustered woman, throwing her some money for the door before stalking his way down the hallway.

“What is this song?” you shout to Lark over the thrum of the music.

“No idea.” she smiles at you, “Behind you, Rolex.”

“Good spot,” your eyes flick back to the tall guy behind you, his brown hair flipping around as he attempts to dance, “cover me,” you say to Lark as she turns her back to watch from behind.

“Got you girl. Get us that bag.”

“Wow,” you turn, your hand landing on the man's big (though not as big as Red's) forearm, his cheap plasticky jacket seeming to stick to the palms of your hands, “Sorry,” you stare up at the man his dull hazel eyes not nearly as enchanting as the blue ones you’ve been thinking about all day, “Or not,” you wink as his hand slips down your arm.

“We dancing?” he asks, grabbing your hand to twirl you around and you let out a squeal. “You’re fun.” he pulls you closer “cute too,” you can smell how much he bathed in his cologne before coming out tonight, you can feel the bile creeping up your throat with every second. This closeness only makes you move faster before the stench makes you aspirate or puke.

“Yeah, let's dance.” you take his hand and let him hold it, while your fingers toy with the clasp on his watch. “Spin me again,” you laugh and as he does you flick the watch off his wrist and spin yourself into your dark haired friend.

“Girl, you get it?” Lark catches you, wrapping her arm around your shoulder and spins so her back is covering the man's view of you.

“Happy Birthday Larkie, your gift,” you joke, slipping it onto her wrist and laughing when it fits perfectly.

“Best gift ever. Until the next one,” Lark links her arm through yours, winding you both through the crowd as whatever his name was tries to follow you both.

“Drinks?”

“Yes, Des is serving those big fruity cocktails I love, I want at least four and you can tell me more about the Red Hood and why the fuck I haven’t seen you all week.”

You and Lark continue to drink, talk and steal. You almost forget that Reds on his way, that he promised to punish you for being bad, that he’s probably going to slap you again, maybe throw you over his shoulder like the man handling dickhead he is. Maybe he’ll snarl at you, pin you up against the wall and then just take-

“Yo! Your drifting off into the clouds again girlie.” Lark snaps her fingers in front of your face, “Earth calling, wanna come back down to me?”

“Yeah,” you shake your head, “I’m here, just thinking about-”

“Why don’t you go splash your face.” Lark offers, tilting her head towards the bathroom, “Someones watching us.”

“I can’t see anyone, but I trust you. Be back in a sec.” you push your way through the crowd, your eyes searching for any sign of the Red Hood. You don’t see him or anyone really, just a bunch of faceless swaying beings that form the dance floor and the wooden door that leads into the bathroom.

Shoving your way inside you tip your head over the graffiti covered sink and splash some of the water over your face, careful not to get any in your mouth. It’s probably safe, but probably isn't definitely and with Scarecrow out of Arkham anything is possible.

"G'day petal," a deep voice startles as it storms from one of the stalls, "gunna need me boom back,"

"You what?" You lift on your toes and take a step back, planting your feet on the ground.

"I know you took my boomerang, petal."

"For once you're wrong, Boomer."

"Yeah, nah. Ain’t got your little boyfriend to keep me away this time."

"Who?" You push at him and when he doesn't budge you reach behind you, gripping at the gun tucked into your pocket.

"Who says he's my boyfriend?" You lift up as your hand grips the handle.

"Everyone, I talked to."

"Wrong again." You pull the gun out pointing it under his chin, "how does it feel to be so wrong so often, Boomer?"

"Feels pretty nice from here," he grinds his hips into you and you click the trigger, "Petal forgot her bullets," he tuts at you, "silly girl."

"Don't need em," you smirk, reaching the gun back and colliding It with his head, a loud smack echoes in the small room and he's on the floor, "now for my prize," flipping his jacket open you take one of the boomerangs, easily tucking it into your pocket with the rest of your loot.

"What's with the gun?" Lark asks, her eyes shifting to the passed out Boomer on the bathroom floor, “I see, we should go.” she wraps an arm around you and hurries you into the crowd on the dancefloor.

“I wasn’t taking that long,” you shout into her ear.

“No, I came to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“Your guy.”

“My what?”

“The Red Hood.”

“What about him?”

“He’s here.”

Jason's helmet scans the room, instantly spotting you cozied up to some random woman. Eyes turn to him, but he ignores them as he sinks into the shadows of the club.

He watches you for a while, the tiny echo of your voice ringing across the large room. His eyes drift up your legs, stopping at the short hemline of your skirt and the heaviness of your pockets. Jason enjoys seeing you take and take and take from those around you, seemingly gifting this woman with the dark hair with some of your takings. The both of you dance and laugh together, seeming to work together to scam those around you and he can’t help the jealousy of how free you seem to be with her seep into his trigger finger. You’re spinning and free and the way you cling to her, it’s taking all his control not to march over, pick you up and drag you out of here.

You dodge someone before your pretty eyes dart around the room quickly, seeming to pause in Jason's hiding place in the shadows before moving across and then suddenly you're moving, charging off towards the bathroom.

Now is his chance, he thinks, stepping into the light when the whole crowd turns to him and he feels the need to sink back into the darkness. But it’s almost too late, he can see that dark haired woman coming towards him, a look of anger and vengeance on her face. Fuck, had you told her about him? What did you say for her to be acting like this? He moves, circling around the room until there is a dance floor of people between them. Jason was too busy trying to put distance between him and this woman and her cheap leather outfit. He lost track, you went into the bathroom, he thinks, then, where did you go? He looks over the crowd but he can’t see you, can’t even see the other woman, only the crowd and the lights.

He scans for you on his helmet again and you pop up almost immediately, your body moving freely as you dance with the woman in the crowd and he can’t help the step he takes forward. Like his brain has left the building and now something else is creeping its way into his head.

“What is that?” you ask Lark, your neck twitching to the side.

“Umm, Girl.”

“It’s like an itch, but it’s inside my skin.” you reach back trying to scratch it.

“Girl,” she spins you around and you let out a gasp as the Red Hood stomps towards you, the crowd seeming to part for him as he, can a step be angry? Its like his anger is seeping from his fucking suit. It's a very pretty suit, especially with all the bright lights of the club shining off his helmet.

“Love you Larkie, but I-”

“You gotta go.” she squeezes your hand, “take the back door and don't forget to have fun!” she calls to you as you take off, squishing and squirming your way through the dancers. You throw a glance over your shoulder and can see him getting closer as you move towards the back of the club and the back door. Your heart thrums in your chest, pumping in your ears while your feet struggle to stay steading on your heels.

“Stop following me.” you call, but are pretty sure it's lost in the noise of the club. Picking up the pace you kick your heels off, leaving them behind so you can run faster. You dart around the corner near the bathroom and a hand snakes out grabbing your arm.

“Where you off to now Petal?”

“Don’t have time for this Boomer.”

“Make time,” he points his boomerang at your stomach, pulling it back. Fast as you can you wrap your hand around it, flipping yourself backwards and yanking it from his hand. You spin, throwing the object in the direction of the Red Hood and flee as fast as you can. Boomer is so taken aback that he doesn't say a word, just stares, his hand held up for when his weapon will return to him.

A loud thud rings down the hall and you turn back only to see Boomer on the ground again as the Red Hood steps over his body. His hand reaching down for the gun on his leg. Fuck, how is he getting closer? Are you moving slower?

Turning back around you make a fast dash for the door, the heavy clang of the Red Hoods boots ringing in your ears almost as hard as your breaths are coming out. The door! It’s right there, you're a step, maybe two from it when a strong hand wraps around your wrist and you can’t hold the scream of surprise in.

“Thought you’d give more of a fight, little trouble maker.” Reds robot voice growls into your ear.

“Well, I do hate to disappoint,” you stomp down on his foot, forgetting that you're in bare feet and wince when the steel cap of his boots dig into the arch of your foot, “Ow.” you cry, jabbing your elbow into the hard armor on his stomach, “Why is everything always so hard with you?” you wiggle trying to escape his grasp.

“So that little brats can’t beat me up.” he holds you a little tighter, the leather of his gloves biting into your skin. The smell of your sweaty perfume barely registers under his helmet, but fuck if he can’t feel your cute little ass wiggling into his cock. Biting down on his lip he tries to maintain some control, to not just press your smart ass little face into the wall and take you right here. His cock throbs when you try to hit him again, making that sweet whiney noise. Shit, he needs, what does he need- “I wanna watch you run a bit more,” his grip starts to loosen, even though he wants nothing more to hold you so fucking close, “ready?”

“To run from you? Always.”

“Good girl.” he releases you and you take off immediately running for the door, your sweaty hands siding off the handle and you giggle when you spot him watching you, unable to keep the excitement of what the fuck is happening inside you. The words, his words, that he keeps saying that somehow makes your insides melt and your legs feel tingly, “You won’t be laughing when I catch you this time.” he threatens, cracking his knuckles at you. But he hasn’t moved yet, he’s watching you from his perch on the wall.

“Fuck you!” you shout back when you finally get the door open and sprint onto the street. You smile to yourself as you hear the thud of his boots coming from behind you, “Fucking asshole!” you bolt down the alley, the stones on the tarmac digging into your feet, but you can’t stop. Even if you’re having fun, enjoying the thought of him chasing you oh so slowly and what he might possibly do when he catches up to you, “You’re so fucking slow!” you shout, turning around to see the alleyway empty, only the trash drifting down and the graffitied walls closing in on you.

Where did he go? He was right behind you a second ago. You turn towards the other end of the alley and can only see the soft glow of the street lights shining. Shit, where could he have gone? Did he give up? You think smugly, turning back down the alley which will lead to a quicker route home. “Fucking idiot, I told him I was faster.”

“But I’m smarter.” The Red Hood grasps your arm, yanking you into a covered alcove and closing your body into his hard armor. A deep breathe rushes from Jason's chest as you bump into him, he probably pulled your with more force than he needed to, but seeing that fucking smile on your face is worth it.

“Guess you caught me.” you beam up at him. He feels his cock straining against his pants at your closeness. If seeing you in the small dress, stealing from those assholes hadn’t excited him. Then watching your ass giggle and your laughter ring in the air as he chased you certainly did. “So what are you going to do with me, now that you've caught me?” you tease him, your hand reaching up towards his helmet and he catches your wrist in his hand.

“What do you think, trouble maker?”

“What do I think? Now he wants to know. Well, Where do I start? I think you’re mean, I think my feet are fucking sore from running on the bare street, I think I don't even know your fucking name and I think that you didn’t even care to come looking for me.”

“How many times is that now?”

“Times what? Because seriously, youre sending some mixed fucking signals here and I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you or your little brain but as fun as it can be, I need some fucking clarity here Red, because I’m fucking confused.”

“Nine.” Jason adds in his head, using his grip on your wrist to spin you around and press you into the wall, “I told you not to swear at me. It’s about time you got some punishment.” he lifts the skirt of your dress, impressed by how heavy the pockets seem to be he tries to ignore it, “Bad mouth brats, need to learn their place.” he slaps his hand onto your ass gentler than he wants to, his fingers kneading at your soft panties. “8 more to go, trouble maker. And for every noise you make I'm going to add one more.” he slaps you again and you can’t keep the little yip that escapes you. He keeps going “7, I’m sending mixed signals,” he leans over to threaten close to your ear, “6, you ran away from me,” his thumb grazes over your ass, “5, you keep being bad,” his long gloved fingers graze over the wet spot in your panties, “4, but I know you want to be good for me,” he flicks your panties to the side before slapping right over your clit, “3, you like to torture me, don’t you?” You let out a hungry moan, your ass presses back into his hand and Jason can’t help the way his dick throbs. “3 more,” he wraps a hand around your mouth, holding it closed, “I think this is torturing you more than me.”

You mumble into his glove, the leather scent filling your nose, his hand tightens on your face. You can feel yourself dripping down your thigh from all those delicious slaps moving from your ass to your clit and those strong fingers on you and his thighs closing you in.

“1 more little trouble maker. Can you take it?” you nod, sticking your ass out even further and wiggling it for him, “This is a punishment, act like it” he scorns you. You wiggle more, biting down on his fingers, and he moans at the feeling of your teeth gripping his finger, “Better.”

His strong hand slaps on your ass and your scream into his fingers, way too exaggerated but Red seems to love it. His fingers massage into your tender skin, his hand gripping tight on your face, “Quiet,” he commands you as his fingers slide through the sopping mess of your pussy, “Quiet or I will stop.”

“Ah, huh.” you mumble into the glove as his fingers press into you. The leather cold on the inside of your pussy, his helmet cold on the side of your face. But fuck, those fingers, he toys with you. Slowly moving in and out, swirling around inside of you and pumping up into your g spot. You almost lose your mind when his thumb grazes up and starts to circle your clit. Your hips thrusting back into him as you grind down on those thick fingers.

“You’re little cunt is so tight on my fingers,” the red hood pumps into you faster, “you like it like this trouble maker?” he pushes another finger in, while his thumb continues its ministrations on your clit, “I can tell that you do, you’re fucking clinging to me.” his hand moves from your mouth to cup at your breast as his body pushes you closer to the wall, “I wanna hear you cum, trouble maker,”

“Quietly?”

“Yeah, can you do that for me?”

“I- ahhh,” you bite down on your bottom lip, “I’ll try,”

“Good girl.” you fall apart at his words, your hold body shaking into the brick wall, your pussy sucking his fingers deeper and deeper inside you. Your teeth biting so hard into your lip you think you might be bleeding as your panting breaths escape from the corner of your lips. Red keeps a hold of you, his whole body seeming to keep you up while you come apart around him.

“Red, I ah-” you shiver as your body starts to relax again and he pulls his fingers from within you.

Jason spins you back around, pressing your ass into the cool concrete wall by the throat, the chill seeming to soothe the soreness and ache in your muscles, “Hello trouble maker,” he titles that shiny helmet to the side, lifting his fingers up and under the helmet so he can taste you, “How was your day?” he asks so casually that it throws you for a second.

“Really great,” you smile sarcastically into the lit up eyes of the helmet, “No one told me what to do, or threw me around.”

“Or made you cum so hard you shook, sounds boring.” his fingers grip tighter on your throat, his knees pushing your legs further apart. Shit, he’s losing control. Like he can't seem to stop, like that tiny taste of you and watching you fall apart on his fingers cracked a hole in his skull, “I had a boring day too, some dumb brat left me to entertain myself.”

“Poor you.”

“Want to make it up to me?

“Isn’t that what the punishment was?”

“No, because I don't think you learned your lesson yet, trouble maker.” he pulls off his jacket, throwing it on the ground before him, pushing you to your knees. Trying not to be impressed at how quickly you’ve bounced back after he made you cum so hard, “You going to do as you're told?”

“No.” you stare up at him defiantly.

“Do you want me to make you?” his finger twine through your hair, yanking your head back.

“Is this suppose to be intimidating? Because honestly that little kid in the tights is scarier than you.” His other hand slaps across your face and your sensitive pussy tingles in your panties.

“If you want me to stop, I need you to tell me. Just hit me in the leg or something,” he says so softly that you’re almost confused by it, but you understand. This game, or whatever weird ass fuck thing you two are doing, he wants reassurance that you’re playing too. “I need you to nod or shake your head, if this is too far-” he pauses, caressing your face,”-I can just take you home and rub some oil into your feet.”

You stare up at his helmet, your hands resting on his thighs as your nails bite into the hard metal covers, your smile maybe a little bit evil, “Fuck you,” you spit at his chest.

“My little trouble maker,” his fingers tighten in your hair as his other hand works fast to pull his cock from his pants, “Open your mouth,” he orders you and your lips open with seemingly a mind of their own, “Good, stick out your tongue,” he bounces his cock on your tongue and you can’t help the way you start to squirm at the taste of him on your tongue, “Sit still.” he thrusts forward pressing his cock further into your mouth, “Close that loud mouth,” you suck at him, your tongue pressing up into the thick vein that runs along the bottom of his cock, “Do a good job and I’ll give you a reward,” this spurs you on, thinking of how good his fingers felt inside you. You eagerly bob your head and your fingers press into his thighs, your tongue swirling around his cock as moans bubble up your throat and vibrate around him, “finally something that mouth is good for,” he releases your hair, his hand moving down to support your neck, “at your own pace, trouble maker,” he moans, trying his best to keep himself still and not fuck down into your throat, “yeah, like that,” his head flings back with the weight of the helmet, “You feel amazing, so hot and wet.”

You make a movement with your hands, your finger traveling from your chin to your head, while you keep on sucking and licking at him, “Off?” he asks a little breathless, you give him the tiniest nod, trying not to lose the grip your lips have on his cock. “Stop for a second,” his hand leaves your neck and his cock falls from your lips and you suck in a harsh breath.

Relaxing back on your thighs you stare up at him in awe, his huge cock hanging between his armored legs. He lifts the helmet off, his hair shiny dark curls fall perfectly over his face, he drops the helmet to the ground, his fingers brush the hairs from your face as his sharp jawline tilts down at you and a red domino mask stares back at you.

“I knew it! Two masks!” you exclaim, a second before he shoves his cock back in your mouth.

“I was such a close trouble maker, why don't you be a good girl and make me feel good and then I’ll think about rewarding you.” you hungrily suck his cock, your pussy fucking soaking the ground beneath you as you bring him closer and closer to finishing. The whites of the domino mask stare at you while his hair clings to his sweaty face. His moans grow rougher and more animalistic as he gets closer and closer. Your teeth scrape along his length and that seems to be the thing that sends him over the edge, his salty, tangy cum paints the inside of your mouth and you swallow it down like bridesmaids drinking prosecco at a bachelorette party. His soft panting fills in your ears as his hands gently brush along your cheek.

His cock falls from your lips as he leans into the wall behind you. His eyes still take you in as he rests his head on the cold concrete, his chest heaving, his breath spot but his hand still on your face. You meet his eyes as you gather some of his cum that fell from your mouth on your fingers and lick at it, moaning around your fingers in the same way he had earlier.

“You did so well for me,” he coos, lightly slipping his forearm under yours and helping you off the ground. He picks up his helmet, “Can you hold this?” he asks in a voice so devoid of the earlier animal it surprises you, “I’m going I take you home and I can look at those feet.”

“My feet? What about my pussy?”

“If you can behave long enough.” he picks you up, sliding an arm under your legs, “Remember when I told you how loud I can make bratty little trouble makers.”

“Not true until you prove it.”

“Then I guess I better prove it,” he winks, capturing your lips in a desperate, hungry kiss, “But only if you’re a good girl, think you can do it?”

“I can only try my best.” you snuggle into his chest, holding the helmet on your tummy as he carries you home.

Day 5 - 7 am

Taglist:

@letmebebatmanpls @hypnobanditprofessorhorse-blog

@nutmeg030 @igotanidea @tild3ath @halbhohehalluzination

@goblinhobo @efam @princessbl0ss0m @bubbles-incorrect-yb

@ilikw @megumisbabymomma @mxtokko @viperbaroness

#red hood x reader #red hood fanfic #reader x red hood #red hood #x reader #reader x jason todd #jason todd x reader

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flimflamfandom · 6 months

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Okay I guess I gotta do a LackaSona!

That sounds more dismissive than it really should - truth is, I've had an idea for one sitting around in the back of my head and frankly I dunno why I never put it down (probably too busy ranting about Frepper and such)

I cannot draw and I haven't got the funds to attract an artist. So you'll have to picture him in your mind's eye! Which I'm sure we can do.

BELOW THE CUT: The past, present, and more, of luthier and multi-instrumentalist ARTHUR KEANE!

BACKGROUND

ARTHUR KEANE was born August 16th, 1904, in Virginia Beach, Virginia. Living a mostly quiet life as the son of a violinist and vocal teacher, Arthur was the youngest of 3 siblings, and was always a bit small and sickly as a child. Because of this, most of his schooling was done at home - his mother taught him to read and write, and his aunt (a school teacher, who lived just down the street) helped with the trickier bits.

His parents taught him to love music, but his aunt taught him to love guitar.

She was a virtuoso on the instrument, practically - she played it, banjo, mandolin, just about any fretted instrument you put in her hands, she could play it. And she did, indeed, teach him just about everything he knew from an early age!

PRESENT DAY

Just like today, it was hard to find work as a guitarist - bands were getting louder and louder each passing year, and there were many limits on the bandstand. So, to chase his dream of making money on the instrument, he shipped himself all the way across the country to St. Louis, Missouri, to apprentice for a local luthier (a maker and repairer of string instruments).

These, in 1928, Arthur is well known, and still works for his mentor, Mr. Boggs. Arthur plays regularly in clubs and speakeasies when they'll have him, and is even building his own instruments - he's even built himself a new fangled, state-of-the-art resonator, like those Dopyera brothers out in California!

HOW'S THE FELLA LOOK?

As he stands, he's fairly average - He has solid cinnamon fur, big brown eyes, and stands about Rocky's height. Maybe an inch or two taller.

He wears round glasses, and normally just plain work clothes, like blue chambray shirts (he lives by those) and plain slacks and shoes - when he gigs, of course, he dresses up (he does have an all black suit he wears) but typically he's got some sort of denim on, and often forgets to remove his leather apron full of tools. He wears a flat cap.

He has one spot that's out of the ordinary - his left ear is cut about halfway down its length. This is due to an accident while playing when he was young - it's a sore spot.

ARTHUR AND THE GANG

Arthur gets along well with the Lackadaisy group, if only because once after a gig at the Marigold he was stiffed 50 cents for 'running long'. He works at other speakeasies in town though, and doesn't participate in any illegal business...there was that one time he technically became an accessory by telling Rocky which why a truck came by but that's one time!

Arthur, in truth, is a very soft hearted man - he could hardly be convinced to do something like CRIME. He's just a quiet man who likes his instruments. And Lacy Hardt.

He really likes Lacy Hardt.

That's about all there is to Arthur Keane! He WILL be getting written about soon!!! I think.

I hope. (I've got a busy end of the year.)

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #flimflamuniverse #lackasona #self ship #I'll explain about Lacy in a future post I think that'd be a cute thing to write about

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adhd-mess · 2 years

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ao3 link “I don’t like a gold rush(gold rush)”

read under the cut!

Book after—heavy—book Ayla shelved. Her arms tiring from the monotonous and laborious task. Shelving books doesn’t seem like a lot until you have been doing it since 7:12–because her old rusty alarm clock died and she hasn’t had money to replace it—a.m. Mainly the textbooks, she hated those, always strewn about after the college students were done with them. They didn’t even have the decency to return them where they found them. She scowled at that one particular student with her perfectly curled dark hair and brown eyes that glinted like gold in the sunlight.—she normally sat at the desk near the window where the sunlight would dance on her skin—Who was currently taking residence in her normal seat, she was a regular of sorts, a hated one.

And not just by Ayla. She had about four textbooks in front of her all—relatively—about the same subject. She was the Dean of the University’s daughter, the campus where the library was located at. In simpler words; she was wealthy. Like really wealthy, Ayla didn’t understand why she bothered to study when her father would never let his precious daughter get expelled and most definitely forged her grades.—at least that’s what she thought.—

“Hello,” a voice as warm as a summer’s day greeted, and without taking her eyes off of the books she was shelving she knew exactly who was speaking to her. Ayla turned her head to see the pest. Her eyes glinted like newly forged gold coins in the dusklight.

“What?” Ayla managed to churn out in the most pleasant voice she could find. Which wasn’t really pleasant. Ayla studied her eyes, noticing all the hues of brown and gold that mixed together. Then she scanned her stupidly flawless face, her button nose and plump—painted a light red—lips.

She said something but it didn’t register for Ayla. Finally Ayla blinked only to hear the butt end of the sentence.

“…the textbook?”

“What about it?” Ayla snapped. The pest’s face bore no reaction to her harsh tone. Frown, scowl, do something. Ayla thought.

“May I have it?” Ayla stared at her quizzically. Why don’t you go get it? Her eyes were practically saying. “The one in your hand.” She pointed to the green textbook Ayla held.

Embarrassment burned her face and she lifted her head—like a toddler— to escape it.

Ayla handed the girl the textbook and when she thought she was rid of her she spoke again. “I’ve seen you before?” Something curled in her stomach with the mere idea that she had noticed her. She hated her that much.

“Yeah, I work here.” Ayla spoke haphazardly. She nodded and went to turn away but paused halfway.

“What is your name?” She asked, her voice soft and smooth like silk. But Ayla was pretty sure she already knew it unless she could not see–she had a name tag on her blue and red uniform that said her name in clear print– and could not hear–although it was a library her coworkers tended to yell out for each other, it was a big library alright?–.

“Ayla,” she gritted out.

“Lovely name…” the nuisance paused and she seemed to be lost in thought and Ayla clamped down a retort. “that means moonlight doesn’t it?” She asked as if Ayla would know. As if she had been there to help her parents choose the name.

“I…I don’t know.” She averted her eyes and silence fell. Ayla thanked the maker for it.

“Sorry for rambling.” The nuisance apologized, her tone dropping a few octaves, and her features sagged only for a moment because when Ayla blinked the sad face was gone and replaced with her (un)pleasant smile. She stuck out her hand and then spoke, “mine is Crier.” Yeah I know, the whole campus knows. She wanted to say. The Dean’s perfect little daughter. She wanted to add. Needlessly to say, Ayla did not shake her hand. “No cool meaning for that,” with her outstretched hand she tucked a flawlessly coiled chocolate-colored curl behind her ear where it stayed reluctantly and glistened in the dusklight, and then she gave a little laugh that sounded almost self-conscious. “I mean, well,” Ayla practically saw the gears whirring in her head as her smile turned neutral in thought. It annoyed her that she was so easy to read. After a few seconds, she resumed after she had found the information she needed from her brain’s Encylopedia. “it dates back to a town crier who would give public announcements. I guess that’s neat.” She said it as if it were common knowledge and Ayla just stared at her for a moment. Dumbfounded.

This girl is really in her own world.

“How do you know this?” Ayla blurted out and watched as Crier opened her mouth, closed it, and then tried again. She seemed winced at her own lack of words.

After clearing her throat she explained, “Words know me better than any person I’ve ever met.” She laughed but it held no joy yet that smile still held. “And they don’t judge.” This time it was Ayla’s turn to be speechless.

She didn’t know what to say to this and it almost–almost–made Ayla wonder if there was depth to her nuisance. But then a man about a head taller than Crier swaggered into view with his broad muscled shoulders and his apple-slicing cheekbones and judgey eyes.

Scyre Kinok .

He always held that look to him, the look people had when they thought everyone beneath them. When he was the topic of conversation only good things were said–though the same couldn’t be said about Crier, everyone wanted her and wanted to be her but it ran only skin deep, they just wanted the ticket of calling her a friend that they thought would get them into her circle–.

She wondered if he defended his fiance when his friends talked shit about her and then she wondered if Crier knew.

He slid into step beside Crier and snaked his arm around her waist. Her doe eyes widened in alarm momentarily and she sucked in a breath. Not the best reaction to your soon-to-be-husband. “Kinok,” she whispered.

As he removed his arm from her waist to face her, he asked, “Are you coming to the dinner or not?” And he said it in a way where Ayla thought he could be talking to a friend he was getting tired of and as if Ayla was not standing there.

“I have to study,” Crier said with such forceful softness Ayla had not heard her speak from their not too short of a conversation. “You know that I cannot afford to fail,” she whispered and Ayla questioned what Crier knew about not being able to afford things.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He paused. “Be antisocial then,”

“You mean asocial–”

“My Maker Crier,” He cut her off, his nostrils flaring. Clearly annoyed.

As they he said something about Crier’s father that grabbed her attention, Ayla slunk away from them. Once she was out of their sight she found that it was well past her time to leave after collecting her things she got the hell out of that library.

#crierayla #crayla #crier’s war #iron heart #lady crier #Ayla #i can’t add a read more for some reason 😭😭

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jovialjadewrites · 1 year

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Character Descriptions

this is by no means professional haha, i kinda word vomitted. so if something needs more clarifications please don’t hesitate to shoot me a message! (this is a side blog though, so idk if PM’s will work..)

This is what they look like by the way!

WITCH: HARPER

harper likes to make magic potions for her friends, and by magic potions i mean really yummy juice that she adds flowers and glitter to haha

her parents won’t let her over the cauldron without adult supervision

she is naturally good at speaking with animals though!(her and avery are besties HAHA)

shes the youngest of the group - so shes smol

light hair, huge grey eyes

thinking of putting her in two braids, or leaving it curly

a really sweet dad and a mom

a pet familiar

likes helping dad with spells he makes

help mom clean up the altar spaces, and organize divination tools and crystals

cleaning up after her familiar LMAO

understands animals

good potion maker

does not have the patience to memorize tarot LMAO

her potions duh

also loves her moms goulcake (cheesecake in the shape of a ghost)

JACK O LANTERN DUDE: JACKO

likes to play pranks on his friends

likes to watch the bats at night

LANKY BOI

jack o lantern head - bright glowing inside

kinda always is smirking/mischievous smile

the headless horseman as a dad HAHA

not sure if mom is in the picture quite yet

think its just gonna be the boys against the world yk?

i would also imagine him as a lord, or aristocracy cuz the headless horseman is giving lord of something lol, yall seen his clothes right?

playing pranks

getting gifts for his friends/spending money on his friends

think rich kid asshole, but lovingly LMAO

when he goes too far with his jokes and winds up hurting someone’s feelings

being the oldest he kinda directs the group

a leader frfr

i imagine him being a little closed minded about humans because of how they treated him and his dad

he gets so excited for harpers potions because they change the color of his “flame” on the inside

also really enjoys roasts :)

VAMPIRE: VALDEMAR

flying!

being/turning into a bat!

he loves to let everyone know hes a vampire

cape swishes and hissing are his fav things to do haha

lil man is all vibes no thoughts

MY LATINO BABEY

hes still a vampire so obvi a lil pale, but i want more dead brown people rep haha!

curliest hair!

he likes the look of like the old school vampires so he slicks it back

2 moms!

they adopted him!

literally everything and anything

very excitable

practically jumping off the walls haha

when people are mean/close-minded and aren’t open to hearing him out/change

making people smile

staying still

taking things seriously

blood duh…

but i think his favorite human food would be empanadas

WEREWOLF: AVERY

babygirl LOVES movies

will spend HOURS in front of a TV rewatching her favs

pretty tall compared to her friends! second in height!

athletic looking!

a BIG family

but her immediate family is just her and her mom and dad

only child vibes yk?

sees harper as the sister she never had though <3

GODZILLA!

she likes to mimic his rawr and stomps around like him haha!

also likes to play with valdemar!

the two never hold still

having to try ALL of harpers new potions, most are good, but some give her a tummy ache after a while of trying so many

she protec, but also attack

incredibly loyal to her friends

trusting but almost to a fault

can’t see bad in anyone

LOVES pizza nights with her parents

GHOST/HUMAN???: GRAYSON

he really likes the occult LMAO

he’s obsessed with monster stories

unfortunately he gets bullied for it

i imagine him with kinda an 80s dork wardrobe

but as a “ghost” he’s just gotta white sheet with holes and his glasses

a nerdy frazzled looking kid

omg black nerdy boy rep ftw

in my story its kinda just him? like he’s kinda left to his own devices kinda thing?

but also thinking its him and his auntie, or grandma!

like i said earlier he really likes monster stories, so anything spooky ooky he’s into!

also plays the piano, so he loves music

being bullied LMAO

he really wants friends!

want community and a place to be accepted

knowing all these random ass fun facts

smart as a whip

he’s gotta pretty thick skin

letting folks know he’s hurt

he’ll kinda just distance himself till people think he;s invisible (where the ghost thing comes from)

lil man loves a jamaican beef patty

really thinking him and valdemar would love each others empanadas /beef patties haha <3

#writing #childrensbooks #childrensbookauthor #firstbook #character description #original character #character design

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nickgerlich · 2 years

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Booze In The Blender

Margaritas are one of the most popular drinks served in American culture. Jimmy Buffett waxed melodic 45 years ago when he blew out his flip flop searching for that lost shaker of salt. And you know the rest about the frozen concoction that helps him hang on.

Technically, a margarita—which translates to Daisy from the Spanish—is a cocktail comprising tequila, orange liqueur, and lime juice. Oh, and salt around the rim. They are especially popular in TexMex restaurants. In some areas, depending on liquor laws, I have seen wine-a-ritas served, which are less potent versions that skirt local ordinances.

But a margarita with beer in it? That’s what AB InBev, makers of Bud Light, would have us believe. And they have done swimmingly well with their many variants of Lime-A-Rita, available in different sized cans. It says “Maragarita” right there on the can.

The only problem is that two people took them to task on it recently, arguing that they were misled. Megan Browning and Alan Kesselring filed a class action lawsuit in September 2020, claiming that they among many others were fed false advertising, and that AB InBev did nothing to make it perfectly clear those libations were nothing more than flavored beer.

A Missouri judge just approved an undisclosed settlement, and those who feel they were duped have been invited to come forward. I’m not sure what the settlement might be. Maybe a case or two of Lime-A-Ritas?

There are a couple of big takeaways from this. First, the poor plaintiffs are either daft or dime store grifters looking for easy money. I have never seen Lime-A-Ritas sold anywhere other than in or adjacent to the beer selection. The words Bud Light, albeit small, should also be a dead giveaway. The alcohol content is also listed front and center.

  I pity the pathetic people who could not make this easy distinction, as they are probably among the same groups filing legislation—like in Missouri—that the phrase “veggie burgers” is misleading. Come on. We all know they don’t contain meat. And just like cattle ranchers don’t own the word “burger,” tequila distillers don’t own “margarita” or any of its syllables.

But then there is the very sobering reality that if something can go wrong, it probably will sooner or later. In our litigious society, there are always plaintiffs and lawyers looking for ways to dip their hands into deep pockets.

And this is where we can take notes from Gardein, maker of plant-based foods. They have astutely started naming their products with quirky off-spellings that we all know how to pronounce, but sidestep legal scrutiny because they can say it was all in fun. Products like chick’n, turk’y, and be’f are easy enough for the mind’s eye to translate, but don’t fall into the bottom of the glass that AB InBev just found itself.

Maybe if AB InBev had spelled it Lime-A-Reeta or something similar, they could have said their product was just a playful riff. It sure beats having to put product disclaimers on the packaging.

You know. Something like this: “Lime-A-Rita does not contain tequila or any liquor, nor does it contain wine. It’s just a fruity beer for those of you want to look cool, but don’t know the difference between the real thing and a clever imitation from our marketing people.”  

And I’m sure that if you need further clarification, you could just drop Jimmy Buffett a line. But do note that he’s still wondering if there’s a woman to blame.

Dr “Hold The Salt, Please” Gerlich  

Audio Blog

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dropsofletters · 3 years

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the beat of a love rhyme [jww]

— summary: up-driven music, blasting parties, glasses of champagne clanking in between drags of smoke—the seventies are wild, but she’s at the peak of her career. part of one of the most popular funk bands of this decade, their vocalist at that, with a fulfilling relationship, rows of people screaming her name…life is good.

until it isn’t.

her band decides to split and she’s left as a solo artist. the only thing she has left is jeon wonwoo, her manager, and the connection that has grown in between them in endless years of accompaniment.

as it turns out, he’s all she needs—saccharine sweet, paradoxical, elegant, kind. much different from the world she had once prided herself for being part of.

— title: the beat of a love rhyme — pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader — genre: funk band!au ; manager!au ; friends to lovers!au ; 1970’s!au — type: fluff ; suggestive ; drama ; angst — word count: 13,740

She once saw the world she had constructed fall down to her feet. Watched betrayal collide against the strong walls of her universe, tumbling it down, masking it in shadows and dust. For once, while standing in the studio, sporting enigmatic and outstanding clothing and a smirk that slowly dissipates, she doesn’t feel like herself. Stardom tastes nothing like the saccharine-sweet dessert she had once thought of it to be.

Music is one of those things—everyone loves it, adores to sensationalize the artists that they listen to on the radio and that they attend concerts of, but they don’t think about how wrong it is. Managers that are manipulators, magazines that are stalkers, drug dealers that are leeches looking to destroy them and earn their money while at it. Of course, how to forget?…band members that leave the group because a lead vocalist is, well, fucking stupid.

They all start the same. The Beatles. Kiss. They are friends that get in a group together and then, they’re no longer as good of friends as they were in the beginning. One person wants to write certain kind of music, another one is too lost in between someone’s legs to even care, then…there’s what her friends are doing.

The Moonlit Dolls are a funk hit. Ask magazines, newspapers, even that one housemaid that lives next to you and bumps her hips and head to the beat of their songs. It happened in 72, when one roll of a song made it to the radio and soon after, they found a manager. Youthful, nervous, just trying to prove his boss right about his sense of music.

That’s Wonwoo, outside the booth that contains the seven women of the funk band that once consisted of friends that drank beers together and decided to make a group. Perform dancing and singing to their heart’s content, with pianos, trumpets, and a whole lot of shiny dresses. She was the lead woman, and now?

“We’re kicking you out of The Moonlit Dolls.” Sunshine, the pianist, says with one hand spread on top of her waist. Her hair is puffy, tight curls accompanied by tinted sunglasses and a body-tight dress, orange under the golden lights.

She scoffs after hearing it the second time. “Yeah, right.” Tugging at the oversized jacket, belonging to her baseball player boyfriend, that rests over her shoulders, a smile appears on her features. “I am The Moonlit Dolls, Sunshine. You ask anyone and the only person they’re going to care about is me.”

Prickling with harsh words will give her a benefit in this fight. Kiara, the chorist and bass player, gasps from her spot. Sunshine is all sex dreams and radiant smirks. Kiara is ignited cigarettes and broken wings. “You can’t say that…”

“Calm down, Ki.” Sunshine says, extending her hand towards the smaller, weaker woman. “I’m not letting this bitch keep the group.”

Why is no one talking? She asks herself. There are two producers and her manager, Wonwoo, outside. Everyone else had decided to switch managers when they reached stardom in 75 with their single “One More Song”, but she had kept to his side.

“It’s my group. I was the one with the idea.” She utters, fixing the microphone and putting on her headphones “So stop whining about and trying to be a leader when I need you to do your job and play the piano, as you should.”

“We’re tired of being your little backup girls.”

She raises her eyebrows at that, bitter as bitter can be. “Maybe, if you worked on some good publicity, you wouldn’t be my backup girls.”

Scandal after scandal had cladded the group, and while being the leader, she had to stand every question and tidying wave. Men in music do it all the time—being in threesomes, being improper outside, doing drugs, smoking cigarettes, screaming to paparazzi but have a group of women singing and playing funk music do it and it’s a fucking headline. And the worst kind.

Her girls just loved a bit of irrelevant, awestriking fun…and she was the one to protect them.

Look how that turned out.

Star, their drummer, screams a bit louder than the rest. She’s a mood-maker, even in the worst sense of the word. “And you’re a good example?!”

“Mention one scandal from me.” The vocalist says, shrugging her shoulders when she spares a glance towards Wonwoo. The man hovers over the sound booth, thick eyebrows perpetually placed in a frown, as if studying the situation.

Star sighs dreamily. “I don’t know, maybe that you’ve fucked the entirety of the country’s baseball team.”

Looking over her shoulders, anger is swallowed down by the lump on her throat. It hurts. The six women that had been there for her these past few years now have turned against her, and even worse, they think of her as some kind of monster. Have someone to lose and you’ll cry them once every blue moon. Imagine having six.

“Oh baby,” She feigns a moan, battling her eyelashes in the process to bring a smirk over her features. “I like men with big baseball bats. Thick. Long. Know what to do with them…is that what you wanted to hear? Is your little businessman boyfriend too little in that department for you?”

“Cock-thirsty bitch.” Star cusses, moving forward as she tightens her fists.

Instead, she chuckles. “Does that make your betraying-bitch ways any better?”

Blood boiling, ears tinged in heat, she doesn’t pay much attention to what she says until she feels Star’s long nails piercing through her scalp, holding onto her hair and tugging at it as shrieks leave her lips. Fighting with them, even physically, would have never crossed her head but hey…

If she’s going to end up having a scandal, she better go all the way with it.

Her hands settle on Star’s slim arms, moving her around and pushing her against the drums, tussled to the ground by her force. Star pulls her down, pushing her body to the ground to tug at more of her hair and just when she’s grabbing onto the woman’s face, fingers digging onto her cheeks, she feels the pressure on her head dissipating, but not leaving her without a headache.

The next thing she sees is a pair of worried brown eyes staring down at her, the golden lights of the ceiling a halo around Wonwoo’s brown hair, soft strands cascading down his face when he wraps his fingers around hers and puts her up, behind his suit-cladded body.

“Stop it.” He says, never one raising his voice. Star doesn’t look any better, tears cladding her vision as she stares back at her. “Do you think it’s fair for her to just tell her now that you’re leaving her out of the group? You’re going to destroy her career.”

“It has always been about her!” Sunshine says, far stronger than Star in her poise. “She’s the one writing, composing, singing, presenting. If she’s so good, she’ll do well…but we can’t be The Moonlit Dolls and the bitch that stands above everyone. This isn’t what a group is about—”

“What is it about?” Her voice lowers, getting away from Wonwoo’s shadow, bottom lip trembling to try to keep strong. But she can’t. She’s losing her group and her sisters. Though, they don’t consider her family anymore. “Talking about me? Judging me? Making decisions without including me? Is it about envy? If you really love someone, you’ll want to see them succeed, not push them to the ground to step on them.”

Sunshine pulls her sunglasses down, rolling her eyes in the process. Silence eats the atmosphere when she says: “You did that to us for years.”

“…Well, not anymore.” Her shaking fingertips wrap around Wonwoo’s, interlocking their hands together to keep sane. The only person that is left of the beginning of it all…and now, she’ll have to start again. “You’ve got it. Be the Moonlit Dolls. I couldn’t give less of a shit. I hope you’re happy.”

“Wait, no—” Wonwoo says, tugging at her. “It’s not fair. We can talk about the contract with them. I’m—”

“I don’t want to work with them anymore.” Her voice is soft, odd for a frontwoman, but when looking into her manager’s eyes, she wants to find solace…peace… “Please, let’s just go home.”

It doesn’t take much more than a nod from him and a tug of her hand to get out of that fucking studio.

###

One rule before getting on a stage or even doing a presentation at school. You don’t think of everyone naked; much less do you take deep breaths. You just of how comforting it will be to come back home to the person that supports you through it all. Now, that’s how she has gotten through stardom.

The beaming lights of the city cast down on her face, shadows highlighting the tears that stream down her face. The sleeve of her sweater, bathed in a citrusy scent, rubs at her tired eyes for the umpteenth time when Wonwoo finally says something.

“They didn’t deserve you.”

Maybe, Wonwoo is the person she wants to make proud, whom she wants to return to, even when they are just friends. A manager on the rising, trying to get his job going, in 1972, when he found a group of women in some bar. At the time, Wonwoo was a lot more youthful, peppering around nineteen-year-old and not technically her manager. An intern? Sure. The man in the small lettering of books when remembering The Moonlit Dolls? Of course. But Wonwoo only got to be her manager five years later. This year, actually.

Now, he’s different from how she remembered him. Wonwoo was a lot shyer, music-loving, sporting graphic t-shirts and carrying CD’s in his backpack just in case. His features were sweeter, of course, less of a frown and more of a curve to his cat-like lips, but Wonwoo has pampered himself well enough. A gray suit covers his tall and slim body on most occasions, tied to his waist to utmost perfection, with his hair smooth against his scalp and sleeked back, with one strand that always escapes it, and of course, he leaves the CD’s in his newer, far better car now.

Sighing, she rests her head against her seat, staring at his profile as the mansions and beaming lights let her know they are nearing her house. “Who are we lying to, Wonwoo?” She asks, voice raspy. “All my shit is getting out now. They’re not the type to keep their lips pursed and all the songs I composed are going to stay with her. I know Sunshine—”

“They’re copyrighted. They can’t do that.” Wonwoo’s voice, warm like a day at the pool in summer, makes her chuckle softly, not even parting her lips to do so.

“Copyrighted under The Moonlit Doll’s name.”

“Then…” Wonwoo trails, fingers skimming over the wheel professionally. Looking at him from the side, Wonwoo doesn’t look half bad. Maybe, that’s why her boyfriend is always over-the-top jealous about her manager. “We can turn you into a solo artist. Elton John did it. John Lennon did it. Hell, every single one of The Beatles decided a solo was good. Even Ringo.”

“Elton is Elton. I’m me.”

“More of a reason. You’re enough—”

“Woo.” She cuts off, leaning over to his side of the car, head resting on his shoulder to seek for the comfort of him. “It’s not about the music. It’s about the fact that those women, my sisters, my girls, decided to just cut ties with me.”

Wonwoo’s breath ghosts over her forehead for a second when he looks over his shoulder to park in her garage. His arm extends behind her seat, the warmth of him seeping through his suit. “So, you can only rise from this. It will hurt for a while, and I’ll give you enough time to heal all you need, but you can’t consider them your sisters. Not after what they did to you. Not how they talked to you, either.”

With that, he parks the car, but she doesn’t move her face away from her spot next to him. He’s the only thing she has left of her old life, before the big mansion, chef, workers, studio albums and stardom.

He calls her name softly, and she hums.

“You don’t consider them your sisters, do you?”

“The kind of sisters that you hope never get written in your father’s will. Yeah. That kind of sisters.”

Her manager chuckles at that, soft and tender. “I’ll support you through everything.” With that, he opens the door to the driver’s seat. “But I need you to sleep the sadness off and for god’s sake, to stop crying. They’re not worth the tears. Sure, it hurts…but this happens. Every group falls down.”

Lumping against the seat, her fingers clumsily hook on the door to open it. “Then, why are they so popular?”

“People love friendships.” He says, and when she turns to look at the side and get out of the car, he’s already holding his hand out for her to take. She does, eyes connected to his as he speaks. “And they love groups of people they can choose from. You know, ‘my favorite was totally Sunshine because she’s hot’ and that’s all there is. Sex sells, but friendship does, too.”

“I have to stay with sex, then.” The door closes behind her, coldness seeping through her legs when she walks towards her spacious mansion. Eight rooms, ten bathrooms, enormous living rooms and parties, and she still doesn’t feel a thing for this place. It’s not home.

“It’s not necessary when you have talent.”

“Tell that to the talented women in this industry that are only paid attention to if their nipples peak through their shirts.”

“…We’ll do anything to make you shine for who you are.”

“I, no longer, have a ‘we’.” She doesn’t tip-toe around the subject, turning around and walking backwards when talking to Wonwoo. “I’m alone! I’m fucking alone and I don’t know what to do. I’m not used to being alone!”

Wonwoo sighs. “How many people does it take to make a ‘we’?”

The question has her frowning. “I don’t know—”

“It’s logic. You do know. The least amount of people you need to make a ‘we’ is…”

His voice trails when her back connects against the entrance of her mansion. “Two.”

“And did I leave you?”

“No.”

“Then, we’re a team. We’ll always be a team.” Wonwoo conquers, his hands coming in contact with her shoulders when he pulls her to the side slightly. “So, I’m staying here tonight and make sure you don’t party until ninety percent of your body becomes alcohol.”

A smile tugs at the edge of her lips. Well, maybe she’s as trashy as her ex-bandmates said. “People like you are always so responsible, aren’t they?”

Wonwoo opens the door with the copies of her keys he has with him, turning on the lights and greeting one of the maids by the entrance. “Tell me you wouldn’t have done it.”

She chuckles. “Oh, I would’ve smoked a cigarette out of someone’s ass right now with how shitty I’m feeling.”

Never would she have thought that would make Wonwoo grin. “That’s a pun?”

Her eyes look up to remember what she said before laughing at her words. “I’ve never eaten ass, but maybe the factor of shit possibly coming out could be the reason why I’ll never try it.”

Something in his eyes is dulcet. You see, silence has its own taste, and there, with her nose clogged up from so much crying and lips burning from so much biting, she basks on the way Wonwoo smiles and watches her when he extends his hand and pats her head. “You’re something else.”

Out of all the times she has heard it, this one feels nice—sincere. “That’s the only thing I have ever been.”

“Go to sleep. I’ll stay down here and arrange a few things.”

“My career?”

“Maybe.” Wonwoo shrugs, taking off her boyfriend’s jacket from her shoulders and placing it neatly on the couch. “Go sleep those tears off.”

Saluting him, she winks at him as a goodbye. “On it, dad.”

Wonwoo closes his eyes tightly, a chuckle ripping through his vocal chords. “Don’t call me that.”

“I won’t…dad.”

She hears him groan as she goes up the endless set of curved, marble-toned stairs and that alone makes her feel like maybe, not everything is fucked.

###

Rule number one of life. Never say never.

Never say everything.

Never say fine.

Just, don’t say shit.

Wonwoo has stayed in her place for the past three days, asking her chefs to make her complete meals, making sure that she—at least—ties her hair away from her face as she relishes on her sadness. Lets it broom and breathe out as she sips on her coffee and reads the newspaper. Two days ago, a man died when swallowing a bone, just yesterday, they talked about the feminist movement and today, she’s in the headlines when she scalds her tongue with coffee.

“Wonwoo!” She shouts out, loud and clear, enough to rip her vocal cords. Anyone who listened to her would have thought two things. One, Wonwoo is her child and she’s trying to scold him to bits and pieces or she’s Wonwoo fan, and hence, absolutely crazy enough to scream his name like that.

It’s not always that the man she loves decides to speak nonsense in the newspaper.

Or rather, break up with her through an article.

THE DEVIL IN A SHORT SKIRT – Why the King of Baseball, Jae Kim, decided to break all ties with most famous female funk singer?

For once, she didn’t know she had broken ties with Jae. Two days ago, to be exact, he was cooing on the cellphone, whispering sweet and dirty nothings of how much he missed her, how he craved to touch her skin, how he had thought of all the sins possible with her in mind. That’s not love, but it’s stardom—Hollywood bleeding the perfection that everyone envies.

Now, when Wonwoo appears in the pristine kitchen, breathing heavily as he had ran all the way through the mansion, she’s reading the article. His picture is there, enough reason to show he had actually been interviewed. Jae throws his head back in laughter, thick and muscular thighs parted with his skillful fingers wrapped around a glass of champagne. His long brown hair is pushed away from his face, his chiseled face, squared jaw and thick lips parted in sweet laughter.

“It was crazy, man.” He said, according to the reporter, with a frown of his lips. “I’d be scared of her, much like the girls were. She was too strong. Too receptive. She tied me up to the bed one night and left me there until the morning. I’m not too perfect but damn...I couldn’t hold on.”

God!

Speak of a fucking bastard!

He was the one tying people up, if she is sure of something.

The rest of the article objectified her, to bits and pieces, enough to throw the newspaper across the kitchen, watching the papers fall apart as a dulling scream leaves her lips, coffee splattering across the walls when she splashes it away from her cup.

“Fuck!”

How could the man that she loved treat her in such a way? Spoke about things that he should have never talked about—bragged about how it was like to bang the hottest member of a girl group, of a funk band. Talked about her consumptions, her supposed addictions, spoke of her as a pair of tits and an ass that he touched and claimed as his but he couldn’t hold onto because a body was a thing…but certainty, confidence, ambition? Oh, that’s too fucking much.

That’s a woman. He wants a maid.

He wants a hole to fuck.

Her hands cover her eyes when she hears Wonwoo speaking, a curse leaving his lips. “This fucker. I told you not to get with him—”

One year back, when Wonwoo was totally right about dating her ex boyfriend’s best friend, Jae Kim, and also another baseball player. Maybe The Dolls weren’t so wrong when they said she had a thing for men like that.

“I know.” She speaks softly.

“Let me call the publicity team and just talk about this. We need to make a conference and throw him to the ground. He doesn’t deserve to talk such obsenities—”

Instead, she extends her hand, waving her fingertips. “Give me the car keys.”

Wonwoo looks into her eyes, studying her, more put together than herself. Did she even take a shower yesterday? She’s not sure. “Why?”

“Wonwoo, I said—”

“I’m not letting you drive anywhere alone.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he keeps his voice poised and she does her best not to stomp her foot like a child. “You want to talk with Jae.”

Maybe, he knows her a bit too much. “He said—”

“Stupid things.” Wonwoo waves the newspaper in the air. “He said things that should have been kept in between two people and he doesn’t deserve words. He deserves—”

“Oh, I know what he deserves.” She waves her fingers again. “So, you either let me go or I’m walking all my way there.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

With a sigh, she tilts her head to the side. “Wonwoo, do you think I would kill someone?”

Her manager blinks a few seconds before chuckling. “No, but I’d support you if that’s what you were trying to do.” He says, throwing the newspaper to the island. “What’s the plan?”

“You let me drive, and you don’t say a thing.”

“…For the first time in my life, I don’t want to stay silent because I don’t know what you’re planning.”

Though, the coldness of the car keys rests against her hands, with enough quickness for her to go to the living room and take Jae’s signed baseball bat in between her fingers, swinging it once and twice before resting it against her shoulder.

“I’m planning to be the kind of woman he’s scared of.”

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows at that. “We’re not killing him.”

“I’m not planning on killing him.” She looks at the bat in between her fingers. “I could get this up his ass, but he’s not in his mansion. He’s somewhere in the country, bragging about how he had me in his sheets so…I’ll do the second best thing.”

The manager sighs deeply, rubbing his temples in the process. “Tell me this will be therapeutic.”

“Oh, this is a before and after.” She whispers, walking over to the door. “You’re about to see the birth of a new woman.”

Jae Kim is one proud son of a bitch. Tall, handsome, with a dimple on his left cheek and an ass to die for. He’s everything she ever thought she wanted—with not enough spice, but with a smile that could make up for his lack of words. Then, he spoke too much and without caring if paparazzi trailed after her, she went over to his house.

They want to see the devil? They’ll get it. Not in a short skirt, not being banged into oblivion in Jae’s car like he had said, but banging his car instead.

The same one that he had spoken about in that infamous magazine.

Wonwoo rushes out of the car when she swings the baseball bat in the air and smashes Jae’s car’s windows. One. Two. Three and then, four. Each and every single one falling to pieces in shreds of glass against her slipper-covered feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Wonwoo questions, standing by her side and sheltering her of any sight of paparazzi.

“Destroying the car that he relished about fucking me in.”

Though a small smile appears on his face, Wonwoo clears his throat before it could fully show his thoughts. “While I think he deserves it, this is bad publicity.”

“Woo, one thing,” She says, swinging the bat and hitting the passenger’s door in the process. “You lose all your friends that feel like your family and they out to the world that they’re going to continue to be a group while you’re left alone and the man you love suddenly uncovers that all he thought about you is that you were a vagina with legs that he only stayed with because it feels good, amazing, spectacular to just fuck someone people want to be with…and you have to act well. Because people want you to be perfect. That’s all you are to them. A board to judge, compare to others and…” Hitting one of the lights, the apples of her cheeks lift up. “Fuck that. I don’t need that. The good girl of funk died today.”

Instead of judging her or leaving her alone, she feels Wonwoo’s fingers sliding through the baseball bat before testing the waters and moving it around his palm, rotating it to catch the best hit. “Why do you have his bat?”

“That’s the bat he used for winning on his latest baseball season.” She replies, looking inside her car and getting out the sharpie she uses for signing autographs. “So, I’m ruining it, just like he destroyed my dreams of love.”

The man stays silent when he swings for the first time, destroying the remaining glass at the front as a shaky smile takes over his features. “What are you writing?”

“Just a message for the paps.” She leans over the hood of the car, hair done a mess, t-shirt oversized on her body and accompanied by basketball shorts, leaving everything to the imagination. Completely different from how she was with The Moonlit Dolls. “If they want my response, I’ll give it to them.”

The sharpie writes over the yellow hood of the car, Wonwoo reading the message out loud as she scribbles it down in neat letters. “Rot in hell, trashbag. P.D, you weren’t that good at playing…me or baseball, I don’t know anymore. ”

With that, she throws the baseball bat inside the car, resting her hands in her waist and looking at the mess she’d done.

“Wonwoo?”

The wind whisks against their bodies. Wonwoo, polished. She, on the brink of crying. But she won’t anymore—she’s tired of it.

“Yes?”

“Take me home, please.” She breathes out. “I need to start writing songs for that asshole.”

###

Think of your favorite album. All time favorite. The kind that you’ll cry and bang your head with when you turn fifty and you just need to remember what it was like to be young. And there it is, the nostalgia. The ‘it’ factor that people love and adore.

It takes months to make a great album, but for her, it has never taken this long.

Two months of staring at her ceiling, trying to return to the persona that she had crafted. The lover girl of funk, who sang into a microphone about the sincere, soft love she had for her now ex-boyfriend. For the guy with the bat that swung at her heart, destroyed her career momentarily, and whined like a bitch to the media when she destroyed his car.

One of the many cars he has, at least. He’s filthy rich.

But love songs aren’t as easy to write anymore. Leave it to the ballad lovers and the people who still believe in romance, but she is not one of them. In most occasions, she just goes back and forth, greets her workers around the house, talks to them for a few minutes that turn into hours and then, she uses the excuse of going back to writing. She tries to rhyme something with ‘boy’ and it just ends there.

She’s not in love with music anymore.

The strings of her guitar become lonely, plucked and exchanged for a piano. And there, seated in front of the endless rows of keys, she can’t think of anything either. The same thing happens over and over again, roaming around the house like a ghost only to meet with her manager at the end of the night. On the rare occasion, someone wants an interview…but given that the press coverage given by newspapers and magazines had died down after The Moonlit Dolls came out with their album as six, she’s left wth silence.

Until today.

Wonwoo is a routinary man. He likes his coffee lukewarm. He enjoys the same kind of music he did when she met him. He wears scales of grays, blacks and whites, and they’re always the same shade. His hair never follows after his instructions with that one strand that always stands out on his forehead, so it’s not surprising when he enters her mansion at eight thirty-seven in the night.

With her legs extended on the armrest of her leather couch, she jots down on her notebook, not caring that her short red silky robe had fallen off one shoulder, the lace of her bra barely peeking through when she sends a smile his way.

Pink is not Wonwoo’s shade. Not until today, when his cheeks blare in said color and he puts his hands on top of his eyes.

“Shit, fuck. I’m sorry.” He turns around, stealing a chuckle from her when she sits up on the couch. Wonwoo believes in the rhymes in gentlemanly words still, and she doesn’t know why. Maybe, he’s the only thing left of real men in this world. “I—I didn’t know you weren’t decent…or…can you just tie your robe properly?”

Loud laughter leaves her lips when she fixes the robe around her body. “Sorry. I was just immersed in writing.”

That makes him drop his hands, though the perfect view of his tinted-red ears becomes the least of her worries when he widens his eyes. “You? You’re writing?”

Shrugging her shoulders, she stands up from the couch. “I think I have the title song of my next album.”

Wonwoo nears her when she sits in front of her piano, an angel in the way his eyes twinkle. “Oh, for your solo?”

“I don’t have a group anymore,” She breathes out, turning her face to the side and looking at his features from up close. The scent of champagne clings to her, dizzy in the way her eyes crinkle and her lips purse. “So, it’s my solo. I’m completely alone in this world, so the least I can do is fight in it.”

Taking the seat next to her, he says: “You’re not alone.”

She sighs at those words. “Woo,” She instructs. “Why have you never been in love?”

He raises an eyebrow, silent for a second, before answering: “Who told you I haven’t?”

“You’ve never talked about it.”

“I don’t work with you to talk about me.”

“But you tell me everything.” The singer elongates in a whine. “How much you love your mom, how your hands tremble sometimes, how your stomach hurts when you eat certain foods. That one trip you had when you were a child and how you wish you could go back to your peaceful place…” Her voice becomes quieter. “I just assumed you’ve never fallen in love…or that you’re just not interested in dating.”

One of his index fingers presses to a piano key before chuckling. Soft, tender, with his thin lips wrapping around his perfectly sculpted teeth. “I have. Tons of times.”

“Tons?”

“Like four? I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugs. “Love is easy to feel. Hate? Even easier. It’s the hold-out that I can’t deal with. There’s always something that ends it all.”

Resting her cheek against the piano, she breathes out the insecurities that had wrapped inside her body. “I think the same way.”

Wonwoo shakes his head at that. “No.” He denies. “You’re too loveable to believe that.”

Rolling her eyes, she straightens her back. “What says that about me? The short skirts? The upbeat songs? The dating scandals? The money? The hits?” Finally, she reaches a peak, hovering her fingertips over the keys. “I want to be loved for who I am when I’m at my worst, when I can’t even get up and out of the bed. I want to be loved with my insecurities, when they take the best of me and make me lose all judgement, all rationality…” She stops. “And that won’t happen. I won’t be loved for who I was, so what’s the point in pretending to be the pretty, sensual, coquettish ex-doll?”

“What do you mean?” Wonwoo questions, voice raspy, worry bleeding on his tone.

“I don’t need men looking up my skirt, people paying to hear the love songs I write about men that never deserved me.” Continuing, she presses down on the keys, a melodramatic tune starting it all. It’s a new beginning. “I don’t want love, Wonwoo, because it’s all I’ve given the media and look how they’ve paid me. I want power, irony, hate, I want to have a voice so strong people like me will start to think that it’s okay to be alone. That we rise when we don’t depend on others.”

In typical funk fashion, the beat picks up and Wonwoo smiles at the melody. “How’s the song called?”

“Still working on the lyrics.” She says. “It starts off slow, the rain after that moment where life seems not to have a continuation and then, it picks up. People want a show? They’ll have it. But they won’t have the real me anymore.”

Wonwoo closes his eyes, shoulders swinging to the beat as a cat-like smirk takes oves his face. “Who are we getting?”

“I want a wig.” She says, earning sweet laughter from her manager. “And a suit. I’m tired of skirts. I want suits of all colors, bright, tight, loose. I want people to judge me for my dancing skills, my singing, not how sexy they think I am.”

“What color? The wig. What color should it be?” He questions, his gaze burning on the side of her face when she continues playing.

Recalling the shade of his pretty cheeks, she turns to him. “Pink.”

He repeats: “Pink?”

“The brightest pink you can find.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo tilts his head to the side, taking the notebook on top of the piano in between his hands and reading the lyrics. “Wait, why is called ‘I Died’?”

“Because the past few months have felt like that. Like I’ve actually died.” She conquers, shrugging in the process and haltering the song. “But I’m ready to be born again and under my own terms.”

“We’re still going with funk?”

“It’s my soul. I can’t leave funk.” She confesses. “But we’re working on an album and next month, we’re releasing it.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “Oh no, I’m not about to overwork you.”

“Consider it this way,” Smirking, like she always does, ready to bite the bullet that life brings at her, she rests her chin on his shoulder, staring up at him. “I’m overworking you, sweetie.”

###

Wonwoo was once young and stupid. Think about it this way—what nineteen-year-old guy packs a diamond ring on his pocket, bought in the cheapest price he could find, to confess to the woman he loved since he was fourteen that the only person he saw himself with was her? Even if they weren’t together, to begin with, and she had given him all the signs of ‘I’m into anyone but you’?

That would be nineteen-year-old Jeon Wonwoo. Dumb. Stupid. A reader, but the words he figured out in books definitely did not give him more life-knowledge.

While entering backstage to the concert of the singer he represents, he remembers why he didn’t become Mr. Denied that night. He met her. Seated in that old, raunchy bar, he watched as the woman he loved—Joohyun—got off the stage, her long hair swinging on her curved back, each juncture of her clothing with her body almost making him salive until he saw her.

In a short dress, a little bit drunk, jumping up to the microphone and apologizing for the interruption but introducing themselves as The Moonlit Dolls. Seven women together, just having fun, trying to make whatever they were work.

Joohyun was talented—sulky, tender voice and moving hips that had any man to her mercy, but she didn’t have much to her apart from that. Sang Frank Sinatra on the rare ocassion, but could never write, never perform, never compose. The Moonlit Dolls had just that, and while his boss had initially denied Joohyun when he tried to get her a contract, he had a gut feeling that The Moonlit Dolls were right up his alley.

What did he do? He got them to accompany him on the next Monday to his office, and the young intern that was Jeon Wonwoo got his first recognition for finding a hidden gem.

He pulls the curtains that separate the stage to the back, and what he sees is adorable. It warms his heart in every possible way, feeling as though he’s back to when he was nineteen and he had completely forgotten about his unplanned future with Joohyun just to hear her sing. This time around, she’s not wearing her short and tight skirts and the lights of the stage cast down on the bright pink wig that rests above her shoulders. Though, her vocals never falter and her chorists accompany her with as much excitement as her smile plasters for the public to see.

His old boss, a man that now represents The Moonlit Dolls, had asked him a simple question when the group departed her. “Why do you stay with her?” He asked, with his belly shaking with every word he said, his thick moustache rubbed in between his fingers.

At the time, he only answered: “Because she’s my friend.” Though, now that he thinks about it, seeing her there, she bleeds every portion of music. Raw. Enigmatic. Beautiful.

Wonwoo always had a thing for music.

But—

“Jeon Wonwoo,” A dulcet, saccharine-sweet voice speaks over his shoulder and he turns around to see a much shorter woman. Ali, the stylist behind this new change in funk, smiles up at him while she cradles her notebook to her chest. She’s maybe two years older than him, with a rounded face, big brown eyes and her hair almost always tied in two braids. Cute, really. “Didn’t think I’d see you here today.”

“It’s the first concert. I had to be here.” Though, he was trying to calm down the paparazzi outside. Some celebrities had attended and they were trying to see who was the singer’s next love affair. He crosses his arms cross his chest, taut muscles contracting under the suit before he smiles down at her. “The wig is cuter than I thought it would be.”

“It’s a challenge.” Ali says, looking over his shoulder to stare at the woman dancing on stage, feet keeping up with every word she said. “But she makes everything work. Besides, I’d love to be the one behind this new era of funk with her styling.”

“The suit is gorgeous.”

“Thank you. Had to contact a few people to get it perfectly styled, but she rocks it.” Ali’s voice trails at that moment, a smile taking over her rounded cheeks when she swings back and forth on the sole of her feet. “Wonwoo?”

The man hums, quirking an eyebrow in the process. “Yes?”

“You haven’t called me again.”

Wonwoo doesn’t do relationships often. Not because he doesn’t believe in them, but because he doesn’t have time. Try to explain to someone who wants undivided attention that your utmost priority is your client, who is coincidentially a woman that a lot of people desire, very famous, filthy rich, and who is broken down to tears because of everyone around her leaving her but you. You, Jeon Wonwoo. It’s difficult—so, Wonwoo resorts to the easiest thing, a fling or two with close friends and a promise to call again.

He normally does. With how crazy the world is and how little he knows about strangers when having sex, he would much rather have it with people he knows. Someone whom he recognizes he has a connection with.

Six months ago, Ali was it. She practically put candles up when he went over to his apartment and it felt nice, to be treasured and worshipped for once. To be the center of attention, but each time it happened, he scavanged out of the bed and went over to his client’s mansion.

To check up on her. To make sure she was eating right. To just hear her speak, talk about everything and nothing at the same time.

He doesn’t do that with the people he sleeps with and Ali’s speeches are interesting, though not groundbreaking.

He bites his bottom lip, hissing in the process. “Sorry, I was coaching every city we were going to attend to and I stayed over at the mansion a little too much in the process. I—I haven’t really been alone…”

“Wonwoo.” Ali stops him, placing one hand on top of his chest. “Listen, I look like I’m not the type but I’m the kind of woman that says it like it is. I like you, and I’m sure you liked me when we were together because…it seemed like it. You’re not my first, I know how an interested man looks like.” She whispers, long eyelashes fluttering against her wide eyes. “But if you love her, if you love someone else, I can’t be with you—”

I’ve loved tons of people, he told her months ago when she wrote the song she’s closing this concert with.

But how could he love her? The thought had never crossed his brain. Adoration, yes, of course. He doesn’t think he could ever fully let go of her, but loving the singer that had never looked twice his way?

“I don’t love her like that.”

Ali chuckles. “I believe you,” She says. “But anyone would think otherwise. You’re glued to her hip all the time.”

“She’s my client.” Wonwoo proves with a swat of his hand. “I have to be by her side.”

The shorter woman inspects his features, calculating each of his movements before humming. “You sure?”

Smiling, he says: “Or I could just prove to you how little in love I’m with her.” Though, the words leave his lips and they don’t sound quite right to his ears, much less when he hears the melody of a saddened tune, the start of the song that watched her rise again.

He tries his best not to turn around, but his eyes waver towards where she is sitting, playing the piano with utmost conviction.

“I’m alright with that.” Ali says, trailing her hand down to his abdomen before letting go of him. “Call me next time you’re alone, will you?”

Though, the nod he gives is only to stop the conversation, turning around when Ali is gone to look at the woman on stage. The beam on her features is brighter than ever, but he knows better than to trust it. Tears and frowns gather in the worst of days, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to leave her alone just yet.

###

“”Haven’t seen these in a while.”

With his fingers palming around her hair, she looks over her shoulder to capture the glimpse of the man she knows a little too well. Wonwoo looks like he had just woken up from a nap, not quite used to the jetlag of being in a tour bus with her just yet. Years will pass by and still sleep will ride over him in tidal waves, clashing him to the bed and leaving him petrified.

For the past two months of touring, she has been a new persona. Pink hair, eccentric high notes, suits that cover what had once been the reason why she earned so much money—she took the reigns of her life based on what the headlines said. Wrote songs about betrayal, overconfidence, loneliness, ego…and they became hits.

The radio won’t stop talking about her pink locks, swinging hips and hateful words. And that’s what she wanted, until the lights dimmed and she was back in her tour bus, staring out the window to the cars passing by in silence. None of them would stop if they just knew the real her. The romanticist that feels a bit broken.

“I feel the same way sometimes.” Shivering, she rubs over her arms, connecting her gaze to the road once again when she feels Wonwoo sitting with her on the red leather seat. A brown sweater covers most of his body, accompanied by baggy pajama pants. “The character is starting to take over me and when I’m not as confident as I am on stage, it feels…weird.”

Wonwoo rubs at his left eye, sighing deeply when he says: “I don’t want you to become her, the woman on stage, permanently.”

She chuckles. “First time I’ve heard a man say that.” Her voice lowers, resting her cheek against the couch as she looks into his eyes. “Why?”

“You’re fantastic as you are.”

That’s her cue to let out the least lady-like snort. “Oh yeah, what screams fantastic about me?” She asks, turning around to sit properly and not get dizzy by looking at the road for too long. “My waving feelings? My grounding insecurities? The fact that I can’t fully voice out how I feel unless I do it in a symphony?” The words leave her a bit too quickly, and Wonwoo’s lips curl when he shakes his head.

“Try again.” Wonwoo indicates. “There’s good in you.”

Bringing her knees up to her chest, she rests her chin in between them. “I guess.” A mumble leaves her. “But I don’t see it…” Her voice trails. “My sister once told me there is someone for anyone. That person that will love my flaws as much as I hate them…but they always leave after getting a taste.” She says, eyes twinkling with indemn sadness. “Sometimes, I wonder if whoever created the world forgot to create someone for me. Decided that I wasn’t worthy of a fairytale and—”

Her manager back at her, his hand coming up to her cheek and rubbing over the skin. “Do you know you have a mole here?” His thumb touches, softly, almost like a kiss against her face. She closes her eyes tightly, humming in acknowledgement. “I always thought it added something else to your face. It didn’t make you uglier and it didn’t make you prettier. It just made you…you. If the night sky wasn’t tainted by stars, would it be half as sensationalized as it is now?”

She opens her eyes then, leaning into his warm touch. Craving. Needing. Wonwoo feels a thousand times more necessary these days—and she knows she could probably live without him, but she doesn’t want to. They could give her the most perfect man to have as a manager and she still wouldn’t take him…because they are not Wonwoo.

“Maybe, my personality has a thousand moles.”

“All of us have flaws. Some better than others.” Wonwoo whispers, tracing the strands of her hair and tucking them behind her ear. Since when have his brown eyes become her axis, the reason why her anxiousness doesn’t creep up on her? “Maybe, if you loved yourself with as much strength as you loved the people that broke you, you wouldn’t be having these issues.”

Pressing a chaste kiss to his palm, she breathes out a warm gush of oxygen. “I wonder if someone will love you with the strength you deserve to be loved with, Woo.”

A small smile takes over his features. “I sure hope it happens one day.” He confesses.

The singer, however, is more observant than she lets anyone believe. “Maybe Ali is on the way there.”

Wonwoo shakes his head, laughing. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, Woo. You’re totally getting it on with her.”

Though, she would never understand why his cheeks blare with her but at the mention of having sex with her stylist, he doesn’t react. “…How are you so sure?”

“One, you two got awfully close at the tour and I know when two people are fucking.” She replies, placing her hand on his thigh when she leans forward, as if sharing a secret. “Why her?”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

A whine rips from her throat. “You knew everything about Jae and I!”

“Because the motherfucker got out of your room with his dick out. I didn’t decide to know about you two and your rendezvouses.”

Sighing, she whispers. “True.” Still, her finger pokes his side. “Well, an eye for an eye. Tell me—”

At the repetition of the last two words, incessant, he sighs.

“She’s just there, okay?” His voice is soft in the mellow night. “It’s not the truest romance. We just help each other not feel as lonely. I don’t have the time to have anyone when…”

Her eyes widen, looking up and down his features when she completes his sentence: “When you have me.”

“That’s not what I mean—”

“You’re…God, you’re always taking care of me. That’s why…”

Grasping her face in between his hands, Wonwoo speaks a tad quicker than usual. “I choose to wake up every morning and spend every possible time with you. Not because I’m your manager, but because you’re the best person I have ever met and I adore you to bits and pieces. Me being with you has nothing to do with you.”

Before nonsense could drape from her lips like a shower of insecurities, Wonwoo interrupts her with a kiss on her cheek.

“Now, let’s go to sleep and stop overthinking. You’re giving me a headache and I don’t have to listen to your thoughts all the time.”

Cackling, her fingers interlock with his, dragged somewhere on the tour bus to take a nap…or have a good night of sleep, for the first time in a while.

###

“Maybe, it’s time you move on, you know?”

When Wonwoo was nine years old, he asked his dad what love was. He said it was a long time. His mom, on the other hand, gave him more of a dreamy answer. She plastered a smile on her face and changed what his father had said initially—she mumbled, while scrubbing on the dirty plates of shared dinner, that love was patience. He never asked again, for Wonwoo thought he would never get to understand it fully.

But Ali doesn’t feel like love. Not with her eccentric baby blue dress and the lights of the club bathing over her body. Not with the way she brings her beer up to her lips after taking a puff of a cigarette. Instead, she dangles her legs off the seat she’s perched on, staring at his client and friend as she talks to a tall, blonde man while dancing, a smile forever taking over her face when in public.

Wonwoo stops holding her waist to pull away, leaving his drink to the side to quirk an eyebrow. These parties are not his thing—he hates club as much as a forty-year-old man who just wants to go home does, but he has to attend them from time to time. It’s publicity for his client and connections with other artists come from this in most occasions. Ali just decided to tag along, something about the killer look she put on their shared client that she just had to see.

“What are you talking about?” He questions, but when he takes a sip of his drink, his hands placed on his lap, he studies the person they are talking about and indeed, if looks could kill, this one would take him straight to the grave. A yellow bodysuit covers her body, the wide pants making her hips stand out, just the tiniest bit of skin, enough for imagination, showcased around her chest but the diamond necklace around her neck spoke of expensiveness.

“You know,” Ali says, jutting her chin out. “She’s earned far more as a solo this past year than she did in The Moonlit Dolls and it’s obvious every manager in the game wants her now.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “She wouldn’t trade me.” If he’s certain of one thing it is that they’re here to ride or die in this long road that is success. He will stand by her side until his last breath lets him—

Ali shakes her head, fingertips scattering across the collar of his shirt, her index finger toying around his collarbone. “Babe—”

“Wonwoo.” He corrects, looking at her from behind his rounded glasses. “I told you not to make this too personal.”

The stylist rolls her big eyes. “All I’m saying, Wonwoo, is that she’s talking to Ahn Seojun right now. The son of one of the biggest managers in the game—”

His teeth tighten under the force of his jaw when he stands up from his seat. “I don’t care. I’m sure she won’t—”

“What’s with this blind trust you have with her, Wonwoo?” Ali questions, tipsy when she gets up from her seat, eyes blaring with anger. He stops on his tracks, turning around to look at her, her scent repulsive in tainted alcohol. “She��s no angel, let me tell you.”

“No one is.” He replies, voice vacant of any extra feelings. “I know she wouldn’t leave me for Ahn Seojun or whoever his father is.”

Ali pushes at his chest, a huff leaving her lips. “Get it through your head. What you have with her is not normal! This is not the relationship a manager has with his client!”

Shaking his head in the process, venom bites at his words, but respectfulness is always kept in what he says. “And you shouldn’t care—”

“Wonwoo, I fucking love you, alright?!” The older woman screams at the top of her lungs, tears cradling her vision when she drops the bottle to the side, pieces scattering across the floor. “And all you fucking do, all y—you’ve managed to do all along is love her. I’m sure you’re with her—”

The man in question raises his eyebrows, taking her by the shoulders to stop her from hitting his chest any longer. Well, that’s trouble. Maybe, it wasn’t such a good idea to get involved with someone from the same staff team as himself.

“I’m not.”

“Look me in the eyes, Wonwoo!” Ali exclaims, voice ragged. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it has never crossed your head that you could be in love with her.”

Three seconds of silence follow after his words.

The darkened walls and moody atmosphere of the club becomes more interesting, eyes wandering as he thinks of all the years he had spent with her. When awakening to the sight of her, smiling down at him and asking him to join her for breakfast, had he thought of love? When seeing her in her robe, ready to work on a new album, had he thought of love? When listening to her pleas of forgetting her past, when growing up was harder than even thinking about the future, mixed with the tears of memories she could never get rid of, had he fallen in love?

He’s not sure. He told her once, a little bit over a year ago, that he had fallen in love a bunch of times…but they had never quite felt like this.

“Wonwoo?” Ali’s voice wavers when she questions him again, but Wonwoo simply purses his lips together, a tight line made out of them.

Love is the patience of knowing she would never be his, but for him to wait forever until he saw her happy. Truly contented. That’s what love is.

And he’ll die one day, most likely, telling his children or grandchildren that he had fallen in love with someone once and he never could say it, but that he did his best to have her live her truest love story. With someone who isn’t her manager, of course.

“I am not in love with her.” Wonwoo lies, fixing the coat over his shoulders. “But you’re fired, Ali. I can’t have you create drama between my client and myself.”

The curses that follow after him when he turns around and goes look for her won’t haunt him forever, but they do that night.

###

A gush of air is stolen from her lungs when the new stylists wrap a corset around her waist over her suit, the lacey white material contrasting against the beige walls backtage. She’s about to perform for a show, and they love seeing better—perfect bodies, sculpted smiles, kicking off with an enchanting lifestyle. No one realizes that celebrities are not truly what they show.

“I can’t believe she said that.” The pink wig had been exchanged for a lukewarm blonde, her eyes elongated by thick eyeliner, the shortest stylist fixing the tie around her neck, the dark gray suit matching his own. Anyone would think she inspired herself off him.

Little does Wonwoo know that she did.

“Woo,” She starts. “I would never, ever, think of replacing you with anyone. Much less whoever that Ahn guy is. We were just talking about Queen’s latest album because it was a banger. Can’t blame me for being a bit jealous of Freddie thinking about it before I did—”

“I know you’d never replace me.” Wonwoo conquers, pushing himself away from the wall to get closer to her. The stylists move away when he nears her, his hands resting on her shoulders when she fixes her lipstick, thumb rubbing sightly to make the pink a bit duller. “I’m sorry I made you lose your stylist.”

“You should be sorry about the new stylists wanting me to wear a corset.” She jokes, placing both hands on her chest. “The ladies look good, but I’m afraid I could split in half if I reach a high note with my chest voice.”

The man by her side, with long hair in the styles of The Beatles in Yellow Submarine, widens his eyes when he gasps. “Shit, guys, we forgot about the boots!”

The woman by the tie gasps. “No way!”

“Where are they?” Someone else says.

“They’re in the car. They were too heavy to bring them all the way here. Sorry!”

The singer raises her eyebrows at that. “What do you mean too heavy? I have to dance with those—”

But the stylists don’t listen to her, rushing out of their places to get to that goddamned car. Instead, she chuckles at Wonwoo’s reflection, turning around to interlock their hands together. Typical nature of two friends, right?

“You look beautiful, but this is not you.”

“That’s what people like.” She replies, eyelashes fluttering when she looks up and down his face before humming. “I’m sorry I had you break things off with Ali. I just—Well, you decided it. How could she have thought that you were in love with me?”

Wonwoo becomes silent for a second before a broken smile appears on his features. Maybe, he feels uncomfortable about the situation? After all, he has always been a bit closed up about relationships. At least, that’s what she thinks.

“I would be fucking lucky, Woo.” She says, turning around and bending over the vanity to run her fingers over her mascara-coated lashes, not missing the blush that takes over his features. “A handsome, capable, loving, caring, intelligent and sweet man deciding that I’m worthy of love? His love? I’d die on the spot.”

Wonwoo chuckles at her words, juvenile in its approach, when he rests one hand on the small of her back. “You’ll get him one day.”

“He better hurry, then.” Her answer comes quickly, turning around until her chest is pressed to Wonwoo’s, his eyes lost in something she can’t quite pinpoint. “I’m a romanticist, man. I just…I just need a man who knows that he wants me with so much force that he’ll do anything to make me feel loved. And let me love him back, of course, I’m not as egotistical—”

Anyone who looked at Jeon Wonwoo in all his glory—covered in a suit, with glasses and his hair pushed back, would have never thought of him to be the type to be surprising. Though, when his lips melt against her own in the sweetest of touch, capturing her breath when he closes his eyes delicately and lets his body cover her own, her back digging onto the edge of the vanity, she feels a part of her dying. Dying in the best sense of the word, like how it feels when someone goes to sleep and they disconnect for a while.

Wonwoo tastes like the coffee he had earlier this afternoon, with the stain of his heart dragging across the way his lips softly part and breathe out utmost adoration. Her eyes close when her hands relax against his chest, devoring the feeling of being unique for once. Of having someone, that person, even for just a second. He’s soft, albeit a bit lazy, delicate in the way he approaches the kiss and molds his hand against the small of her back, abdomen flushed against hers.

When she seeks for more of him, he pulls away, his eyes crinkling under the weight of his smile when he says.

“I hope you find someone who loves you like that someday.”

Though, his cheeks blare in all shades of pink when he pulls away, fixing his tie when trying to leave.

“Wonwoo?”

“Yes.”

Before she could tell him anything else, the stylists come back with the huge—just not to say humongous—shoes.

And Wonwoo leaves without listening to what she wanted to say.

I hope that someone who loves me like that is you.

###

All she can think about while seated next to the host show, perpetuated in a beige suit with his bald head shining under the harsh lights of the studio, is the man that stands somewhere behind the cameras and that had kissed the tenderness of romance back into her heart.

So, she crosses one leg over the other various times, tries to laugh a little harder and opts to make everyone believe in the public, both at home and present there, that she’s lurking for her fans, taking in the love that they’ve gifted her after being away for so long.

The vinyl version of her album rests against the wood of the desk that keeps the host away from her, laughter leaving his lips when he points at it with his extended palm. Finally, she stops looking at Wonwoo, whose eyes are trained in the scenery with a soft smile on his face and instead, she tries to think of something else.

Why would Wonwoo kiss her? It’s not like…it’s not like he was interested in her, right?

“This is a big blow for The Moonlit Dolls, ain’t it?” The host asks, looking down at his notes with the eye of a reporter. “Seven times a million seller and on the top list of songs to play on the radio months after its release. How do you feel about it?”

“It’s…stellar. I feel like I’m over the moon.” She replies, voice sultry, aspiring to sound humble even whens he knows her tears and pain is plasterd on that album. “I couldn’t have done it without my fans.”

“Did you know The Dolls’ latest album only sold twenty thousand copies?” The host looks up and her heart gets caught up in her throat. Those are the people she once trusted and sure, she would have loved to see them fail on the first few months of grieving their friendship…but they were talented. Sunshine, now the composer, had continued down the sexy and romantic vibe of The Dolls. “Critics called it a failed try to make music for housewives that want to be sexy after twenty years of marriage.”

She hisses, her smile long forgotten. “They’re talented. I have nothing to say about them.”

The host, however, listened to her album in its entirety. “Nothing to worry about. Your album said enough.” Laughter coming from the public, the man fixes the burgundy tie around his neck. “Why isn’t Jae in the album?”

There it is. She spares one look towards Wonwoo and she sees his smile faltering, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows harshly.

“I’m sorry, who?” Sarcasm drips from her voice when she fakes a smirk, leaning one elbow on the armrest of her chair before pointing at the public. “I want these people with me to feel empowered. We can feel complete without someone by our sides. That’s my message. I may not have pulled it through in the past, but it’s what I stand for now.”

It’s not half a lie, but part of her wondered if she would ever find love. Maybe, it’s closer than she had imagined.

“I agree. I agree…” Though, show hosts are known to be pushy. “But you dated Jae Kim for three years. You two were practically the new Yoko and John. What happened?”

She shrugs. “He’s…” Her voice trails, figuring out if she should say the truth or spit out irrelevant lies. “He’s not the subject of my inspiration, that’s it. I just like to separate my job from my romantic life.”

“He doesn’t do that.” The host says, fixing the glasses that rest on the bridge of his nose when he puts her album down. “He dedicated his latest homerun to you, you know?”

That doesn’t do anything to help her situation, and what she wants to do at that moment is stand up and tell Wonwoo that the kiss meant something. That Jae Kim himself, the man that broke her heart, could come over tonight and she wouldn’t even look his way.

“That’s good.” She says, trying to keep her stardom intact. People don’t like a bit of sass. “I think I’d rather be known as something else than Jae Kim’s inspiration behind a homerun.”

The host clears his throat, a smile on his face. “Would you ever go back to him?”

It’s her time to laugh, but when she looks towards Wonwoo, he’s already taking off somewhere else. Shit. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t believe in second chances.”

“But all your songs were once about him.” The host curls his hand in the air, as if stating the obvious. Her eyes divert towards him once again. “Is it, maybe, that the ex-doll has found a Ken for herself?”

This interview is going horrid. This is the moment she realizes that no matter how hard she has worked for the past year, she will always be known for something. A sex symbol that hung around Jae Kim and sported short skirts. This alone makes the corset around her waist constraint her from breathing properly when she shakes her head.

“I’d be lucky to have someone else.” She whispers, looking towards the public before squinting her eyes. “…But that’s never possible. You’re either successful or in love, and when I choose to have both, it ends up plastered on the media. Consumed as if I’m a product.” Leaning back on her seat, she connects her gaze with the host’s. “You see, I’d love to love someone, but I’m unable to. How can I promise someone happiness in the world I live in, when I’m my saddest ever since I started being a celebrity?” Her voice departs a little, broken, when she plasters a smile on her face and chuckles lightly. “So, I’m free as a bird as of now, and not returning to the past.”

Though Wonwoo hadn’t listened, she wished he would have. For, she would love to have him by her side, but she didn’t want to taint him, break him quite like the media did for her.

###

One month passes by without the kiss being spoken about, but the tension is unbearable.

Sure, Wonwoo should have never tried to kiss her. He was irresponsible, if not unprofessional, or all kinds of wrong adjectives when he had decided to lay his lips on her, caress her skin with his own, want to do nothing more than to unleash her realest self away from the corset, over the vanity and kiss her until her lips were swollen. He would have, maybe, taken her out for dinner later and hoped to lay by her side by the end of the night, with each breath of her own mingling with him.

But he couldn’t. He knows he can’t. Not when he promised to be her manager, with a contract and all, and wanted her to succeed. What would anyone think of him if they saw her with her in front of a camera? Or even worse, what would the media think? She had gone from successful, rich men with snarky tongues and scandalous sex lives to the tamest man she could find.

His pencil taps against his agenda, seated on the passenger’s seat as he reads their schedule for today.

“We don’t have much else to do.” He states, the black, sleek car they find themselves in matching his dark suit. He stares up, studying her profile when he spits out: “The studio has been scheduled for tonight. You can record anything you want until two, and then, we’re off to sleep.”

Though, she doesn’t seem to be listening, her natural hair tied behind her back, sporting baggy clothing when she lifts herself off the seat the slightest to look through the review mirror. “Shit.” She grits through her teeth, sitting straighter and picking up the pace of the car.

“What’s going on?” Suddenly, she’s rushing through the streets, her eyes widened and her jaw tightened in hatred.

“Someone is following us. The paps.”

“What?” Wonwoo has never been in this position. He’s always the one sneaking her away from the paparazzi, not the man caught with her on camera. “Are you sure?”

A short, sarcastic laugh leaves her at that. “I’ve been in this business for long enough to differentiate a normal car from a paparazzi’s.” Though, she’s rushing through the streets, moving away from their normal road towards the studio to lose them. “I don’t want them to capture you in camera.”

That brings a pang to his chest. Of course, she didn’t mind it when it was Jae Kim or one of her love affairs. Not when she’s in parties or drinking to her heart’s content. That kiss meant nothing to her, perhaps embarrassed her beyond a tainted friendship. “It doesn’t matter. People know I’m your manager either way—”

“I don’t want them to talk about you, Woo.” The nickname drops from her tongue sweetly, looking through the review mirror and giving another harsh turn. “I don’t need them to ruin the only good thing left in my life. I don’t want anyone judging you or comparing you to the past because—”

“Why would it matter?” A bitter tone follows his statement. “I’m nothing special. If they talk about me, they will forget about me as well—”

“Goddamn it,” She curses, harshness in her voice when she tries to voice out her concerns. “Wonwoo, listen to me!”

“I just don’t get you!” His voice rises as well, losing his poised tone. “All celebrities are accompanied by their manager!”

“But you’re not just a manager to me anymore, stupid ass!” She conquers, his voice growing tinier when he hears her argument. She manages to lose them with one more turn, not a fit farther away from the city than they were at the beginning, but he can only concentrate on the way the street lights cast down on her face, shadows merged with beauty. “I—I…The night you kissed me, all I could think about is how I don’t see you the same way, Woo. I’ve never been kissed like that.”

His lips remain sealed for a few seconds, before a grin appears on his face. “Whoever didn’t kiss you like you deserved was crazy.”

“I don’t want people to know about you because I want to make things right.” With that, she parks the car, tall trees and shadowed spots keeping them hidden from the eyes of the world. They’re just two people who no one cares about at that moment. “It’s not about the kiss, but it’s about the person, Wonwoo. I want to be able to have you for myself and I would rot in hell with jealousy whenever I saw you with Ali. I want to be able to feel love and give love to you and only you, because you’re the only person I have known and the only one who has wanted to get to know me.” She turns towards him, fingertips spread on the steering wheel as she speaks. “I don’t need a love story, but I want one with you. Because if there is someone in this world that could be my person, that one created for me, it’s you.”

Emotions wash over him so fast he can’t mention them when crossing his head. Love. Adoration. Patience. Resolution. It’s when his eyes look down at her face, at her lips, the clothing that clads her and differentiates her from the persona she is on stage, does he realize that he was never in love with music…or her music. He wasn’t in love with the rhymes or the love songs.

He was in love with her.

If he had to tell this story to his grandchildren, he wouldn’t know who gave the first step and connected their lips. Her hands fist the edge of his jacket, not caring about the uncomfortableness of the cramped car, kissing him with tenderness and patience, but with that air of necessity that comes with the slow movement of her lips. His hands tangle on her hair, tilting her head to the side as he does what he did a month ago…and God, how he missed it.

He doesn’t know how he spent thirty-one days not doing this, not craving for this.

It’s then he realizes that he hasn’t been in love a bunch of times. Or well, he has—he has fallen in love with her in numerous occasions, like a fool would, dragging his hands down to her waist and bringing her over to his lap as he plants seeds of small kisses across her lips, her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone, a shaky breath leaving her when she rests her hands on each side of his face and pleas—

“Please, Woo. Tell me you’ll give us a try.”

###

1972.

“D—Do you think I ask her to go out with me?”

When he recalls the story of how he found The Moonlit Dolls, he almost always forgets Jeonghan was there. For, the man was wasted, as in, he couldn’t even think straight when he looked up from his position on the table and connected his gaze with the singer he had just met tonight, dancing to her will with an enormous grin on her face.

Wonwoo is there for Joohyun—a lover boy through and through, and he knows Jeonghan is the type to get who he wants when he wants it. With his long black hair tucked behind his ears, his stench of whiskey and his intelligent smirk, Jeonghan could try it with the vocalist and see what ensues, but his stomach twists, turns, in a way that comes with a bit of egotistical nature.

Sure, he’s not going to have anything with her. He’s certain of it, but she’s too pretty for Jeonghan. Too unique.

“I don’t think you should.” Wonwoo says, crossing his arms across his chest. “I think she’s way out of your league.”

Jeonghan scoffs at that, long fingers rubbing at his pink, blushed face before asking: “And who’s a good match for her? You?”

With a sip of his beer and a tilt of his head, Wonwoo studies the woman on stage. No. She’s too impossible. A client is more of what he sees in her. “Only in my dreams.” He replies then, a smile taking over his features when Jeonghan swings him by the shoulder.

“You want her for yourself!”

He chuckles. “I totally do not.” But, he stands up before Jeonghan could—not that it is that difficult, his friend is as shit-faced as he could get—. “I just want to be her manager, that’s all.”

Jeonghan takes the last few droplets of his whiskey down his throat before chuckling dryly. “Give it time. You’ll be head over heels for her.”

And that was the night they met.

###

“It’s still surreal at times, you know.”

Laying next to Wonwoo, with his nimble fingers tracing the curve of her shoulder, his arm weighted down by her back as they look up at the ceiling of her bedroom, his naked torso underneath her cheek while she plays with the outline of his ribcage by his side, never once stopping her train of thought.

His chuckle reaches her face, shaking her slightly when he rests a kiss on top of her head, albeit a bit too short. “What does?”

Though, when she interlocks her bare legs with his, looking up into his brown eyes, she only lets out a soft smile, innocence an irony to the situation they had found themselves in minutes earlier. “That I have a secret boyfriend and it’s you. Out of all people.”

Wonwoo quirks one of his sculpted eyebrows, asking: “Would you want it to be someone else?”

Hovering her face over his, she pecks his lips once before shaking her head softly. “I wouldn’t want anyone else but you.” Though, when she lays back on his chest, his heart still picking up its pace even after four months of dating, she questions: “Does it bother you?”

“What do you mean?”

“That you’re kept a secret.” She mumbles, turning around to rest a kiss on his sternum before resting her chin on top of his hard chest.

Wonwoo has to think about it for a moment. Sure, he had always been the kind of man women would introduce to their parents, whom people made plans with on the long run, but he doesn’t mind it. If anything, he would be petrified if he happened to be caught by the cameras.

So his thumb reaches for her chin, lifting her face up the slightest to part his lips and let his tongue softly caress her bottom lip. He delves into the feeling of her, closing his eyes softly and daydreaming about their future when she relaxes against him.

With one hand resting on her back, and the other sparcing across the mole he adored on her face, he says: “I don’t mind being your secret as long as I’m yours.”

###

WOMEN IN MUSIC – Why the most famous funk singer decided to never date again, and how it worked to her favor in her career.

The eighties are crazy, Wonwoo has figured out. Headlines are better for women, at least, but journalists are still very superficial in what consists of getting to know an artist. With a deep brown suit resting over his body and his hair resting under his earlobes after he had decided to let it grow, he watches his fiancé pose for the cover of her third album.

I Chose You, the album was titled, though no one knew about it yet. The blurring sunshine and pink skies behind her were gorgeous as she sported another styling change, not as reckless and seductive as her initiative in music; and he couldn’t be prouder. There, with the sand bathing his stylish and elegant shoes, he sits back and reads the newspaper. About his girl. Claiming that her last love and the man that broke her heart was none other than Jae Kim.

Her heart’s alright, if anyone is wondering.

But what surprises him is how his new assistant takes the newspaper in between her hands, the tall and slender woman reading over the article with studious and small eyes before gasping lightly.

“Shit,” Hana curses, her bleached and long blonde hair cascading down her back and moving with the wind as Wonwoo studies the celebrity that poses naturally in front of the cameras. “I wonder what it takes to get someone like her to cave in…”

The sun masks the faint smile on his face, his hair moved by the wind when he crosses one leg over the other. For once, he feels tranquil, much more when she connects her gaze with his and sends a smile his way.

“I think it takes bravery.” He confesses, though he’s sure Hana and none of their team know about their relationship. They have kept it a secret, through and through. “She’s too much of a woman for most men.”

Hana nods along to what he says, looking down at the article. “And do you think she’ll find someone someday?”

Maybe it’s crazy, but Wonwoo doesn’t think they found each other. He likes to believe all roads would have led them to meet. “Give it time.” He shrugs. “I’m sure someone will come.”

Though, the laughter that threatens to slip his lips doesn’t leave him, he loves the irony in what they are.

Two people who asked each other where their destined soul was, not noticing that they were meant to be.

Or, alternatively, Wonwoo wanted to ask her out that night at the bar when he met her and Jeonghan was about to do it, but bravery never came his way.

Patience brought him all the power to finally kiss her, though silent in his approach, still getting the best outcome.

PLAYLIST: leave the door open – bruno mars ; adore you – harry styles ; lmly – jackson wang ; hold up – beyonce ; maniac – conan gray ; i hear a symphony – cody fry ; japanese denim – daniel caesar ; vienna – billy joel ; someone you loved – lewis capaldi

#wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #kpop scenarios #writing #wonwoo au #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo angst #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #manager!wonwoo #i had this idea in my head for a whileeeeeeee #and it's a gift for one of my fave wonwoo stans that denies she has wonwoo as her 1 on her bias list #but whateverrrr

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firstofficerwiggles · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4: A Rather Indecent Proposal

Links to other chapters: Chpt. 1, Chpt. 2, Chpt. 3 Chpt. 5

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Jealous!Din, a little bit of canonical violence

Word Count: ~9900 (I know it’s long, but it felt better as one chapter instead of split into two.)

Author’s note: Happy Mando Monday! I hope you enjoy this new chapter! First though, I need to apologize if the man you love or you yourself are called Eugene, but please don’t hate me for thinking it’s an unsexy name. Also, apologies to skinny men everywhere, you might not be my type, but I’m sure someone is into you.

“Do you think you could come with me for a business meeting? I could use your language skills.” Mando surprises you with his request. So far, he’s always conducted any business on his own, and except for a few weeks ago when you asked him about his bounty, he hasn’t shared any details of his work with you. But as always, you’re eager to help him if you can.

“Of course, I can. What do you need?” You’re actually kind of excited at the chance to accompany him.

“The client comes from the Unknown Regions and I hear he prefers to use Sy Bisti when possible,” Mando explains, “He’s also known to be very particular, so anything that can impress him would be helpful.”

“Absolutely, I can be your interpreter,” you agree, “When is this meeting?”

“As soon as we get to Canto Bight in a couple of hours.” He tells you. Oh, you look down at your lounging-on-the-ship comfy clothes; you’ll need to get yourself pulled together for a business meeting.

“I better go get changed into something more presentable then. Can you watch the little guy?” You ask him.

“Why? You look fine.” Mando is such a guy sometimes. You just give him an incredulous look with a small raise of your eyebrow as if to say really? “I mean, sure, I’ll watch the kid if you want to change.”

“Thanks. But, yes, I definitely need to change before we meet your client,” you reply and head down to the hull; you’re almost out of earshot when you hear him mutter to the child, “Don’t get it, she always looks fine to me.” It makes you smile to yourself that he thinks that, yet there’s a part of you that’s eager for him to see you dressed a little nicer for once.

For about the millionth time you tell yourself that you shouldn’t have a crush on Mando, but that voice is getting drowned out more and more by another one that keeps telling you to enjoy it. After your trip to Crucival, you know that he finds you attractive at least. And Maker knows you’re even more attracted to him now that you know him even better. Plus seeing him almost naked was hard to ignore! So what if he considers you just a friend, as long as you don’t let things get out of hand, or say something stupid to him, you might as well have fun with your silly little fantasies.

You rummage through your clothing and pull out a nice black dress. It’s stylish but without being too fussy and you think, it will be perfect for a meeting with a client. Besides, if you’re going to Canto Bight, you know most of the women there will be dressed to the nines so you want to make sure you’re helping Mando give off a good impression. You take the time to style your hair and put on some make-up too. You give yourself a once-over in the small mirror in the fresher and, even in the harsh industrial light, you have to say that you look pretty nice. You knew that being a nanny to a toddler was never going to be a glamorous job, but the chance to clean up like this is fun every once in a while.

“We’re landing soon, you need to come sit down!” You hear Mando calling to you, so you quickly make your way back up to the cockpit.

“Thanks,” you say as you get back to your seat, but before you sit down, you turn to Mando with a little flourish and say, “See, much more presentable for your client now.”

Din stares at you in the elegant dress; you’re literally taking his breath away and he can’t even speak for a few seconds. Finally all he can think to say is, “You look good.” And he immediately chides himself for not being able to come up with a better compliment. Thankfully, you seem pleased with his pathetic words and just give him a happy smile before buckling yourself in. He’s still staring at you, taking in the pretty hairstyle you’ve created and looking at whatever it is that you’ve done to make your lips seem redder and fuller. It isn’t until a sensor on the control panel starts beeping loudly that Din snaps back to reality and focuses on landing the Crest.

“Wait, what about the child, do we bring him with us?” In your excitement, you’ve forgotten your primary job, as you’re getting ready to head out into the hustle and bustle of this flashy city. You look at the little one’s big eyes and like his father, he also seems to be fascinated with your done-up appearance.

“Sure, I have a satchel he can ride along in. And he’s plenty old enough to get into the casino; the age to get in is 18.” Mando chuckles as he maneuvers his 50-year-old toddler into a small brown shoulder bag. Mando’s cape partially obscures the little one making him less noticeable. You suppose he’ll be all right, it’s only a meeting in the restaurant of a casino; it’s not as if you’re taking the little one to the gaming tables. Although if you’re honest, you wouldn’t be surprised if Mando said that was perfectly ok too, so long as he’s safe. You give his tiny hand a squeeze and he coos back at you seemingly eager for your little adventure.

You follow Mando off the ship and through the throngs of men in sharply tailored evening jackets and women beautifully attired in chic gowns. Everyone looks very cosmopolitan especially against the stunning background of the decadent casino. You have to admit that you were expecting something a little more garish based on the descriptions you’ve heard of Canto Bight, but this particular establishment is quite nice with marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and unique modern art pieces strategically placed throughout the large lobby. With Mando in his beautiful beskar armor and you in your fashionable dress, you make a dashing pair as you pass by the colorful lights of the gaming machines.

Din leads you to a restaurant entrance and tells the maître d’ that he is here to meet a Mr. Omseki. The man seems slightly taken aback by the presence of a Mandalorian but when his gaze lands on you, his face softens and in a crisp accent he says, “Right this way, Madam” and then he barely glances at Din, as he says, “Sir”. It’s not surprising that the man would rather keep his eyes on you with your eyes shining in delight as you take in the scene around you. Din’s never cared much for Canto Bight and its rather pompous atmosphere, but he’s finding some charm in this place as he watches your reaction to it all. Not to mention, Din knows he would have received a much frostier welcome here without you by his side and he’s very glad you came with him. As you reach the client’s table, this feeling is renewed, as Mr. Omseki is all smiles as you greet him in the unusual language. Despite not understanding the words, Din can tell by the man’s animated speech, that he is positively delighted at the prospect of meeting with a beautiful woman and not just a Mandalorian bounty hunter. The man also seems happy to see the child and he gives him the flower from his lapel to play with as a small gift. Din listens as you interpret the client’s words and you all begin to exchange some welcoming small talk. Greef Karga had been the one to pass on this client to Din as a lucrative off-the-books bounty, but the man he described was temperamental and moody. Mr. Omseki is anything but moody tonight and if Din didn’t know better, he’d swear the man was flirting with you. He doesn’t love that idea, but if it helps this meeting go smoothly, it will be worth it.

Mr. Omseki is a charmer and he is thrilled to be speaking to you; he’s told you several times how pleasant it is to talk business in an ‘appropriate’ language and how overjoyed he is to speak to you. You suppose it must have been a while since he’s had the opportunity to speak Sy Bisti and perhaps that’s why he’s enjoying himself so much now. You’ve felt a little abashed at times, as you’ve interpreted his rather flowery praise of you to Mando although at least some of it has also extended to him. However, this client seems more interested in just chatting with you than he is in talking business with Mando. You try to steer the conversation back to Mando’s work, but each time you do, Mr. Omseki manages to ask you another question about yourself. Mando must sense your worry that you aren’t doing a good enough job and he drops his hand down to cover yours where it is sitting on the table. He gives you a reassuring squeeze and you continue making polite conversation with the client. You figure this must be part of his business negotiations.

Din leaves his hand covering yours in a clear message to the client that you belong with him. It’s a subtle gesture, but one that Mr. Omseki is shrewd enough to understand as shortly afterwards he shifts the conversation to the bounty that he wants Din to capture. He listens carefully as you interpret the details and he begins to formulate a plan for the hunt. Din almost has all the pertinent information, when a sudden commotion interrupts the conversation. He immediately pulls his blaster and shields you behind him. A man in a disheveled suit is pushing past the maître d’ and several waiters as he stumbles towards your table. Din realizes disappointedly that this man looks exactly like the quarry that was just described by Mr. Omseki.

“Mr. O-Omseki, I have it, I have all your m-money and the in-interest,” the man stutters out as he begins pulling out bags of credits from his coat.

“Well, well, Mr. Sanditore, looks like this is your lucky day,” Mr. Omseki drawls out, “I was just about to send this Mandalorian off to kill you.”

“Th- thank you Mr. Omseki, thank you, I promise you won’t have any trouble from me again.” The disheveled man is practically shaking with gratitude.

“Well, I am sorry Mr. Mandalorian, it was delightful to meet you and your most lovely interpreter, but I am afraid I no longer have need of your services.” Mr. Omseki says to Din. Then he turns to you and speaks in Sy Bisti in a soft voice. Din obviously can’t know what he’s saying but the mild look of surprise on your face is enough to raise his concern. Whatever it is though, you handle it gracefully and end the conversation with a pleasant tone before shifting back to Basic to say good-bye. As you exit the table, you reach for Din’s arm, threading your hand around his elbow. He is surprised by your touch but says nothing as you walk towards the large bar near the center of the restaurant.

“What did he say to you?” Din wants to know.

“He asked me if we were romantically involved, because if we weren’t he wanted to know if I was free for the rest of the evening.” You reply looking a little embarrassed.

“What did you tell him?” He really wants to hear this answer.

“I lied and said that we were. It seemed like the best solution.” You’re slightly looking away from him as you say this as if you’re worried about making eye contact.

“Good.” Din’s pleased you lied, and it’s petty, but he likes the idea of that rich man thinking that Din has something that he wants and can’t have.

“I’m sorry about the job though,” you’re saying to him now, “I know you must be disappointed.”

“It’s alright,” Din sighs a little though, “these things happen.” He sees you look around the bar area with a wistful look and realizes that you’re not ready to leave. “Besides, now we have time to stay and have a drink, just the two of us, well, us and our little sleeping bundle here.” The baby has curled up and is napping in his little satchel.

“Really?” You look so pleased that it makes Din smile to himself. You settle into one of the stools at the bar and Din motions to the bartender to order your drinks. He orders one for himself too, asking for a straw in his.

“Wait, so you do use straws?” You ask with a small laugh.

“Sure, it’s the easiest way to drink in public.” He shrugs matter-of-factly, but that just seems to make you giggle more. “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know,” you say between giggles, “but there’s something so cute about you using a straw.”

“Cute?” He says, sounding slightly insulted.

“Oh stop, I mean it in a good way,” you say and light push his shoulder in a playful fashion, “It’s probably just because I’ve never seen you use a straw before.”

“So when you see me do something new, it’s cute to you?” Din is playing up his affront to the word cute because he’s enjoying teasing you.

“No, not everything new.” You roll your eyes at him. “It’s just when you do something ordinary, I guess, because I tend to think of you as extraordinary.” You let your lashes flutter a little as you say that last word, flirting with him.

“Extraordinary, huh?” He cocks his helmet to the side as he looks at you, “I like that better than cute.”

“Whatever, you’re still cute too.” You give him a wink and then turn to the bartender who has your drinks. Both glasses have a straw and you make quite a show of using yours, so much so that Din can’t help but let out a laugh. You’re both enjoying the moment so much that neither of you notice a thin, lanky man approach you.

“Ex-excuse me?” The man is trying to get your attention. Mando shifts back into alert mode almost instantly as he says, “Yes?”

The man is about as tall as Mando with very fair hair and pale skin. He looks to be in his mid-thirties and seems a little out of place here in a casino. Although, like the other men here, he’s wearing an expensive suit, but everything about him looks slightly uncomfortable and it’s as if he doesn’t quite know what to do with his body, like the way he holds his shoulders and moves his hands looks anxious.

“I’d like to hire you for an evening,” the man says, but weirdly he looks at you instead of Mando, but you figure that’s because he’s probably too intimidated to look directly at the Mandalorian.

“What sort of work do you need?” Mando asks in an even tone.

“Oh?” The man turns and looks at Mando directly, “I- I didn’t mean you. I want to hire her for an evening.”

Mando’s reaction to this statement is so swift you almost miss it. He instantly pulls his fist back and punches the man square in the face, knocking him to the floor. Mando looks down at him and grits out in an angry voice, “She’s not for sale.”

Well, this is a first. You thought you looked pretty nice tonight, but apparently, you look like a prostitute.

“Wait, wait, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” The man cowers on the ground but tries to explain himself, “I didn’t mean to insult her, or you.”

“So what did you mean?” Your curiosity has gotten the best of you.

“I just need a beautiful woman to pretend to be my girlfriend for an evening, that’s all.” He says.

“Exactly how is that different?” Mando is still towering over the man in a very threatening manner.

“Just to attend a party with me, and help me look good,” the man says quickly, “I promise nothing s-sex related at all.” He holds his hands up in a defensive posture. He looks back to you with pleading eyes, “I can pay you really well, and all you need to do is go to a party and wear a pretty dress.”

You admit you’re intrigued by the idea and you know that with Mando losing out on this latest bounty, any extra funds would be helpful. You put your hand on Mando’s bicep in what you hope is a calming motion as you say, “It can’t hurt to hear him out, Mando.”

“Are you serious?” Mando asks you in a low voice.

You shrug, “If we don’t like what he has to say, you can punch him again.” The man on the floor lets out a little whimper at that, but Mando gives you a small nod and backs away from the man.

Tentatively, the man picks himself up off the floor and extends a hand out to you, “I’m Eugene DeWitt, I own a company that creates high-end gaming machines and I develop algorithms for those machines.”

You shake his hand briefly, and give him your first name. “So, Mr. DeWitt, why do you need a pretend girlfriend to go to a party?”

“Please, call me Eugene. It’s the annual celebration for the casino owners and it’s my best chance to network with them. I’ve been to the party the last three years, but I haven’t been able to barely get a word with any of the important owners.” He explains.

“What makes you think I’d be able to change that?” You’re not sure what effect your presence would have on his ability to do business.

“I need to find a way to catch their interest and impress them, and I think a woman like you would be the best way to do that.” He tells you.

“I’m flattered, but I think you might be overestimating my appeal,” you reply, “besides, why don’t you just ask out a woman you want to date?”

“I’ve tried,” Eugene admits, “but honestly, even if they’d said yes, I know they wouldn’t have the same effect as you; you’re drop dead gorgeous.”

“He’s right,” Mando says softly, almost under his breath. Your head snaps to the side to look at him after that comment. You don’t have any time to process it however because Eugene is still speaking.

“I’ll pay you 20,000 credits just to go to the party with me and pretend to be my girlfriend.” He offers.

What?!? Is he serious? Suddenly this job has real potential. But you’re still skeptical that he wants you to just attend the party, it feels like that amount of money would come with additional stipulations.

“Let me get this straight, you want me to just go to the party with you and pretend to be your girlfriend, but you’re not expecting sex or any other sexual favors?” You state this outright because you need everything to be clear.

“Yes,” he confirms, “I would need you to be affectionate towards me, but only in an appropriate way in public.”

“Define what you mean by affectionate.” You want to make sure you know precisely what he wants.

“Hold my hand or arm, let me put my arm around you, dance with me, maybe let me give you a small kiss?” He suggests.

“No kissing.” Mando interjects all of a sudden.

“O-Ok, no kissing,” Eugene agrees, “But would you be alright with the rest of that?”

“Yes, I can do that.” His terms seem reasonable and honestly, that much money to just attend a party? You’ve had way worse jobs.

“I’m going too,” Mando states and from his tone of voice this is not up for debate, “I’ll be your bodyguard for the evening.”

“That’s a good idea,” Eugene is intrigued by the prospect; “A Mandalorian bodyguard would also be impressive.”

“Good, then you can pay us 40,000 credits for the evening,” you counter-offer. You know it’s ballsy to ask, but truthfully Mando’s skills are worth a lot and he should be paid as well.

“That was uh more than I was hoping to spend,” Eugene says.

“Maybe so, but now you’re getting both of us to help you impress these future clients,” you smile flirtatiously and look him right in the eye holding his gaze.

“I can do 35,000,” Eugene offers.

“Alright, 35,000 and you buy me a new dress and shoes for this party.” That last part is really only because you don’t own any other dresses that would be suitable for his event, but also part of you wants to see if you can get him to give in to you.

“Can the dress be red?” Eugene asks.

“Sure, I’ll get a red dress, if that’s what you’d like,” You’re totally fine with that.

“We have a deal.” He says.

“One more thing,” Mando speaks up again, “Pay her half the credits now.”

“How do I know you won’t just take my money and leave?” Eugene asks.

“You have my word as a Mandalorian.” His tone is serious and just intimidating enough that Eugene capitulates. He takes out a holopad and asks for your information and just like that, 17,500 credits are in your account. It’s more money than you’ve ever had.

You finalize all the arrangements for tomorrow, with Eugene offering to have his mother watch the child for the evening. Mando is a bit reluctant at first to have someone else watch the kid but he realizes it will be hard to pull off looking like a bodyguard with a baby in tow. Likewise, you can hardly play the role of trophy girlfriend if you have the little guy. You wait until Eugene takes his leave of you for the night before you turn to Mando to exclaim over this crazy turn of events.

“Oh my, Mando, can you believe it? 17,500 credits for each of us, just for one night of going to a party?” You can’t help the excitement in your voice.

“Hmm, yes, it’s a lot,” he says, with a lot less enthusiasm, “but it’s all your money.”

“What?” He catches you by surprise, “No, Mando, I’m going to split it with you.”

“He only wanted to hire you,” he states firmly.

“Yes, but I was never going to do this without you. I was going to suggest you come too but you beat me to it.” You explain to him.

“Were you really?” He sounds a little skeptical, but there’s a small note of hope in his voice too.

“Absolutely. I’m not so naïve that I would agree to go to a party with a total stranger without you there to protect me.” It feels so natural to you now that of course he would be there to watch over you. “Besides, I know that you being there will keep Eugene from getting too handsy.”

Mando makes a little snorting sound, “Yeah, I could do without the affectionate part.”

“Don’t worry, I can do just enough to make it look believable without letting it get out of hand.” You link your arm through his and lean a little onto his shoulder, “C’mon, Mando, be a little happy about the money with me.”

He reaches up and pats your hand where it holds onto him. “Alright, since it means that much to you, I’m happy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day you are in a swanky boutique recommended by Eugene where you are on a mission to find a red evening gown for tonight. You tried to tell Mando that his presence was not necessary for this, but he insisted on coming along with the child in tow. It’s been an adventure already because as you were looking over possible dress choices with the saleswoman, the mischievous toddler managed to climb out of his satchel and onto a table in the lingerie section. When you caught him, he was playing in a pile of lace thongs with one pair dangling off his ear. Even more amusing was Mando who was trying to extract the kiddo from his panty pile while trying hard not to touch any of the thongs. Thankfully, the saleswoman thought it was all utterly charming and laughed right along with you. Now Mando and the little guy are sitting together looking only slightly out of place on an elegant velvet sofa while they wait for you to try on dresses.

It’s been so long since you’ve shopped for anything this fancy, you were feeling a little intimidated at first. Yet the more you viewed the beautiful gowns, the more excited you became at the prospect of wearing one for the evening. The selection in this shop is lovely and since you know Eugene is paying, for once you’re not worried about the price. You slip on the first dress and can’t help but smile at your stylish reflection. This first one is a slinky satin gown that hugs your curves. You step out into the main area of the dressing rooms where Mando is waiting and where there is also a large three-sided mirror.

“Oh that looks very nice on you,” the saleswoman says.

You turn to look at yourself in the multiple angles offered from the mirror, “I’m not sure, what do you think, Mando?”

“It’s fine,” he says flatly. Well, with that lack of enthusiasm, you know this dress is out.

The next dress is more of a ball gown style and it’s kind of a lot with a beaded bodice and a full tulle skirt. Still you figure you should see it in the better mirror for the full effect.

“Oh no, I look like a red powder puff!” You say in dismay.

“I like it better,” Mando says, and then under his breath you just barely hear him say, “You’re more covered up.”

“I can’t wear this and be taken seriously.” It’s on to dress number three.

As you adjust the straps for the third dress, you find your face heating up at your reflection. This dress screams trophy girlfriend as it is super sexy. The deep sweetheart neckline shows off a lot of cleavage and there are thigh-high slits on both sides of the skirt.

You’re barely out of the dressing room when you hear, “Absolutely not.”

You can see Mando’s visor trained on you and it feels like that black T is boring a hole into your body.

“I don’t know, I think I look really good in this one.” Wow, when you turn around you can see that this dress is practically backless.

“You look fabulous! Very hot!” the saleswoman coos at you.

“Go change.” Mando’s voice sounds deeper somehow and he’s using his this-is-not-a-request voice. A little naughty part of you wants to argue back with his demand, but you did tell him that you didn’t want Eugene to get too liberal with his definition of affection, so you figure Mando’s probably right.

When you head back to the dressing room, you’re down to just one more dress and as you slip it over your head, you know that this is the one. It’s made of a soft, floaty chiffon with a bodice that accentuates your bust and your waistline. The skirt flows down your hips and legs gracefully and while there’s a slit in this dress too, it’s more hidden and only offers a glimpse of leg as you move. When you step out of the dressing room this time all you hear is a soft murmur of approval from the saleswoman.

You smile at your reflection as you twirl a little in the mirror and imagine how nice you will look with your hair styled and with your evening makeup.

“This has to be the one,” the saleswoman is saying to you now, “Doesn’t she look enchanting?” and she turns to Mando for his approval.

Mando nods his helmet slightly, but remains quiet. You didn’t really expect him to say much, but you were hoping for a bit more than that. At least he isn’t disapproving of this gown though.

“I have the perfect shoes to go with this dress. I’ll be right back!” The saleswoman tells you.

Din waits until she is out of earshot and then says softly, “You look beautiful.” He watches as your face lights up with his compliment and you thank him, reaching out to grasp his arm briefly as you do. That seems to be a thing you do now when you’re particularly pleased with something he’s done. You turn back to the mirror to inspect the dress more and he lets his gaze roam over you.

The truth is Din thought you looked beautiful in all of the dresses, even in the silly puffy one. He didn’t want to encourage you too much with the first dress because although you looked great it in, the style was fairly revealing and he disliked the idea of Eugene seeing you in it. But then, that third dress, Maker, he almost had a heart attack when he saw you in that. It was so sexy he wanted to rip it off you right there in the middle of the store. There was no way in hell any other man was going to see you in that. This dress you’re wearing now is more sophisticated and gives off more of a sensual elegance than outright sexiness. He still hates the idea of Eugene seeing you in it and what’s more thinking that you chose the dress special for him. This whole job is stupid, but he can’t deny the money is too good to pass up. Still he doesn’t trust Eugene to have such pure intentions as he claims and he knows he won’t let the man have a single moment alone with you if he can help it.

You’ve finished choosing the shoes and now you’re heading back into the dressing room to put on your regular clothes. Din breathes a sigh of relief at seeing your normal self again and he feels himself relax a bit. He follows the saleswoman to the register station and watches as she carefully places the gown in a garment bag. You’re about to give the woman Eugene’s account information, when Din hands over his own credit chip to pay for the dress and shoes.

“Mando, what are you doing? Eugene is going to cover the cost of this.” You voice conveys your confusion at his actions.

“I’m not letting another man buy you a dress,” Din mutters.

“Why not? It’s only to wear for this party tonight.” You’re looking at him completely perplexed.

“Because I want to buy it for you,” he says more firmly this time. Din sees a flash of something in your eyes that he likes; it’s a mixture of respect and awe, and perhaps a touch of desire too if he’s not being too hopeful.

“Well, if you’re certain,” you reply softly still looking at him in that new way.

“I am.” Din takes the garment bag from the saleswoman and motions for her to charge everything to his chip. “You’re sure you didn’t want the big puffy dress, though?” And even though you can’t see the smirk on his face, he’s fairly confident you can hear it in his tone.

“Thank you, Mando, but I think this is the best choice.” You let out a light laugh and give him that beaming smile again that he loves to see. You follow him out of the store and then grasp his arm again as you say, “I really do love that dress, thank you for buying it for me.”

“You’re welcome,” Din tells you, wishing that it would just be the two of you going out tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re sure you want to do this? We could still turn around and leave.” This is the second time Mando has asked you that. The first was when you came out of the fresher after finishing your make-up and he saw your completed look for the evening. He didn’t compliment you again, but the long pause he took to look at you and the way he tilted his helmet to the side made your insides flutter nonetheless. Now you’re standing outside Eugene’s door and it seems he’s still having second thoughts.

“It will be fine, Mando. Just remember that this money means you can take a break from hunting and spend some extra time on finding the Jedi for the little guy here.” He sighs in response and knocks on the door.

You shift the toddler in your arms and you look down at him. He’s been having fun playing with the soft material of your dress and he’s got a big handful of your skirt in his little claws right now. The only worry you have is about leaving him with a stranger tonight. Eugene’s mother will probably be fine, but you’ve grown so attached to the child you’re feeling more anxious about being away from him that you anticipated.

“You’ll be a good boy tonight, won’t you, buddy?” You say to the child as you carefully extricate your dress from his little hand. “Mando and I will miss you but we won’t be too late.”

The door opens to reveal Eugene in a tuxedo with a red flower on his lapel and next to him, a cheerful looking older woman.

“Good evening, you look spectacular,” Eugene greets you enthusiastically.

“Thank you, you look dashing yourself,” you respond with a slight flirtiness to your tone. You figure you might as well get used to your role now.

“Oooh! Is this the sweet little baby I get to watch tonight?” The woman seems kind and the child coos at her with interest.

“Yes, thank you for doing this,” you respond pleasantly. You give the little guy a hug and a kiss on his forehead before handling him over to her.

“What a little charmer! You don’t have to worry about a thing, my dear. I’ll take good care of your baby and you take good care of mine.” She says with a wink towards Eugene.

“Th- thank you, mother.” Eugene sounds embarrassed and you try your best not to snicker. “We should get going.” He extends his arm to you and you lightly thread your hand around his elbow.

This whole time Mando hasn’t made a sound and is standing so still you’d almost think he was a suit of armor on display. But when you take Eugene’s arm, Mando lets out a little grunt that sounds like disapproval. You turn to look at him and mouth, “It will be OK” and give him as encouraging a smile as you can. The nod of his helmet to you is slight, but you know he understood.

Eugene leads you out onto the city walkway with Mando following close behind. The party is being held in the largest casino and it’s a short walk from Eugene’s home. Once again, the streets are filled with fashionable people ready for a night on the town. You feel the soft swish of your skirt against your legs and smile again at how nice it feels to be dressed up like this. You make small talk with Eugene, getting comfortable with him so you can make this look like a real date. You resist the urge to turn back and look at Mando though because you know if you do, your feigned interest in Eugene will falter.

By the time you reach your destination, you’ve managed to perfect a nice light laugh at Eugene’s jokes and you feel comfortable enough to lean into him in an affectionate way. As you enter the opulent ballroom of the casino, you paste a brilliant smile onto your face as if you’re simply delighted to be there. Eugene has told you he wants you to help draw the attention of various men in attendance so you figure you’ll sort of openly flirt with the room and see who notices. You catch the eye of a well-dressed older gentleman, and your technique works wonderfully as he comes right over.

“Good evening, I’m Mr. Belvers, the owner of this casino; it’s so very nice to have you here, my dear.” He greets you with a small bow and flourish of his hand.

“Why, thank you!” You respond warmly, “It was so nice of my boyfriend to bring me here tonight. You must know him, Mr. Eugene DeWitt of Advanced Gaming Enterprises?” You introduce Eugene with a smile.

“Oh yes, of course, Mr. DeWitt, how nice to see you again.” With the introductions made, Eugene launches into conversation with Mr. Belvers. You listen as best you can to the business talk and smile and nod like the perfect trophy girlfriend. It’s boring, but really easy when you realize that not much more is expected of you. Finally, with a promise to dance with Mr. Belvers later, the conversation ends and you breathe a small sigh of relief that if anything at least you got Eugene a few minutes with the owner of this place.

“That was incredible!” Eugene is saying excitedly, “I’ve never even met the man before but he acted like we were old friends. You are fantastic!” He gives your hand a squeeze and pulls you a little closer to him. He steers you deeper into the ballroom, eager to make another contact. You turn your head to look at Mando and give him a smile and a subtle nod, which he returns.

The pattern continues throughout the party, you spy an older man, make eyes at him, and reel him in for Eugene. When you’re between conversations, Mando has taken to checking in with you to make sure everything is going well. All in all, it’s about what you expected and you have to admit that Eugene was right; apparently, these men are all easily swayed by the look of a pretty face. You’re please to see that Mando’s presence is having a good effect too. These bigshots are very impressed that Eugene has a Mandalorian for his private security. Several of them have even asked Mando if he’s available for future security jobs too. Who knows, maybe Mando will come away with some business contacts of his own at the end of tonight.

As the evening continues, Eugene seems to be growing more confident, and you’ve noticed he’s taken to placing his arm around your waist. It doesn’t bother you, but occasionally his hand does seem to be a touch low. He also leaned in just a moment ago and let his lips brush your cheek. It wasn’t really much, but still you’re surprised he dared to try it.

“I said no kissing.” Mando’s voice is hard and direct, causing Eugene to flinch and instantly put more space between the two of you. “Keep your hands above her waist too.” Your heartbeat stutters at Mando’s protectiveness and you look at him with a grateful smile. When you’re sure no one else is looking, you give him the flirtatious look you’ve been using all evening and then top it off with a wink. You notice that he clenches his fists as you do this and then gives you a deeper nod in response.

I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. Din’s mantra for tonight is not a pleasant one. He’d much rather be hunting down a bounty right now than having to watch you flirt and simper to every man in the room. He’d rather be slogging through a swamp or crossing a frozen tundra to catch a quarry than have to watch yet another man ogling you or touching you. And then, there’s Eugene; Din would like to punch him in the face again. The man keeps getting bolder as the night progresses. Din’s caught him staring at your breasts and your ass several times, and he’s clearly getting too handsy. The only thing making this night remotely bearable is the way you keep looking over to him with such sweet glances, as if you’re sharing a secret with him. Although the way you looked at him just now made him want to sweep you up in his arms and haul you out of here as fast as he could. If you do that again, he doesn’t know if he can be responsible for his actions.

Din groans to himself, and prepares for this night to get worse because Eugene is leading you out onto the dance floor. There’s no way for him to follow close to you while you’re dancing and he’s willing to bet that Eugene takes advantage of that opportunity. In an attempt to stay in Eugene’s eye line as much as possible, Din stalks around the dance floor following your swaying movements. He can’t help but watch the graceful way you move as you dance, noticing the soft arch of your back and the delicate glide of your feet across the floor. As he sees Eugene’s arms pull you in closer, Din feels a deep burning anger in his stomach and once again thinks about breaking Eugene’s nose with his fist. This is the worst job ever.

Dancing with Eugene isn’t so bad you decide. It’s a nice break from all the forced flirting and extremely dull conversations you’ve had to put up with all evening. And despite the fact that you’d much rather be dancing with someone else, it’s still a pleasant activity. Moreover, after Mando’s warning, Eugene is back to being a gentleman and keeping his hands in polite territory. He does seem to be enjoying the dancing himself, quite a lot by the expression on his face, although every once in a while his confidence seems to fade for a moment.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Eugene looks at you quizzically.

“Alright,” you agree, curious.

“Are you and the Mandalorian involved? Romantically, I mean?” He looks nervous as he asks this.

“Do you think I would have agreed to this date if we were?” You deflect his question somewhat because you find that you don’t really want to admit that there’s nothing between you and Mando. Especially because it feels like you’ve been growing closer. You think about when he insisted on buying you the dress earlier today, and how special that felt, definitely not something a friend would do. Even tonight, there is this energy between you and Mando that you can’t deny, nevermind that you’re technically on a date with Eugene.

“He seems extremely protective of you.” Eugene replies.

You shrug lightly, “He is.”

“You know, if you wanted something else, a different life, I could make that happen for you,” Eugene looks at your earnestly, “After tonight, I’m going to be an even wealthier man. I would treat you like a princess.”

“Eugene,” you sigh, “I appreciate the offer, but-”

“Don’t answer yet,” he insists, “Think about it. Please.” He pulls you in closer to him so that you’re dancing cheek to cheek. You know he means it to be romantic but you feel nothing. There’s nothing to think about.

When the music ends, you feel relieved that you can put some space between the two of you. You’re turning to look for Mando when unexpectedly you hear a loud crash followed by blaster fire. As if he materialized out of nowhere, Mando is at your side pulling you to the floor and covering you with his body.

“I’ve got you,” Mando says, holding you close with one arm as the other holds his blaster. Your heart is racing and you hear the commotion of many people shouting, rushing feet, and general mayhem. You pull yourself tighter under Mando, squeeze your eyes shut, and try to keep as still as you can. Suddenly, Mando lifts off you slightly and fires three shots in rapid succession.

“It’s alright,” He tells you, “I took care of them. Everything is alright.”

“You’re sure?” Your voice comes out shaky and high-pitched.

“Hey, look at me, come on, look at me” Mando’s voice is soft and comforting, and you tip your head up and open your eyes to look at his visor. “You’re safe, no one will hurt you.”

“Thank you, Mando,” you breathe, feeling relief flood your body. Even though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s looking back at you and it’s soothing.

“You have to let go of me now, cyar’ika, so I can help you up off this floor.” His voice is still soft and you can hear a lightness to it now. You hadn’t realized but you have a death grip on the material of his thick protective shirt on the side of his body. Chuckling weakly at yourself, you release him and he climbs off you before reaching down to pull you back to your feet.

“That was incredible shooting, Mando!” Eugene can’t hide how impressed and excited he.

“I’ll say it was!” the casino owner from before, Mr. Belvers, is coming over to offer his praise to Mando too. He gives Mando’s hand a hearty shake and then raises his voice to address the party, “Folks! Everything looks to be all safe now, thanks to this heroic Mandalorian!”

The partygoers erupt in applause and for the next several minutes, people are coming up to thank Mando personally. You’re glad to see Mando get appreciation he deserves for saving everyone, but from his body language, you think he seems a bit embarrassed by all the attention.

“Who were they?” You turn and ask Mr. Belvers.

“Some thugs who have been plaguing the casinos for weeks now. I think they came here tonight trying to rob people of their valuables. By the way, there is a reward for their capture and I’ll see to it that those credits are yours, sir.” He says this last part directly to Mando.

Din thanks the man and gives him a small card with his guild information, explaining how best to pay him. Now that the danger in the room has cleared, quite literally by casino workers who’ve come to take away the bodies of the dead men, people are starting to go back to the party. These people are so wealthy and spoiled that these violent men and the Mandalorian who dispatched them are already just an amusing anecdote to be shared over cocktails. He is so ready to leave this place. Din looks over to you and sees that while you’re calmer now, you are still visibly shaken from the intrusion of the would-be robbers. He wonders sheepishly if maybe he scared you a little too by yanking you to the ground so quickly, but it was pure instinct to protect you. Nitwit Eugene is rambling on about what an exciting evening it’s been to whoever will listen, completely oblivious to your discomfort. Din decides Eugene’s gotten more than his money’s worth and he’s taking you home right now.

“It’s time for us to leave.” Din’s voice is stern as he steps closer to you and Eugene, not caring that he’s interrupting the man.

“So soon, the party is still going-” Eugene tries to protest, but when he sees Din’s rigid posture, he trails off.

“I am rather tired, Eugene,” you say, and then lower your voice “Besides, it will be better to leave them wanting more.” Din watches as you bat your eyelashes at the man and give him a soft smile, and then like magic, Eugene is agreeing to leave. Din does have to admire your skill at using your feminine wiles to get men to do your bidding. He also knows that if you ever choose to try that with him, he’ll be putty in your hands. He smiles at the thought, but it’s short-lived as soon as he sees Eugene slide his arm around your waist again as he steers you towards the exit. Din tromps after the two of you, at least this stupid job is almost over.

You’re close to Eugene’s place and you’re feeling quite glad that this fake date is almost over. You just want to get the child and hurry back to the Crest so Mando can fly you away from here. Eugene is wittering on telling you how great you were and what a wonderful pair you make, but you’re only barely listening to him. Blessedly when you get to Eugene’s door, Mando is all business.

“It’s time to make the final transfer of credits,” Mando tells Eugene.

“Of course,” Eugene replies, taking out his holopad and completing the necessary functions. “Thank you again, you were both very impressive.”

Eugene opens the door and you and Mando wait for a few minutes until he returns with the little one who is sound asleep. He hands the child to Mando and then turns to you, “I’d like a moment alone to speak to you before we say goodnight.”

“Eugene, I think I did everything you wanted tonight, but our fake date is over.” You say pointedly.

“Please, it will only take a moment.” He looks at Mando, “Please.”

“Fine,” you say and give Mando a small nod. He doesn’t exactly give you any privacy, but Mando does take a few steps away and turns his body slightly so he’s no longer facing you head on.

Eugene takes your hand in his and says in a soft voice, “Please, tell me that you’ve thought about my offer?”

“There’s nothing for me to think about; I belong with them,” you tell him as you pull your hand from his grasp and gesture towards Mando and the child.

“But there’s so much more I can do for you, I can give you more than he can. I can give you a safe home, beautiful clothes and jewelry, you’ll never want for anything.” Eugene must think you’re completely shallow and nothing but a gold digger. “And, I would worship you.” He’s really piling it on thick now.

“Eugene, you don’t even know me, and if you did, you would know that I’m not interested in that life,” you state firmly, “I think it’s time to say goodbye. I wish you all the best with your business.” You turn to go but Eugene reaches out for your arm. Fortunately Mando is already back at your side and he brushes Eugene’s arm away roughly as he says,

“She said no.” Din turns to escort you away, placing his arm around your waist, mimicking Eugene’s earlier touch. It means he’s holding you much closer to his body than he has before when he usually just places a palm on the small of your back. He feels you relax into his touch and for the first time this evening, he feels a sense of rightness. Still though, Eugene’s words I can give you more than he can are ringing in his ears and his self-doubt makes him sigh.

He waits until you are far enough away so that Eugene cannot hear him and in a small voice, Din forces himself to ask you, “You’re certain you don’t want to stay? He did make you a good offer.”

“What? No, I absolutely don’t want to stay with Eugene.” Your answer is swift and a bit shocked.

“I would understand if you did.” Din says, his voice still soft and trying to hide his emotion.

“Mando, do you want me to stay?” You stop and turn to face him so you can look directly at his visor, your face openly displaying your displeasure at his words.

“No,” he says strongly, “I don’t. Not at all. But it would be wrong of me to hold you back if you wanted to leave.”

You slip your hand into his and look at him with soft eyes as you say, “Mando, I don’t want to leave you, or the child. I’m happy with you both, happier than I’ve been in a long time. Eugene is wrong; he doesn’t know what you can give me.”

Din’s heart pounds at your words, as he says, “I’m glad,” he pauses just for a second before he tells you, “I don’t want you to leave us.” He gives your hand a small squeeze and turns to continue walking.

“Besides, there’s no way I could stay with a man I’m not attracted to in the slightest.” Your voice has a lighter tone to it and it breaks a bit of the tension.

“He wasn’t that ugly,” Din shrugs and you laugh in response.

“No, it wasn’t really about his looks, just the overall way he carried himself. I prefer a man with more confidence.” You say.

“Confidence is attractive.” Din agrees with you.

“Yeah, it is. I like a man who can walk into a room and earn everyone’s respect just by the way he holds himself. That’s incredibly attractive.” You give him a slight side-glance as you say this. “But if we’re being shallow, then I also wasn’t physically attracted to Eugene either.”

“Why not?” Din’s curiosity is peaked.

“He was much too skinny.” You wrinkle your nose a bit as you say this.

“You like chubby men?” Din chuckles, and while he’s not chubby, he thinks of his own stomach which isn’t quite as flat as it used to be when he was younger.

“I like bigger men,” you clarify, “Men who are broader, more muscular. Although chubby is cute too. When I cuddle with a guy, I want something to cuddle in to.”

“Is that so?” It’s not lost on Din that what you’ve just described is essentially him and he can’t deny how much he likes hearing that. Plus, now he’s imagining what it would be like to cuddle with you. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that thought however, because you’re giggling at something.

“Well and then there was the worst part, his name,” you say rather playfully.

“What was wrong with his name?” Din’s never thought about a name being part of someone’s attractiveness.

“Honestly, I don’t think I could seriously moan out Eugene in a moment of passion.” You’re consumed by giggles at the idea.

Din is stunned by what you’ve just said and all he can think about is what your voice might sound like if you were to moan out his name, his real name. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to need to respond to you as you’re still wracked with laughter.

“Oh no!” You stop laughing and gasp, “I didn’t think.”

“What?” He has no idea what could be bothering you.

“Your name isn’t Eugene, is it?” Your eyes are wide as you look at him.

Din lets out a loud laugh at how comically horrified you look at the prospect. He’s still chuckling as he tells you, “Hell no.”

“Thank the Maker,” you mutter under your breath, making Din laugh again.

You’ve made your way back to the Razor Crest now and it isn’t until you have to let go of him so that he can open the ramp, that you realize you’ve been holding Mando’s hand this entire time. It felt so natural and easy to walk holding his hand, and you hope he felt the same way. You watch as he tucks the child into his pram for the night. You should probably go get yourself ready for bed, but you want to keep talking to Mando.

“May I ask you a question?” You say as he turns back towards you.

“Of course.” He nods to you.

“Why were you so adamant about no kissing tonight? I mean not that I wanted to kiss Eugene,” you make a face at the idea, “But, it seemed to really bother you?”

“Oh” Is all that he says and then he looks away slightly. You wait patiently but for a while it seems as though that might be the only answer you get, until he finally says, “I didn’t want to see him kiss you. I don’t want to see any man kiss you.”

The air between you feels suddenly charged, and you look into his visor where you think his eyes are, and you can’t help yourself from asking, “Why not?”

“Because I can’t kiss you.” Mando admits.

“Do- do you want to kiss me?” You can’t believe you’re daring to ask him that but you need to know.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he says and you can hear frustration in his tone, “I shouldn’t and I can’t.”

“I would like to kiss you, but only if it’s something you want too,” you admit to him softly.

“I do want to kiss you,” Mando sighs and he moves towards you slightly but then holds himself in check.

“So Mandalorians don’t kiss? I just want to understand, I don’t want to pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do or that goes against your beliefs,” you explain, wanting him to understand that you respect his creed. You can’t deny how much you want to feel closer to him and show him how you feel, but the last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable or do something he’ll regret.

“They do, there are… loopholes, but I- I’ve never-, I want to, but-” Mando shifts his feet and looks down.

“It’s ok, I understand.” You’re quiet for a moment and you think perhaps you should just drop this. But then you can’t stop yourself from asking, “What about the Keldabe Kiss? Didn’t you say there was something softer?” Your face heats up as you remember that moment well; you’ve thought about it often.

“You remembered that?” Mando says in a low voice.

“It was pretty unforgettable, Mando,” you reply with a smile.

“There is a softer version. I could show you. If you’d let me.” His voice sounds hopeful.

“I’d like that.”

He steps closer to you then and seems to stare at your face for a long moment until you decide to close the distance between you two. You’re so close you can hear him breathing. He reaches up and places his large hands on either side of your face, holding you still, as he slowly brings his helmet down to touch your forehead. When he finally makes contact, you hear him let out a shaky breath. You bring your hands to his waist and pull him in a little closer to you as you maintain contact with him. While this isn’t what you pictured when you thought of kissing him, you can’t deny how intimate and special it feels. Just from the deliberate way that Mando is holding you, tells you how important this is for him. You stay like that holding each other and feeling suspended in time.

“I know this isn’t the same as real kissing,” Mando says, “but I like holding you like this. I’ve thought about doing this a lot.” His voice is so soft you almost feel like you imagined his confession.

“I like it too,” you tell him. You’re about to tell him how much you’ve thought about being held by him as well, when suddenly the child’s cries fill the air. Just like that, the moment between you and Mando is gone and you hurry over to pick up the little one and soothe him.

“I guess I should go get us on our way. Besides, he always sleeps better when we’re in hyperspace.” Din takes a step towards the ladder, but then pauses before coming over to you and dropping his helmet down onto your forehead again for just a few seconds. It’s a small gesture, but his heart soars at being able to do it. He gives the child a comforting pat on the back before turning away and heading to the cockpit, his head full of thoughts of you.

P.S. Don’t think that you missed hearing him call you cyar’ika, you’ll be sure to ask him about it later ;)

--------‐------------------------------------Thank you for reading! Here's the link to Chapter 5 Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in later chapters.

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

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javier-pena · 3 years

Text

bloodstain

Chapter 2 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Rating: Mature

Notes: First, let me start with saying that at this point taking a bullet for Dani @javierpcna doesn’t feel like it would be enough. She literally drops everything whenever I send her a new or revised chapter to look over and i cannot thank her enough! I kinda surprised myself with how quickly I finished this chapter, but that’s also thanks to Dani because the highlight of my day is sending her small snippets of what I’ve written and having her reply with “?????”. I also want to thank all of you who read the first chapter and left comments and sent messages, it means the world to me! I was so nervous about sharing this with you all, but I’m so glad I did. And finally, let me end this with saying happy birthday, Chrisann @darksber!!! I hope you have a fun birthday and I hope you enjoy the second chapter as much as you enjoyed the first one.

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The snow comes over night. The cold, clean smell is the first thing your mind registers, even before it has time to make you feel confused about the strange bedsheets wrapped around you. And then you remember.

The screams.

The blaster shots

The fire, the blazing heat engulfing you, burning your skin.

Those men on their speeder bikes, laughing, looting, taking whatever the fuck they want.

And you, unable to stop them.

The feeling of cold, all-consuming despair makes a shiver run down your spine, makes you curl up in a tight ball beneath your blanket and shake so violently it makes you feel sick. Then you cry, and with the tears comes the heat until you’re so hot you feel sweat collect at the nape of your neck and run down your back in icy beads. After yesterday, you hadn’t expected there to be any tears left, but there are, so many, and they don’t stop, they seem to be endless, like a river flowing, rushing, tumbling over rocks and down a precipice, drowning everything in its way.

You hate those men, you loathe them, you want them dead, torn apart by wild animals, you want them dead after they beg you for their miserable lives, you want them dead and forgotten. That anger and that lust for revenge that seem to take up every cell and atom in your body are what finally helps you to stop crying. They don’t help you to calm yourself – you are anything but calm – but they help you to focus your rage on one goal: kill them all.

Because with the memories of the pain and the despair and the utter helplessness you felt yesterday (and still feel today) comes the memory of him. The Mandalorian. And remembering him means remembering the hope you felt when he offered his services, when he pledged himself to your cause. Shit. You shake your head. He did no such thing. He accepted a job. He only cares about the money, he doesn’t care about the cause. Yes, he will help you achieve your goal, but he’s emotionally detached from it. And you need to remember that. You need to remember it for your own sake because as soon as you assume anything else, it’ll get messy.

And he terrifies you. He terrifies you so much, especially in the light of day. Because the morning sun makes him feel real, solid, and so much more dangerous. And you have a feeling you shouldn’t keep him waiting.

You finally sit up and roll your neck and shoulders to relieve the pain the previous day’s labors have left behind. You couldn’t defend yourself against the Mandalorian, even if the muscles in your body weren’t screaming with pain. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You don’t know why you would trust a complete stranger like that after everything that has happened to you, why you would trust a complete stranger who could snap your neck like a dry twig. Being around him feels like being constantly held at gunpoint. One wrong move and you’re dead.

But you need him.

Maker, you need him.

You get out of bed and stretch, then run your hand over your face to dry it off. There is a bowl of water on a small table next to the bed. You have to break the thin layer of ice that has formed on the surface, and when you splash it on your face, it is freezing, but at least it makes your burning cheeks feel numb and it eases the stinging in your eyes. You know you look a mess, but you don’t care. You get dressed in your soot-blackened clothes and then leave the small room. You have no idea if you’ll ever sleep in a bed again.

***

The morning air is icy cold. Two suns have risen, but the third one still hides behind the trees. The air is foggy, misty, and clouds of smoke pass you by. The settlement is already busy. In a shop next to the inn, a man heckles with the vendor in a raised voice. Two farmers lead a small herd of tauntauns down the street, while everyone tries to get out of their way. In the distance, a child is crying. It smells like fire and snow and life. You hate it.

The everyday noises are overwhelming to you; the melody of a hammer hitting metal in a nearby forge makes your skull vibrate, the voices of people talking makes you want to cover your ears with your hands and yell at them to shut up, the reverberations of the tauntauns’ claws against the frozen ground makes you want to take cover somewhere and hide until nightfall.

But you don’t run or hide or even just turn around to take a breath. Instead, you focus your attention on the Mandalorian.

He is waiting for you outside the inn. A thin layer of snow has collected on his shoulders, a sign he’s been standing motionless for a while. Even though the morning sunlight is pale and makes everything look hazy, you see him clearly. So clearly that you have to squint your eyes when you look at him. His beskar armor glistens from the sunlight it reflects, so much that the people on the street turn their heads to look at him. The wisps of smoke rushing past shroud him, but it’s not enough to dim the dancing shimmers. He carries a long staff strapped to his back, a kind of spear you’re pretty sure he didn’t have with him the previous night at the inn. And his face is hidden behind the helmet again, which probably shouldn’t surprise you, but it does. All of this just makes him look wrong. He looks so out of place standing in the middle of this dirt-poor settlement it makes you want to pretend you don’t have anything to do with him.

So you focus on what’s behind him. In one hand, he holds the reins of three orbaks, in the other a small bundle. He presses it against his chest like he’s holding a small child, not a lifeless piece of cloth. The orbaks are big, wooly beasts, dark grey in color, with two long, dangerously pointy tusks hanging from their mouths. Two of them have saddles strapped to their backs, the third one is laden with crates, saddle bags, even two long guns. The more you look at it, the more weapons you spot. What does one man need so many for? So much baggage will just slow you down. The bandits already have a day’s head start and travelling on heavily loaded orbaks will give them even more of an advantage. But this is probably the best the Mandalorian could do – the settlement is so poor, not even merchants sell speeder bikes – who would be able to afford them?

You shudder and wrap your arms around yourself, painfully aware that the fire destroyed everything except for the clothes you’re wearing. But they’re not enough to protect you from the bitter cold. You can see your breath hovering in a pale cloud in front of your face when you exhale slowly, you can feel the snowflakes on your bare lower arms as you walk toward the Mandalorian. You have no idea how he can stand there like the cold is nothing to him. Beskar doesn’t protect against low temperatures. To you, this is just further proof of how much he’s not human.

“Here,” he says, as you stop in front of him, holding the bundle out to you.

“What’s this?” you ask with a small nod at him, the bundle, and the orbaks. You don’t take it.

The Mandalorian looks behind him, then back at you. “Supplies,” he says.

You take the bundle from him and untie the chord that’s tightly wound around it. Folding back the thin cloth, you unwrap a long, dark brown leather cloak with fur linings and a thick, woolen scarf. The scarf looks itchy but feels very soft against your skin and the coat lies heavy in your arms, like a dead animal. The sight of these clothes leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and you don’t move to put them on. Instead, you stand there, pressing the unwrapped bundle against your chest, and look at the Mandalorian with raised eyebrows.

“What’s this?” you repeat.

He doesn’t reply, just nods and makes a gesture with his now empty hand, motioning you to hurry up.

You don’t. You just look at him, shivering more and more with each passing second. You’re not sure if it’s from the cold or from the anger you’ve been feeling since yesterday, since waking up this morning, since unwrapping the bundle; everything is stoking up the fire, feeding your flaming rage

“Listen,” you start. You try not to let your feelings get the better of you, but it’s impossible. You don’t quite know yourself why this small gesture enrages you as it does, you just know you need to set some boundaries right now. “I don’t need your pity,” you continue. “I don’t need you to look out for me. I can take care of myself.”

The Mandalorian huffs. “This isn’t a gift,” he says, his voice completely level. “I’m paying for it with your money. I’m not forcing you to wear it, but if you go on the journey like that,” he nods at you, “you’ll freeze. You’re no use to me dead.”

You feel heat rush to your face and settle in your cheeks. Without another word you put on the coat and tie the scarf around your neck. The coat rests heavy on your shoulders, weighing you down. It’s a size too big, but snug, and you stop shivering immediately. You run your left hand along the right sleeve under the pretense of fixing it, but you just want to feel the material under your fingers. It’s softer than it looks, which just serves to make you feel embarrassed and … stupid.

You feel stupid, so, so stupid. Did you really expect him to make you a gift? To look out for you? To care for you? You hired him to do a job and he’s just making sure you stay alive long enough to pay him. Much like the owner of a racing stable would do with his fathier. You scold yourself for having misread the situation. You blame it on the exhaustion you still feel, on the trauma you lived through, on the need for human connection you had no idea you even felt. There is no way to come out of this situation without feeling like a fool, so you just decide to ignore it. After all, it’s best if you just forgot about the whole thing. All you need to do in future is to be more careful around him so you don’t misinterpret his intentions again.

“Supplies?” you ask to distract yourself.

You wish you could see his face when he says, “Were you just going to follow them on foot with no food or weapons?” Because it doesn’t sound as if he’s mocking you, even though he should be. Hell, you should be mocking yourself. But he just sounds genuinely curious, as if this is a discussion about a topic you’re both not emotionally invested in, not a question of life and death.

“No,” you answer slowly, then look away. You have to admit you hadn’t thought about it yet, you were too focused on the idea of hunting those men down that you didn’t even consider you needed tools, supplies, food, and a means of transportation. “Thank you,” you add.

The Mandalorian gives you a curt nod, accepting your words of gratitude. You’re glad he doesn’t press the subject, any subject really.

Without him, you would have been dead within a day.

***

It is still snowing when you and the Mandalorian leave the settlement behind. As you begin your journey into the unknown, tiny snowflakes settle in the fur of your orbak, making it appear white instead of dark grey. It blends in perfectly with your surroundings, where everything is light shades of blue, grey, and brown. And white, so much white. You squint your eyes and yet the light still stings to the point you tear up. You envy the Mandalorian his tinted visor and you wish you had something similar to protect yourself. Alvorine’s three suns hang low, their pale blue light filtered through hazy clouds. Everything you see is blurred and too bright to look at directly – it makes you feel vulnerable and exposed. Even as you enter the cover of the trees, their bare branches do little to help keep out the light and the snow and so you lower your eyes to your reddened hands holding your orbak’s reins as you trust the Mandalorian to lead the way.

The air is cold this morning, so cold you tie your new scarf over your mouth and nose and still feel it sting in your throat. Your face, still raw from crying, stings too. Your hands are frozen shut around the reins and you can’t feel your fingers. When you try to move them, the action is painfully slow. You shiver despite the heavy coat on your shoulders as you sit hunched over to give the cold air less opportunity to cover your body with icy touches. You would never admit to it out loud because you’ve already embarrassed yourself enough for one day, but the Mandalorian was right – you would have frozen to death within a few hours of leaving the shelter of the settlement.

You raise your head briefly to look at him riding ahead of you, but he is the brightest object in a 10-mile radius, you think, brighter than your orbak’s fur or the snow-covered ground. Back in the settlement, you already noticed how the suns’ light reflects off his polished beskar armor, but out here in the forest with nothing around to distract your gaze, he is like a homing beacon, like a bright, blazing fire lit in complete darkness. This brazen display makes you shiver; he is on top of the food chain, too quick and powerful and deadly to hide his presence. He could be spotted from miles away by someone on a sentry tower and yet the person keeping watch wouldn’t stand a chance. The Mandalorian would catch them sooner or later, no matter how well they were trying to hide. Nothing can escape him, so there is no reason for him to hide his presence, to sneak from cover to cover like a thief in the night.

He frightens you.

What is also bearing down on you is the silence surrounding him, you and your orbaks. Yes, there is the sound of their hooves against the frozen ground, the swoosh of their fur every time they shake their heads, the soft thud whenever they brush up against a branch, making snow glide to the ground. But that’s it. That’s all you hear. The Mandalorian travels in complete silence. His armor doesn’t squeak or thump. You cannot hear the sound of his slow, steady breathing. Even his hands lie completely silently on the nape of his orbak’s neck, the reins resting against the worn leather of his gloves. And you envy him those gloves because the further you travel into the forest, the colder it gets, and the stiffer and more unresponsive your fingers get.

You cannot recall the last time you felt this uncomfortable. You wish there was something to distract you from – well – everything. Yes, you’re grateful the Mandalorian doesn’t ask you personal questions because you buried your old life beneath wet soil and dirt yesterday, and with it you buried any desire to share it with a complete stranger. He also doesn’t ask you about the men you’re hunting, and you feel like he doesn’t have to because he just knows. Maybe he talked to the people back at the settlement, maybe it’s the years of experience he’s had hunting people for a living or maybe it’s just instinct – he knows where he needs to be going, he knows what kind of equipment to bring along, and he knows what the best strategy is to catch his quarry.

You don’t know any of these things. And the more you stray from the bare minimum of human civilization and into the wilderness of Alvorine, the more you realize you wouldn’t stand a chance without the Mandalorian. You would’ve frozen to death if he hadn’t given you the coat. Or you would have starved, or died from exhaustion from trying to carry all your supplies yourself. You would have gotten lost and eaten alive by a wild beast. Or you would, by some miracle, have caught up with the men, but would’ve gotten killed by them because you didn’t bring a weapon. By the look of it, the Mandalorian brought enough for a small army. And the more you think about it, the more you are prepared to admit that you were never seriously planning on going after the bandits. You are prepared to admit you were just looking for a way out so you wouldn’t have to live with the pain. One or two rash decisions made from a place of hurt and despair, one or two unplanned steps can mean death on Alvorine. While wallowing in your revenge fantasies, you weren’t thinking about Brea – you were just thinking about yourself.

But somehow – and this time you’re convinced it’s because of his instincts – the Mandalorian offered you a chance at success, one you might not even have wanted. He listened to the people in that inn and decided helping you with your cause is the right job for him. You’ve never heard of a Mandalorian like that. You always assumed they were only interested in money or the thrill of chasing down the rich and the powerful, in letting them know that no amount of credits can keep them safe. But here he is, content with spending a week or more in the forests of Alvorine, hunting down base criminals for the ridiculous amount of 240 credits. It doesn’t add up. And you would ask him about it if he wasn’t an unapproachable, withdrawn man, covered in impenetrable armor. You would ask him if he didn’t terrify you so much.

You wish you could talk to him about … something, you just don’t know about what.

But he makes that decision for you. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

His voice cuts so unexpectedly through the silence that you flinch. It somehow surprises you that he is real and not just a concept you’ve made up in your mind, and idea to help you live out your fantasies of revenge and vengeance.

When you don’t answer, he turns his head to look at you. You squint when you return his gaze, trying to make up your mind whether you are hungry or not (something that feels impossible when all you are is terribly, terribly cold), but then he pulls on the reins of his orbak and brings it to a halt in the middle of the path. He glides down from the animal in one swift movement; a small cloud of freshly fallen snow rises up when his feet hit the ground but there is still no sound and this is starting to unnerve you. It takes him a few steps until he’s next to you, the top of his head reaching your shoulder, even though you’re still mounted high on your orbak, and then he says in a rough, almost unkind tone of voice, “I asked you a question”.

And you remember the deal, you remember having agreed to doing as he tells you. It’s just, you don’t have an answer for him. So you just shrug.

He grabs the rein of your orbak and you finally – finally! – hear his movements make a sound, a low creak as the leather of his glove brushes against the leather of the bridle. The orbak shakes its shaggy head but he doesn’t flinch. His visor is directed at you and you know he expects an answer from you. He’s growing impatient, you can tell from the way his shoulders tense as he lets his gaze wander over your body.

“You’re hypothermic,” he observes, and as the words leave his mouth, so does the air you’ve been holding in and you start shaking uncontrollably.

Now that he’s pointed it out, there is no denying it. You’re cold, so, so cold, frozen and raw, you can’t feel your own lips, your nose, your cheeks. Your fingers are lifeless lumps against the coarse fur of your orbak. If the animal would decide to bolt at this very moment, you wouldn’t be able to hold it back. You’re not even sure you could climb down from the beast right now. Of all the deadly dangers of Alvorine it’s the cold that has finally gotten to you. It’s laughable, and you would laugh, if you could feel your face.

“Can you dismount?” he asks you then.

This is a question you can answer. “I think so,” you say, even though you know you can’t. Your legs are like two solid bricks of ice, too stiff to be moved.

“Do it then,” he says, and it sounds so much like a challenge that you’re determined to show him you can do it.

He doesn’t watch your pathetic display though. He lets go of the rein and walks to the third orbak that is carrying most of your supplies. You’re grateful for that because as soon as you try to dismount, you feel your body tense even more until you glide down from the orbak with a disgraceful plop and land in the soft snow with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. The sounds you make draw the attention of the Mandalorian back to you, but he doesn’t rush to your side to offer you help. Instead, he turns his attention back to the task at hand, looking through one of the bags strapped to the pack animal. You’re convinced he rolls his eyes under the cover of the helmet.

You try to get up, and you manage after two fruitless attempts. Your legs are shaking, but at least they’re supporting your weight. Walking on them is another topic you’re not prepared to cover yet. And then you feel it again, that hot sting of embarrassment you felt this morning, trying to make itself known by speeding up your heart rate and adding a feeling of nausea to your general discomfort. You push it down without batting an eyelash. There is no reason to feel like this, especially if you compare yourself to the Mandalorian. Not everyone can be a ruthless killing machine, immune to environmental influences.

Then he’s back by your side, and with a gruff, “Hold this,” he pushes a heating pad into your hands. You’re not sure at first if it’s switched on because you don’t feel anything, but when you move it around in your hands looking for the on button you notice it’s cranked up to the highest setting.

“You need to tell me when you’re cold,” the Mandalorian continues in the same gruff tone of voice, while he unscrews a flask.

Once it’s opened, he pushes it into your hand with such force you stumble backwards. Your whole body tenses at the contact and you realize you’re completely alone with him. There is not another living soul around for miles except for the three animals next to you, and they won’t come to your aid if he suddenly decides to kill you. And he could. He is so strong; you had no idea how strong until he pushed you back like that with a motion that didn’t seem to take any effort at all. And with another effortless motion, he could close a hand around your neck and squeeze until there is no air left in your body. You wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Drink,” he orders.

You do. It’s a hot liquid – tea, you think – but with a bitter taste to it. It warms you up instantly, much quicker than the heating pad does. You still can’t feel your fingers.

“Just tell me next time,” he repeats. “Losing a finger to hypothermia is a nasty business.”

And now you do feel embarrassed again. You’re a burden, you’re slowing him down. You already lost a quarter of an hour because you can’t handle a bit of cold. It’s not surprising he usually works alone. No one is able to keep up with him, least of all you in your weakened, exhausted state.

But you can’t turn back. You refuse to give up so easily.

You nod to show him you’ve understood his instructions. Then you let your gaze wander around, looking for something to distract you. You can feel heat rising to your cheeks, and it has nothing to do with the warm drink or the heating pad. You know it doesn’t because you’re still shivering. But you’re not going to apologize to him. For some reason, you feel like he would just brush it off, act like it’s no big deal. But it is to you, and you wouldn’t be able to bear him acting nonchalantly. The other possible response to an apology from you would be him trying to comfort you and you definitely. don’t. want. that. The mere thought makes your heart beat so rapidly it feels like it’s going to explode any second. The mere thought of one of his hands resting on your shoulder in a comforting gesture makes you want to run. You don’t want him to care for you because it’s entirely at odds with his character, his whole being. He is here to hunt and kill, not to hold and comfort. And this is what you need right now – a killer, not a caretaker.

You take a few steps, walk past him toward a fallen tree to calm your nerves. The deep breaths of cold air you take make you cough, but he doesn’t even flinch. Good. You’re usually not like this, you’re usually not someone who can’t take care of themselves. After all, you’ve lived on Alvorine your entire life, you know how harsh the winters can be and how dangerous the cold is. But yesterday’s events broke something in you, and the realization that you might never recover from it begins to dawn on you, take hold of you with a grip icier than the snow clinging to your worn-out boots. The weight of what happened to you slams into you with full force and you have to lean against a tree, its rough bark scraping uncomfortably against your cold, bare hand.

And then you see it – the bloodstain. One single, impossibly small, impossibly red bloodstain on the virgin-white snow. And everything stops.

You lurch forward and fall to your knees to examine it more closely. Yes, it’s definitely blood. You raise your head to look around, but you can’t spot anything out of the ordinary, just trees and snow and your own footprints. Your breath comes in short, labored bursts, and you suddenly don’t feel cold anymore. In fact, you don’t feel anything at all.

“What is it?”

The Mandalorian is there, crouching by your side. You point to the small, red dot, and he raises his hand to touch his helmet. His body grows rigid as he examines it, all the while not moving an inch. You don’t want to hear his verdict, don’t want to hear the conclusion he’s come to. That bloodstain stirs something inside you, a panic with such deep roots you feel it taking over your entire body, growing like weed, choking all other feelings, all life out of you.

Something in your body language must have given away this panic you feel, because suddenly the Mandalorian turns to you and says, “I need you to calm down.”

You nod, unable to speak. Then you turn your head away from him and throw up.

“Hey,” he says, and something in his voice catches your attention. It sounds almost … soft.

You turn back to him, running your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you apologize.

“I’m going to look around,” he tells you. Then he raises his hand as if to comfort you, but you flinch away from him. His hand hovers outstretched between the two of you for a brief moment before he lowers it again. “Just stay here. Try to eat something. I won’t be long.”

He pushes himself off the ground, towering over you. You stand up too, your legs shaking, but before you can embarrass yourself more by stumbling into him, he takes off in a slow-paced run and you stare after him until the trees swallow him up. And then you’re alone. Alone with three orbaks and your panicked mind.

It’s not Brea’s blood, you tell yourself.

But what if it is? a different voice asks.

It’s not. It snowed during the night, and we’re too far behind those bandits. It can’t be hers.

It can, you know it can. They could have left her here to die.

There would be more tracks.

Then why are you panicking? Why did you throw up?

You can’t argue with that. Instead, you sink to the ground again, bury your head in your hands, and scream. You scream so loudly that even though the sound comes out muffled, the orbaks still move their heads nervously. A few trees away, a flock of birds takes off, chittering in disapproval. You scream until your lungs begin to burn, until your throat stings, until you feel like you’ve just sprinted ten miles. Then you grow quiet.

***

When the Mandalorian returns, it’s almost dark. You’re not freezing anymore because you spent the last two hours or so pacing up and down the path through the undergrowth you’ve made earlier, your mind racing with scenarios of him not returning before nightfall. You fear the nights on Alvorine and you know you should have told him about the dangers these forests hold. Because how could he have known that it’s almost impossible to survive a night out in the wilderness? Almost because if anyone could do it, it would be him.

When he returns, the pauldron on his right shoulder is smeared with dirt and his chest is heaving with silent pants, but he’s alone. You’re simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

“We’ll make camp here for the night,” he decides without so much as a greeting.

You open your mouth to tell him how dangerous that would be but then close it again when you remember the nearest settlement is miles and miles away and you wouldn’t reach it in time before nightfall. You don’t have any other choice.

He sends you to collect some wood while he moves to tie up the orbaks. You scold yourself for not having done that earlier when you were waiting for him, but you had hoped it wouldn’t take him quite as long and he would be back sooner. As you move around, picking up the driest branches you can find, you glance over at him from time to time. He is lost in his own task, tying the reins to nearby tree trunks, patting one orbak’s neck, then scratching another one’s muzzle. They trust him, stand completely still in his presence while he circles them, examining them for any injuries or anything that might cause them discomfort.

Finally, curiosity gets the better of you. “What did you find?” you ask, as you break a big, dead branch into two parts.

“Nothing,” he replies in his brusque fashion you’re slowly getting used to. “A dead animal.”

You nod, then focus on the task at hand. Your small discovery and subsequent … breakdown? … panic attack? … you don’t know what to call it, has already cost you so much time. You could’ve covered twice the distance today if he hadn’t stopped here because of you. But … this isn’t a rescue mission, you keep forgetting about that. This is a quest for revenge, and those bandits will be there, no matter how long it will take you to find them. It doesn’t matter if it takes you two days or two months to reach them.

“Did you eat?” the Mandalorian asks you, interrupting your train of thought.

You shake your head and he sighs. Then he reaches into one of the saddle bags and pulls out a ration pack, tossing it to you. He proceeds to clear away the snow around the small pile of wood you’ve collected before doing something with his arm, so flames shoot out of the vambrace, igniting the stack. You can’t help but stare in fascination because you’ve never seen anything like it.

It doesn’t take him long to get a fire going. You grab one of the two bundled up, coarse blankets from the pack orbak and spread it on the ground next to the heat source, huddling up close for warmth and protection. You tear open the ration pack and begin to eat.

“I should’ve told you before, but it’s dangerous out here at night.” Your mouth full, you watch as the Mandalorian sits down opposite you, the fire between you. The warmth spreading through your body and your steadily filling stomach make you talkative. “There’s monsters in these woods.”

He chuckles softly but you’re sure it’s just your imagination. There is no way you could’ve heard a sound like that over the crackling fire. But before you can ask him about it, he raises his hand to remove the dirty pauldron from his shoulder, and you’re so distracted by that piece of steel being lifted off the body it usually protects that you stop thinking altogether for a moment. It’s stupid, you know that, but a part of you still thinks he might be a machine, and seeing that pauldron being removed from his shoulder feels almost forbidden, like you’re the audience to some ancient, sacred ritual you have no right to observe. You lower your gaze to the flickering flames.

“I’ll keep an eye out for those monsters,” he assures you, and you’re not sure if he meant for it to sound mockingly, but it doesn’t.

You still don’t think he fully believes you.

“Alvorine is a dangerous planet,” you tell him in a quiet tone of voice. “It might not seem like it compared to what you’re used to, but to us the dangers are very real.” You’re still not looking at him, but there is no point – you can’t see his face anyway.

“I believe you,” he says. “But fire is usually enough to keep the monsters at bay.”

As a response, you nod, even though you’re not sure he’s watching you. So you finally raise your head again to look at him. The pauldron is back on his shoulder, but his gaze is directed at the orbaks.

“I’m going to feed them,” he tells you. “They’re getting restless. Try to get some sleep.”

You nod again and stretch out on the cold, hard ground. Shivering, you pull your coat tighter around yourself. The fire is barely warm enough to keep your fingers and toes from falling off, and once it dies down, there won’t be anything keeping you from freezing to death. Briefly, you’re considering pulling the blanket out from beneath you to use it as a cover, but then you wouldn’t have anything to protect you from the cold ground. With a sigh, you close your eyes, trying to ignore the discomfort. Instead, you focus on the sounds around you, on the branches brushing against each other when a cold breeze tears at them, on the orbaks huffing impatiently and almost nervously, and on the crackling fire, the heat that makes a piece of wood snap in half ever so often. And then you hear another sound, footsteps, and your eyes snap open again.

The Mandalorian towers over you, and it’s the first time you were able to hear him approach. Instead of feeling proud of yourself, you bolt upright, adrenaline pumping through your veins. Whatever happens next, you know you don’t stand a chance against him. He slowly leans down, and you try to get away from him, but your muscles are frozen stiff and don’t cooperate. His arms move as if to grab you and a strangled cry escapes your throat.

But it’s just a blanket, just the other blanket, and he wraps it tightly around your shoulders. “Here,” he says with a low grunt. If he noticed your alarm, he doesn’t comment on it.

You look at his helmet reflecting the light of the dancing flames, and you wish you knew what was going on beneath it. Is he offended? Annoyed? Or maybe just as cold and exhausted as you?

“What about you?” you ask, grabbing the coarse material to hold it tightly against your body.

“I’m not cold,” he answers, standing up again. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you before sunrise.”

You watch him walk back to the other side of the fire and settle down on the cold ground with just his cape to keep him warm. And for the first time since you met him, his stoic presence doesn’t fill you with dread or panic or trepidation – he just makes you feel calm.

tag list: @bella-ciao, @chattychell, @darksber, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @magicrowiswritingstuff, @mothandpidgeon, @mbpokemonrulez, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @mylifeofcalculatedchaos, @pescopadral, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #lmao i'm still a coward though and currently asleep #tw: flashing gif

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laurafett · 3 years

Text

Unfamiliar Fruit

PART TWO

Friends to lovers, sex pollen Boba Fett x f reader

Words: 6k

- You and Boba are guests in a palace on a different planet. The King serves you some strange food, with the intention of doing both of you a favour -

No mentions of pronouns, hair or skin color, sexuality. Minors, do NOT interact!!

Warnings: smut, fluff, age gap (reader is 18+), oral (m and f), face fucking, spit, cumplay, fingering, choking, slight innocent kink, slapping, degradation and praise kink, mirror sex

______________________________________________________________

With one hand, he pulled the door close behind him. A sigh escaped him while he looked at the maid in front of him. She was wearing something more casual this time, what showed that she also got caught off guard with the message. She waved her hand to signal him to follow her.

“Again, I'm really sorry. I know that this is probably a very bad time, but we wouldn't call you if it wasn't necessary. Also, no one answered when I knocked at your door, so I figured you were with your partner.” Her steps were big while she walked him to the communication center.

“It's not your fault. No need to apologize.” A hand ran over the bounty hunters face. It was hard for him to keep up with the woman in front of him. His erection was still very present and the pain made his legs ache with every new step.

He hadn't cum yet. When he touched himself and heard your orgasm through the comlink he thought he would, but then you said those words. Said you wanted him to touch you. His hand stopped in the second the last word left your mouth.

At first, he thought he was imagining things but he didn't. He heard your voice so loud and clear, the words repeated themselves in his head over and over again.

Never ever, in his entire time knowing you, would he have thought you liked him in the same way he does. But right now, a little spark of hope made its way into his heart. Sure, you were in ecstasy and still reeling from the affects of the fruit , but he would have been damned if he didn't even try to find out if you really meant what you said. And he did. Thank the Maker.

“How are the symptoms going so far? You don't look too bad but your partner?” Her questions cut through his thoughts. Boba drew his eyebrows together in confusion.

The woman's head turned around to look at him, after he stayed silent. “You know, from the fruits.”

“He knew what they were going to do to us?”

She laughed a little and looked back into the direction she was walking.

“Sure he did. He actually wanted to do you a favor after being away from your 'partner' for so long.”

His eyes widened at her words. This was what this all was about? The King thought you two were in a relationship? “Me and my partner are not together in that way. Why did he assume this?”

Her figure stopped for a second and turned back. The man could see the surprise in her blue eyes. “You two are not- Oh, Maker.” She cut herself off and thought about something. “We... we thought you two were... Oh no. I'm so sorry.”

Sorrowful eyes looked up at him.

“It was just... the way you talked about your partner and the way you two looked at each other... We really thought the two of you are in a relationship, that's why The King decided to get you those fruits.”

Her hands started to shake and he could see that her eyes started to tear up. Today was really not the day he wanted to deal with this.

“It's alright. Forget about it. Just take me to the call with my other partner.”

The maid nodded and started walking again. Both of them stayed silent for the rest of the walk. Boba was confused. Were his feelings for you so obvious that the King really thought you two had a romantic bonding? He told him about you, but he couldn't recall what exactly he said about you. Probably not much, after all of this was business.

When the two arrived at the communication system the woman walked away to give him some privacy. Fennec's face was simmering as a blues light in front of him as he approached the holograph in front of him.

“What's wrong?” His voice was annoyed. He didn't want to be here, he wanted to go back to you and finally do what he was wishing for, for so many nights.

“Hello to you too. I see you don't even wear your armor around here, it seems like you got comfortable.”

Boba rolled his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. He wasn't in the mood for this banthashit right now. “Just tell what you need. I don't have much time.”

“Busy, huh? I can see that.” Even though Fennec was just a hologram he saw that her eyes wandered down his body. A smirk played around her lips.

He realized that his whole body was on display for her and stepped closer to her face, covering everything underneath his shoulders.

“Fennec.” He sighed.

A light chuckle fell from her mouth. “Alright, alright. Do you remember the guy you made a contract with two months ago?”

The man brought his hand up over his mouth and thought for a second. His eyes wandered back to Fennec, the look in them telling her he had no idea.

Boba was good in what he did, he has always been. He kept track of the people he talked to, noted all of his partners down, had all the contracts sorted, he knew what he was doing. Just, in this moment he couldn't focus. It was hard for him to stand upright and follow Fennec's words.

“Great.” Her words drowned in sarcasm. “Kero Raff. The Twi'lek from Coruscant. You made a contract with him about the slaves on Tatooine. Some of your men would free them and he would take care of them when they arrive at his base. Remember?” He nodded. “Well, he isn't happy about the money we sent him, he wants more or he's out. He's wants a response, or he will hop of today.”

“How much more?” He leaned his hip against the table behind him. His intention was to finish this as fast as possible, not wanting to waste any more time.

“That's the problem. Wait a second I wrote down some calculations.”

Boba frowned and rubbed his eyes. This couldn't be real.

You were laying on your bed again, sweaty and shivering at the same time. The tears stopped some time ago but you were still not able to control your breathing properly. One of your hands was between your legs, trying to get another orgasm out of you but it just didn't work.

Blood was pumping quickly through your veins, the adrenaline making your body buzz. Every muscle was tense, like you were about to have the worst cramps in your life. The fingers in your wet cunt hurt from moving but you didn't stop, not wanting the pain to become even worse.

Your fingers slipped back inside your dripping hole. You grew even more wet with every passing second, you were sure the sheets under you were already soaked too. With a fast tempo you wanted to force yourself to have another climax, but without Boba talking to you, it felt like it was impossible.

His voice was like a song stuck in your head and you listened to it on repeat. The little pantings during his sentences, sounding like he forgot how to breath normally. Maker, nobody did to you what he did to you with only talking. Beside the fact that you fell for him a long time ago, his words were doing things to you you couldn't describe. There was something so arousing about him you weren't able to point out.

Maybe it was the fact that he told you that he wanted you, for quite some time now. You still debated with yourself if his confession was real or just something you made up in your head. Boba wasn't someone to talk about personal stuff. He rarely did it, even when it came to Fennec or you.

Your eyes squinted shut when you felt just the smallest amount of heat rising in your lower stomach. Trying to focus on the picture of Boba's head between your legs in your mind, you brought your second hand down to your core to start rubbing your clit.

Whispering his name, you did what he told you when you two masturbated on the comlink together. Imagining it was him, his hands inside of you and his dark brown eyes locked with yours. The movements of your hands got sloppier and finally you felt yourself getting close.

You recalled the conversation with him, replayed the way he called you 'Princess' and 'Little one' over and over again until you pushed yourself enough to let go. Silent moans filled the room and your body arched up. You felt yourself clenching around your fingers, while you rode out the light aftershocks.

This orgasm wasn't even close to the first one you had, way too weak and less helpful than the one you had with Boba guiding you through it.

You couldn't tell if the pain got less or if you just got numb after this amount of time. Both hands fell beside your head, not being able to keep them moving without getting a cramp. If Boba wouldn't come back soon, you would have to think about other options to get rid of the pain and to be honest the best idea you had by now was jumping off the damn balcony.

The bounty hunter was furious. They managed to build up a connection to the man and now he had to watch Fennec and Kero arguing. Boba suggested to just give him the money he asked for but his partner tried to talk him out of it. He couldn't tell how long this discussion was already going, but he sure knew that he was beyond pissed and fed up. His body was slightly shaking and he didn't know if it was because of the anger or the pain that still flowed through him.

“Enough!” He screamed at the two holograms in front of him. Both pairs of eyes looked at him, waiting for what he had to say. “I don't have the time nor do I have the nerve to keep listening to you two. Kero, I will give you twice as much credits if that's what you want.”

The Twi'lek with the light green skin started smirking and nodded. “This sounds like a fair deal.”

“Boba! What the hell?” Fennec protested against the man.

“Great. Fennec, write it down in my books. We will see each other soon.” And with that, he broke the connection and let out a deep sigh. He rubbed his hands over his head before he turned to leave the room.

The maid that led him here was still standing in the long corridor they walked through before. She smiled weakly at him and started walking him back to his chambers. Not a single word was spoken on the way back and this time it was Boba setting the pace, so she had to keep up.

His head was full and empty at the same time. He couldn't keep his thoughts away from you now that you were even closer to him than before. With every step closer to your room, his blood started to pump faster and his cock twitched at just the mere thought of you.

The two arrived back at the corridor where she picked him up some time ago. “Thank you.”

He said silent with his eyes locked to the door of your quarters.

The woman nodded and was about to walk away, when the bounty hunter snatched her arm to stop her. “It doesn't matter what happens or whoever may call tonight. I wish no further distribution.”

She nodded a second time..

“Yes, sir. I won't let it happen.” And with those last words she was gone. Boba's look fell on your door again and he rushed into its direction. He was about to open the entrance when angst made its way into his head.

He was gone for quite some time, what if you were able to get rid of the pain yourself? What if the pain got less and now you saw things in a different light? His hand drew away from the doorknob. You asked him to touch you, but you weren't in the right state of mind. Maybe you thought about it and came to the conclusion that it wasn't right to do this.

“Shit.” Boba whispered to himself. Since when was he thinking about such things? He never doubted himself in anything he did but you made him think of things he didn't even consider before. You made him ask himself about so many of his decisions. He didn't care about anyone's opinion until he met you. One day, you would be the death of him, he saw it as clear as water.

Still drowned in his own thoughts, he didn't realize how the door to your room got opened. You heard him swearing and thought he was about to return to you but after waiting some more moments, you got impatient and wanted to see what was taking him so long.

When you opened the door, his back was turned to you. You heard that he muttered something to himself but you couldn't make out what exactly. So you reached out to him, carefully touching his shoulder.

The man jumped in surprise and turned around, now looking at you. His breathing stopped when he saw that you were only in the green lingerie he caught you in before the dinner. Both of his eyes roamed your body up and down until they found yours again.

“Do you still want to...” You didn't finish the sentence, too afraid that he might have changed his mind.

Boba's eyes wandered back down to your breasts, his cock jumped at the sight in front of him. “Yes, fuck I-” But before he could keep talking, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into your room.

You pressed your lips on his and started kissing him as if it was the last thing you would ever do. His hands found their way to your waist, squeezing it. Your teeth bit his lower lip and tugged slightly while your hands went to his pants. One of them brushed his dick through the thin material and his hips jerked up at the feeling.

Breaking the kiss to get some air, you drew your face a little more away from him, his lips trying to chase yours. You smiled at him, finally able to open his trousers and letting them fall down to his feet. In a matter of seconds, Boba got rid of his shoes and pants just to bring his hands back to you, connecting his lips to yours again. Trying to signal him to pull off his shirt, you tugged at the hem of it and he broke the kiss to throw it off as fast as possible.

His big hands captured your face once more as he started to kiss you again. You let your hands glide over his chest and to the waistband of his, also black, briefs. Feeling his smile against your lips yours let go of his and made their way down his throat. A deep growl escaped him when you licked over his Adam's apple, feeling the vibration on your tongue.

Your mouth went deeper, starting to bite and lick over his collar bones. His eyes were pierced on you, watching every single movement you made. Your tongue moved over his chest, through the small patch of dark hair till down to his navel. Placing a light kiss just underneath it, your eyes went up to meet his while you settled yourself on your knees.

His dark pupils were even wider than normal and you could see the lust burning in them. Not breaking the eye contact, your mouth followed his happy trail, till you reached his briefs. A mischievous smile painted your lips when your fingers hooked around the waistband of his underwear. Not being able to wait any longer you pulled them down and Boba's cock sprung free.

With big eyes, you mustered his twitching member in front of you. He was thick, thicker than anyone else you ever been with. His length was a little bit more than average but you were sure that he knew how to use every single inch of it. The pubic hair around the base was dark and short, like he knew what would happen today and prepared himself for it.

One of your hands reached around his cock and the man grunted. It wasn't the touch that was drawing those sounds out of him, no, it was the sight in front of him. Your hand seemed so small compared to his hard dick. His hips twitched and he accidentally pumped himself in your hand, what made him moan even louder.

Looking back up to him through your lashes, you gave him a few slow pumps before you brought your tongue to the underside of his base and licked one long stripe up till you reached his tip. The man groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure. With some feather light licks, you collected the precum on the head of his cock. Boba's hand flew up, going directly to the back of your head, trying to hold himself steady.

Carefully and not too fast, you brought your lips around his cock, starting to bop your head back and forth. With each move you tried to take him deeper into your mouth. You looked back into the bounty hunter's eyes, seeing him watching you.

“Now look at that. Just when I thought you couldn't look any prettier I get proven wrong.” Your tongue swirled around his dick, making him hiss through his teeth. “Kriff, Princess you look fucking gorgeous with my cock in your mouth.”

You took your hand away from around his base and brought both of them up to his thighs, looking for something to hold. Keeping the eye contact you tried to signal him that it was his turn now. One of his eyebrows rose, not really understanding what you meant.

Nudging your nose up, you told him that he was in charge now. Finally understanding, Boba started to slowly pump himself into your mouth.

“So this is what you want? You want me to take control, little one?” A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest while you nodded eagerly. “”How could I ever say no to you?”

And with that, his pace started to pick up. His hand was clenched into your scalp, bringing your head towards his hips with every thrust. Spit started to drip down your mouth, making its way down your chin and breasts. You relaxed your throat when he continued to go deeper, breathing steadily through your nose.

The now brutal pace made you gag around him and tears started to swell up in the corner of your eyes.

“Look at you. Taking me so well. You are so good for me.” He panted, shoving his dick even deeper into your throat, keeping you there. Your nose was nuzzled in his pubic hair and the tears now started to fall down your face. An animalistic sound escaped him before finally letting go of you.

You pulled his member out of your mouth and started to breath heavy, trying to get air into your lungs.

“Fucking hell, you feel so good. But as much as I would love to cum into your mouth right now, I think we should wait with that so I can help you too.”

Shaking your head, you reached for his dick again and started pumping it. “No. Believe me, you will be able to cum more than just once. You need more than one orgasm to get rid of the pain.”

Boba smirked down to you. “Princess, I'm a bit older than you, this won't work.”

Still touching him, you tried to argue. “But you have the same reaction as I do. Fuck your age, it has nothing to do with the situation we are in right now.” Your tongue licked his dick again, wanting him to change his mind.

When you brought him back into your mouth, he gave up. It didn't take long until he took charge again, pushing his cock faster and faster into you. His hand went down to your throat, wanting to hold you but instead he felt himself.

“Kriff, can you feel that? Fuck, I can feel myself in your throat. You are such a good girl, taking me so well.” You squirmed at the nickname and tried to push your thighs together, but it didn't work at giving you any sense of relief. Taking one of your hands off his leg, you sneaked it between yours and started to rub your clit.

The wetness in your folds was already on your thighs, before you even touched yourself. You were almost dripping and it would be no surprise if you were able to wring out the panties you wore right now.

Boba's eyes fell down to your hand and that was it. He pushed himself so deep into your throat one last time that your whole face was pressed against his abandonment. Grunts and curses rolled over his lips and you could feel his hips twitch. Not a second later, you tasted his salty release on your tongue, stopping your own hand.

After some moments, he came back down from his high, pulling himself out of you. With innocent eyes you looked up at him, opened your mouth and showed him the mess he made.

“Oh, you like that, don't you? You want to swallow it? Wait a second, little one.” His hand grabbed your chin in a hard grip and tilted your face up to him. He brought his mouth above yours, tipped his lips and let a drool of spit drop into yours. You couldn't help yourself but moan at this kind of filthiness. “There you go and now swallow it, every single bit.”

With a theatrical loud sound, you swallowed every drop and opened your mouth once again to show him that everything was gone. He hummed at the sight.

“If I wasn't still hard I'm pretty sure this would've changed that, but I guess you were right when you said one orgasm is not enough.”

You grinned up at him. “Told you so.”

His hand came down to your cheek and stroked it slightly. “That's my pretty girl. And now I should give you something back, after you've been so good for me. Get up and lay down on the bed.”

Without hesitation you got up, went to the bed and laid yourself down. Boba stood in front of you, pushing your legs apart with his hands before he went on to the bed on his knees. He hovered over you for a second, enjoying the view. A smile formed on your lips, which he gladly returned.

“Marker, you are so fucking beautiful.” You were about to giggle but his lips crushed down on yours, shutting you up.

The kiss didn't last long because his lips started to wander down your body. Normally he would have taken his sweet time with you, would tease you but he knew that the symptoms of the fruit were still going through your body, so he decided he would do it another time.

One of his hands sneaked around your back, clasping your bra open. You pulled your arms up to get the straps off. Finally free from it, he tossed it behind him, not carrying where it would land.

“I actually thought you would rip the clothes off of me.” You purred into his ear. He looked at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, don't you worry princess. This will happen sooner or later, I promise. Also, I want you to keep this set as a memory for our first night together.” A soft expression painted your face. “And because you look fucking hot in it.” You started laughing at his words.

“To be honest, I would have loved to tear it down since the first time I saw it on your body, but now I'm glad I didn't do it.”

He gave you one last smile before his head dipped back down, starting to kiss your breasts. You moaned at the feeling of his wet mouth against your hard nipples, but he didn't spend much time there, already on his way down to your core, leaving kisses and marks all over your body.

Now that he was finally where he wanted to be the most and where you also needed him the most, he wasted no more time. Getting on his knees in front of the bed, just like he did earlier, he pulled your panties down.

You hissed when the fresh air hit your wet center.

“Shit.” You heard the man in front of you swearing and you popped yourself up on your elbows to look at him. “You are so fucking wet, princess. I know it's because of the reaction but do we want to try and see if I can get you just as wet when we go back home?”

You could feel yourself clench around nothing by his words.

“Dank, yes, Boba.”

“Oh, I love it when you say my name like this. Let's see how loud I can make you scream my name tonight, alright?” And with that, he brought his mouth to your cunt, starting to eat you out like a man's last meal before death.

Your head flew back and you started twitching at the feeling of his tongue between your folds. Boba brought one of his hands up and sneaked it underneath your thigh, pressing his flat hand against your hip to hold you in place.

His tongue flipped over your clit, making you whimper. Your hands grabbed the sheets underneath you, trying to hold on to something.

Suddenly you felt a sharp slap against your heat and you looked down. The man's face was inches away from your heat, dark, devouring eyes looking at you.

“Look at me, while I make you feel good. I want to see your face.”

Not brave enough to look away again, you kept the eye contact while he brought his face back to you. His tongue circled at your entrance, while his nose nudged against your clit. He moaned into you and the feeling rumbled through your whole body.

The bounty hunter raised his other hand, carefully thrusting one of his fingers inside of you. It felt like all the air got pushed out of your lungs. And before you were even able to get used to this feeling, he added a second finger.

The fast pace he started off with was enough to make you go crazy. It was hard to hold eye contact but you forced yourself to keep going. His two fingers crossed inside of you, stretching you out, while his tongue kept flipping over your sensitive bundle of nerves. He curled his fingers, making you arch your back and moan out his name.

You felt the heat rising in your lower stomach and your legs began to shake. “Fuck, Boba. I- I'm gonna cum.”

Without taking his mouth away from you, he started talking. “Go ahead. Cum all over my face, little one.” He curled his fingers one last time, sucked your clit between his lips and you were done.

Your legs pressed together around his head, keeping him in place. Your eyes fell shut, while a high pitched moan left your lips. Both of your hands still clenched at the bed sheets, ripped them out from their place under the mattress. Shaking and twitching, you pushed Boba's head away from you. Feeling nothing but the hot pleasure filling your body, you tried to calm down your breathing .

After some moments, you finally came back down from your high. You looked down at Boba who still sat on the floor by the bed. With one finger, you signaled him to come to you and so he did.

His body was over yours again, kissing you like there was no tomorrow. You tasted yourself on his tongue and moaned at the sensation. He rubbed his hard cock against your inner thigh.

“Kriff, I want to fuck you so bad, can I-” He wasn't even able to finish his sentence, because you already turned the both of you over so you were on top. Your hands were on his chest, steadying yourself while you grind your wet heat over his dick.

He brought his hands up to your waist, helping you move. When you were sure he was wet enough you rose up a little bit, grabbed his cock and lined him up at your entrance. Slowly you started to lower yourself down on him. Maker, he was so fucking thick.

Boba's dick stretched you like no one else had before. It was almost painful, but the pain was way too good to feel bad. When he was finally seated inside of you, you both took a moment to adjust yourselves to the new feeling.

“You are so fucking tight, Princess. I probably won't last long with this pretty, little cunt around me.” He breathed out underneath you while he squeezed your waist. You were still sensitive from your previous orgasms so you didn't mind. The most important thing was, that you were finally able to feel him.

You brought your hands back to his chest, holding yourself up and started to move. With the first few thrusts, you could already feel how his tip hit just the right spot in you, so you started to move faster.

Boba's hands helped you to keep the pace and from actually falling over. It felt so good that you were almost sure that you couldn't feel the pain anymore. You moaned and whimpered on top of him, looking directly to the part where both of you met, being sure that you never seen something so fucking hot.

The man grunted and had to hold himself back from thrusting into you from beneath. He saw that you were out of breath, at the end with your power. But Dank, if you weren't a sight to behold. Your tits bouncing with each thrust, your eyes closed in pleasure and your mouth open, making the prettiest sounds he has ever heard.

“Shit. You look so good right now, fucking perfect. If you could see yourself right now, Princess.” His eyes fell onto something behind your body and he finally knew how to finish all this in the right way.

“Stop. Hey, hold on for a second.” You stopped in your tracks looking down at him. He smiled in your confused face.

“Is everything alright? Did I hurt you?”, the panic in your voice set a warm feeling in his chest.

“Don't worry. Everything is fine, just move with me.”

You were about to ask what he was talking about but his broad chest was already pressed against yours, while he scooted over to the edge of the bed. A wicked smile danced around his lips, while you were still just confused.

“Get up and turn around.” You had no idea what his plan was, until you turned around and saw what was in front of you. The fucking mirror. Boba's hand pulled you back down to him and with his other hand he pushed his cock back inside of you.

This was something new. You have never seen yourself during sex, but something in you got excited at the thought. The man pushed your legs apart again and laid them over his own, so everything was on full display.

You saw your cunt, wet and swollen, stuffed with the cock of the man you were in love with. He smiled at the sight of your face, curious about what is happening in front of it right now.

His hips made an experimental thrust while to try to catch your reaction. Another thrust and he wasn't able to hold back anymore. He pumped himself in and out of you, watched your whole body reacting to his actions. It turned him on even more.

Your eyes wide in pleasure, your mouth open, your body bouncing with his and your hands on your thighs. Fucking perfect. Not being able to help yourself, you let your head fall back on to his shoulder. But that wasn't the plan. One of Boba's big hands grabbed you by your throat and pulled your head back up.

“No. Don't look away, or I won't let you cum. Look at yourself getting fucked. Look at how fucking perfect you are for me.” The hand around your throat tightened and you clenched around his dick at the feeling.

“Oh, you like that too?” He added a little more pressure, making you slightly light headed. “This is the best fucking cunt I've ever fucked. You want me to keep doing that? Hm? You want me to keep fucking you even when we get back home?”

An obscene moan left your mouth at his words. Kriff, if it was for you, he could fuck you for the rest of your life. You were sure that no one would ever be able to give you the feeling Boba gave you in this moment. You never wanted to miss out on that again.

His other hand went to your cunt and landed a sharp slap on it. A scream coming from your mouth, so loud that you were sure everyone in this palace heard you. The familiar feeling built itself up again, already bringing you to the edge with how sensitive you were.

“I asked you a question, little one.” His grip around your throat let loose a little bit so you were able to speak.

“Yes, fuck yes. Boba, you can fuck me whenever you want to, please. I'm yours, only yours.”

His hand returned to your cunt and started rubbing your clit. “That's exactly right and now cum for me. I can feel that you are close. Cum all over my cock.”

And with that, he pushed you over the edge again. Your legs twitched on top of his, making it very hard for him to keep pushing into you. White noise filled your ears again, almost making you deaf. Boba let go of your throat, letting your head fall back on his shoulders while you screamed his name on the top of your lungs.

The aftershocks were so strong in your body that you almost missed his question.

“Where do you want me to cum, little one?” His movements got sloppier with every thrust, just waiting for you to tell him where he can finish.

“Inside.” Your voice was so weak and silent that you were sure he didn't hear you, so you brought your last strength together and raised your head again to look into his eyes through the mirror. “I want you to come inside me, Boba. I'm safe.”

And that was all he needed to hear. You could feel how his release pumped into you, his cock twitching while he finished. His hands on your waist squeezed you so hard, you were sure he would leave bruises there. Your name fell from his lips, with many other swears.

Coming down from his high, his sweaty forehead fell to your shoulder and you could feel his hot breath on your back.

After a while of just sitting and trying to catch your breaths, he brought his head up again and put his chin on to your shoulder. “Fuck.”

“Yes, exactly.” You laughed breathless and he joined you. Carefully you tried to stand up and whine when his cock slipped out of you. To both of your lucks, he was already soft. As soon as you stood you felt his cum running down your thighs. He smirked at the sight.

“That’s actually kinda hot.”

“Ah, fuck off.” You said, pushing his shoulder and made your way to the bathroom on shaky legs. With a washcloth, you cleaned up the mess between your legs, doing your best not to touch any of the highly sensitive parts. Washing your face too, you looked at yourself in the mirror and all the marks Boba left on your body. You knew that he would be proud of them.

Stepping out of the refresher, you saw that no one was in the room. You looked to the balcony but the door was closed too. A bad feeling slowly started to overcome you. So, this was what this all was about? Not even his clothes were still here. Maker, you were so stupid. How could you think that the King of the Underworld would have interest in having a real bonding with someone?

You wanted to scream and cry, but before you were able to do so, the door to your room got opened and Boba stepped back inside. Fully dressed and in his hands a white bed sheet.

“I just thought it would be better to get some new sheets instead of sleeping in the dirty ones.” He went to the bed and threw the old sheets on to the floor, putting the new one on the bed. His eyes fell on your, still naked, figure standing in the middle of the room watching him. “Are you alright? Do you still feel some pain?”

“Are you gonna stay the night?”, you asked. The man let go of the sheets and went over to you, carefully taking your face in his hands.

“If you want me to.” He pressed a light kiss to your nose. “And if you want to, we can spend every night together from now on.”

You looked at him with a soft smile.

“That would be great.” He slightly pulled your head into his direction and kissed you deeply.

“Now, I think we should go to bed. We have to go back home tomorrow, without getting poisoned by the King again.”

“Poisoned by the King?” A confused look washed over your face while you made your way to the bed. You slid underneath the sheets right next to Boba after he got rid of his clothes again. He opened his arms for you and you went over to him, laying your head on his chest. His arm tugged you closer to him.

“Yes. It seems like the King thought we were in a romantic relationship, so he wanted to do us a little favor by giving us an aphrodisiac, so we could have fun.” He explained. And finally you were able to catch up.

“Ahh. Okay, that makes sense.” Some of the events of this current day went through your head and now you really got what it was about with all the expensive underwear, beautiful dresses and looks from the other guests at dinner. There was just one thing you didn't understand.

“Wait. Why did he think we were a couple? I've been here for only one day and the first time they saw us together was at dinner? That doesn't add up.” A sigh left Boba's mouth.

“The maid told me that they assumed that by the way I talked about you.” Your head shot up and you looked down at him with raised eyebrows and a wicked smile.

“What? Really? What did you tell them about me?” His dark eyes studied your face, while his hand went up to stroke your cheek.

“To be honest, I don't even remember. But I know for sure that they caught up on my love for you way sooner than you did, Cyare.” You leaned down to kiss him.

“You didn't catch up on my love either. Even though it was pretty obvious for a certain amount of time now.” With a hand to the back of your head, he held your face close to his and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Just good to know that we both had the same feelings for each other for such a long time and both of us weren't able to realize it.”

“Fennec will never let go of this. She will say 'I told you so' for the rest of our lives.” You chuckled against his face.

“Oh, she sure will. We will never hear the end of it.” Boba said with a smile across his lips. “But we should sleep now. I don't want to leave too late tomorrow.”

You brought your head down to his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

The man kissed the top of your head before he whispered:”Good night, Princess.”

“Good night, Boba.” You said, snuggling closer to him.

This trip was totally worth it.

_________

Taglist:

@darthmama1618

#boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #smut #sex pollen #the mandolorian #the book of boba fett

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l-wannabe-l · 3 years

Text

Short Circuit

Chapter 1: First Impressions

During the events of T2 John's half-sister, Aria catches the attention of the T-1000. Having failed a second time Skynet starts targeting the people who will one day fight beside John.

T-1000/Austin x OC

This first chapter will follow the movie but it will start diverging soon. I'm still new to fanfic writing so feel free to leave a comment.

It was gone.

Not in my closet or my drawers or under the bed.

It was gone.

The little money maker that I made and the little brat took it. I grab my cardigan and make my way out into the hallway. He's probably made it to the mall already (and he didn't even think to invite me), spending money that's not his. I mean it's not mine either but that's not the part I'm upset about. Knowing the way he drives on his bike I'll be lucky if the atm card is still working when I get it back. As I looked for my keys, they were RIGHT HERE I SWEAR, the doorbell rings. Seeing as it's not my house I don't go to answer. I hear the door open accompanied by a tired sigh.

Todd must've gotten it.

"Are you the legal guardian of John Connor?'

That's never a good question. I take a peek around the corner to glance at the man at the door. The first thing I notice is that he's wearing a police uniform. Yup, not good.

"That's right, officer. What's he done now?" A very valid question that the officer ignores as he seems to scan the house, pausing briefly as he spots me before turning his attention back to Todd.

"Could I speak with him please?"

"Could if he were here. Took off on his bike this morning so he could be anywhere." Todd answers with a shrug, clearly not giving two shits as Janelle joins him at the door.

"Do you have a photograph of John?"

"Yeah sure, hold on." She turns to grab her wallet and sees me hiding behind the corner. She looks at me expectedly probably thinking I know what's going on. I just shake my head. Like I would tell her even if I did know.

"You gonna tell me what this is about?" Todd tries asking again as Janelle rejoins them, handing off the picture.

"Just need to ask him a few questions. He's a good-looking boy. Do you mind if I keep this picture?" He asks as he studies the image.

"No, go on. There was a guy here this morning looking for him too." Janelle offers. This gets the officer's attention as I see him still and look back up. This surprises me too as I wasn't here in the morning and my foster parents apparently didn't think to tell me about some stranger looking for my little brother.

"Yeah, a big guy on a bike. That got something to do with this?" Todd adds. Dear God John, who are you getting involved with? The officer pauses for a moment before responding.

"No. I wouldn't worry about him. Thanks for your cooperation." He takes one last glance up in my direction. Our eyes meet. Only for a second before he's gone. But it's long enough to send a chill down my spine. Police officer or not that man is dangerous and he's heading straight for John. When John fails to answer his phone, that I got him by the way, I hurry to find my keys and make my way outside. The cop had left. He'll have to ask around to find John which should buy me some time.

It's a bit of a distance to get to the mall and the traffic of a Saturday afternoon doesn't help but I make it. I head towards the arcade on the second floor but have to backtrack around a corner when I spot the officer from earlier talking to some kids.

Christ, he works fast. This man really takes his job seriously.

The kids seem not to know anything as the man continues on and out of sight… in the direction of the arcade. DAMN IT. I hurry after hoping he'd walk past it which he does. I slow down to look through the windows hoping to catch a glimpse of John.

"Excuse me, have you seen…"

Stopped by the entrance I turn to look at the speaker realizing too late my mistake as I'm face to face with the very man I was avoiding. Because of the close proximity, I notice he's tall, and with a square jaw, bright blue eyes, and soft-looking light brown hair, he's handsome too. This is bad for me, because tall and handsome have gotten me in trouble before and I will not let it do so again. But he's staring, obviously recognizing me from not even an hour ago, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Lo siento señor no hablo ingles."

His brow furrowed in confusion which I take as my cue to leave. So with an "Adios!" I duck into the arcade, send a quick thank you to my high school Spanish classes, and hide behind the first big machine I find. From there I see him enter the arcade looking left and right, scanning as he did earlier, before turning to a pair of girls by a pinball machine. I turn away to go find John eventually finding him playing Afterburner.

"JOHN!"

"AAHH!"

"A cop is looking for you, what did you do?" He spares me a glance before returning to his game.

"... Is this because I took the card machine? Listen Aria, I'm sorry but mine broke."

"I am pissed about that but no."

"Is it cause I didn't invite you? In my defense, you weren't home."

"John..." I begin when Tim, John's buddy, slides up to us.

"John, hey there's this cop scoping for you, check it out." That got his attention, and let me be upset for a second as he takes a look around Tim and the machine to see the officer questioning another kid who points in our direction. John grabs his backpack, I grab John and we both head towards the employee door briefly looking back to see the officer pushing kids aside to catch up. I open the door and push John ahead of me, both of us running.

"So you'll listen to Tim but not to me?"

"Tim never messed with me about surprise police inspections." Ever since we were young mom drilled into us that the police were bad news and, like the caring and protective big sister that I am, I decided to add to this training. Suffice to say John tends to double guess me now and then.

"That's fair." Turning the corner we surprise a worker who yells at us and who we ignore as we push through the exit doors. That's when we turn to see a large man in a leather jacket and sunglasses and I freeze up as he opens the box to pull out a shotgun the roses he was carrying crushed beneath him as he advances. John pulls me back the way we came, the man following as we try the other doors.

Locked.

Trapped.

I chance a glance back to see he’s caught up with us. Another look forward reveals the officer appearing through the doorway, with a glare almost as menacing as the gun. I hear a click and a look back shows the shotgun has been leveled at us.

“Get down.”

What?

"ARIA!"

Lucky for me John has the good sense to listen to the man as he ducks down pulling me with him. I cover him as gunshots ring above us. I look up to see the officer blasted back a few inches, silver wounds appearing where red ones should be. The man in leather grabs us, spinning to cover us as the cop starts emptying his clip at us. I hear the poor employee from earlier scream in pain as he gets caught in the crossfire.

John and I scream, fear gripping us.

The bullet fire pauses for a moment giving our (definitely not) human shield the opportunity to bust open the door to our left and push us in. He turns away just in time for the officer to finish reloading but is undeterred by the bullets finding a home in his torso as he continues his march forward. He levels his own gun, shotgun shells flying as he blasts one after another pushing the smaller man back until he falls and our savior is allowed to reload. As he does so the silver gaps fill in and the man rises from where he lay grabbing the gun and catching the bigger man off guard as he tries and fails to gain back control. So instead he moves to grab the cop but is instead thrown into one wall then another. Cement and plaster alike collapsing in their struggle until they both disappear through a wall.

Despite the obvious difference in size, the larger man is the one being thrown around like a ragdoll which spells bad news for us. So I grab John again, pulling him behind me as I head towards the door that leads to a staircase. We head down until we reach ground level, the parking lot, we run over to John’s bike, an old thing that was mine before I handed it down when I got a new one. Trying to start it up now I remember why I upgraded.

“John, your bike is a hunk of junk!”

“It was your bike first! Just start it already!” The engine finally starts running just as the doors burst open. The cop racing after us on foot as we speed off.

#terminator #the terminator #t2 #terminator judgement day #terminator 2 #terminator imagine #t800 #john connor #sarah connor #aria connor #t1000 #t 1000 imagine #t 1000 x reader #austin x reader #austin

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snelbz · 4 years

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What Happens In Vegas... {6}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.

@snelbz / @tacmc collab

What Happens In Vegas Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

My Ask Box

“Hey.” Rhys padded down the stairs seven hours later, wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. He’d slicked his wet hair back and his tattoos were displayed to perfection, defining his lean torso and muscular arms. There was a lot of skin on show. The man was a visual feast. I made a conscious effort to keep my tongue inside my head. Keeping the welcoming grin off my face was beyond my abilities. I’d planned to play it cool so as not to spook him. That plan had failed.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

“Nothing much. There was a delivery for you.” I pointed to the bags and boxes waiting by the door. All day, I’d pondered the problem of us. The only thing I’d come up with was that I didn’t want our time to end. I didn’t want to sign those annulment papers. Not yet. The idea made me want to start puking all over again. I wanted to try with Rhys. I wanted to be with him. I needed a new plan.

The pad of my thumb rubbed over my bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth. I’d gone for a long walk up the beach earlier, watching the waves crash on the shore and reliving that kiss. Over and over again, I’d played it inside my mind. The same went for our conversations. In fact, I’d picked apart every moment of our time together, explored every nuance. Every moment I could remember, anyway, and I’d tried damn hard to remember all of it.

“A delivery?” He crouched down beside the closest package and started tearing at the wrapping. I averted my eyes before I caught a glimpse up his towel, despite being wildly curious.

“Would you mind if I used your phone?” I asked.

“Feyre, you don’t need to ask. Help yourself to whatever.”

“Thanks.” Joey and my folks were probably freaking out, wondering what was going on. It was time to brave up to the butt-picture repercussions. I groaned on the inside.

“This one’s for you.” He handed me a thick brown-paper parcel done up with string, followed by a shopping bag with some brand I’d never heard of printed on the side. “Ah, this one too, by the look.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I asked Amarantha to order some stuff for us.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? No.” Rhys shook his head. Then he kneeled down in front of me and tore into the brown package in my hands. “No ‘oh.’ We need clothes. It’s really simple.”

“That’s very kind of you, Rhys, but I’m fine.”

He wasn’t listening. Instead he held up a red dress the same thigh-baring length as those girls at the mansion had worn. “What the fuck? You’re not wearing this.” The designer dress went flying, and he ripped into the shopping bag at my feet.

“Rhys, you can’t just throw it on the ground.”

“Sure I can, I paid for it. Here, this is a little better.”

A black tank top fell into my lap. At least this one looked the right size. The thigh-high red dress had been a size-two joke. Quite possibly a mean one, given Amarantha’s dislike of me back in LA. No matter.

A tag dangled from the tank. The price. Shit. They couldn’t be serious.

“Whoa. I could pay my rent for weeks with this top.”

In lieu of a response he threw a pair of skinny black jeans at me. “Here, they’re okay too.”

I put the jeans aside. “It’s a plain cotton tank top. How can this possibly cost two hundred dollars?”

“What do you think of this?” A length of silky blue fabric dangled from his hand. “Nice, huh?”

I ignored his question, still staring at the tank in my hand. “Do they sew the seams with gold thread? Is that it?”

“What are you talking about?” He held up the blue dress, inspecting it closer, turning it this way and that. “Hell no, nevermind, it’s backless. The top of your ass will probably show in that.” It joined the red dress on the floor. My hands itched to rescue them, fold them away nicely. But Rhysand just ripped into the next box. “What were you saying?”

“I’m talking about the price of this top.”

“Shit, no. We’re not talking about the price of that top because we’re not talking about money. It’s an issue for you, and I’m not going there.” A micromini denim skirt came next. “What the fuck was Am thinking ordering you this sort of stuff?”

“Well, to be fair, you do normally have girls in bikinis hanging off you.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “In comparison, the backless dress is quite sedate.”

He kept digging through the bags, but he looked up at me again. “You’re different. You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” I didn’t entirely believe the tone of my own voice.

His forehead wrinkled up with disdain. “Damn it. Look at the length of this. I can’t even tell if it’s meant to be a skirt or a fucking belt.”

Laughter burst out of me and he gave me a hurt look, big, violet puppy-dog eyes of extreme sadness and displeasure. Clearly, I had hurt his heart.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But you sound like my father.” He shoved the micro mini back into its bag. At least it wasn’t on the floor.

“Yeah? Your dad and I should meet. I think we’d get along great.”

I blinked. “You want to meet my father?”

Shrugging, Rhys said, “Depends. Would he shoot me on sight?”

“No.” Probably not.

He just gave me a curious look and burrowed into the next box. “That’s better. Here.”

He passed me a couple of sedate T-shirts, one black and one blue.

“I don’t think you should be selecting nun’s clothing for me, friend,” I said, amused at his behavior. “It’s vaguely hypocritical.”

“They’re not nun’s clothes. They just cover the essentials. Is that too much to ask?” The next bulging bag was passed to me in its entirety. “Here.”

“You do admit it’s just a tiny bit hypocritical, though, right?”

“Admit nothing. Hybern taught me that a long time ago. Look in the bag.”

I did so and he burst out laughing, whatever expression I wore being apparently hilarious.

“What is this?” I asked, feeling all wide-eyed with wonder. It might have been a thong if the makers had seen fit to invest just a little more material into it.

“You said I was dressing you like a nun, so I’m dressing you like a nun.”

“La Chaleur.” I read the tag, then turned it over to check out the price.

“Shit. Will you not look at the price, please, Feyre?” Rhys dove at me and I lay back, trying to make out the figures on the crazily swaying tag that was bigger than the scrap of lace. His larger hand closed over mine, engulfing the thong. “Don’t. For fuck’s sake.”

The back of my head hit the edge of a step and I winced, my eyes filling with tears. “Ow.”

“You all right?” His body stretched out above mine. A hand rubbed carefully at the back of my skull.

“Um, yeah.” The scent of his soap and shampoo was pure heaven, Lord help me. But there was something more than that. His cologne. It wasn’t heavy. Just a light scent of spice. There was something really familiar about it.

The tag hanging down in front of my face momentarily distracted me however. “Three hundred dollars?”

He smirked. “It’s worth it.”

“Holy shit. No, it’s not.” It wasn’t, there was no way it was.

He hung the thong from the tip of a finger, a crazy cool smile on his face. “Trust me. I’d have paid ten times that amount for this. No questions asked.”

“Rhys, I could get the exact same thing for less than a tenth of that price in a normal store. That’s insane.”

“No, you couldn’t.” He balanced his weight on an elbow set on the step beside my head and started reading from the tag. “See, this exquisite lace is handmade by local artists in a small region of southern France famous for just such craftsmanship. It’s made from only the finest of silks. You can’t get that at Walmart, baby.”

My eyebrows bunched together. “No, I guess not.”

He made a pleased humming sound and looked at me with eyes soft and hazy. Then his smile faded. He pulled back and scrunched the thong up in his hand. “Anyway….”

“Wait.” My fingers curled around his biceps, keeping him in place.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice tightening.

“Just, let me…” I lifted my face to his neck. The scent was strongest there. I breathed him deep, letting myself get high off the scent of him. I shut my eyes and tried to remember.

Something. Anything.

“Feyre?” The muscles in his arms flexed and hardened. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“We were in the gondolas at the Venetian. You said you couldn’t swim, that I’d have to save you if we capsized.”

His Adam’s apple jumped. “Yeah.”

“I was terrified for you.”

His chuckle was rough. “I know. You hung on to me so tight I could barely breathe.”

I drew back so I could see his face.

“Why do you think we stayed on them for so long?” he asked. “You were practically sitting in my lap.”

I felt stupid, but I still asked, “Can you swim?”

He laughed quietly. “Of course I can swim. I don’t even think the water was that deep.”

My eyes narrowed. “It was all a ruse. You’re tricky, Rhysand Lunasa.”

“And you’re funny, Feyre Archeron.” His face relaxed, his eyes softening again. “You remembered something.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s great.” He smiled, a true, handsome smile, one that he’d only blessed me with a few times. Anything else?”

I gave him a sad smile in return. “No, sorry.”

He looked away, disappointed, I think, but trying not to let it show.

I hesitated. “Rhys?”

“Mm?”

I leaned forward to press my lips to his, wanting to kiss him, needing to. He pulled back again. My hopes dived. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Feyre. What are you doing?”

“Kissing you?” I thought it was obvious.

He said nothing. Jaw rigid, he looked away.

“You’re allowed to kiss me and cuddle me and buy me insanely priced lingerie and I can’t kiss you back?” My hands slid down to his and he held them. At least he wasn’t rejecting me totally.

“Why do you wanna kiss me?” he asked, his voice stern.

I studied our entwined fingers for a moment, getting my thoughts in order. “Rhys, I’m probably not ever going to remember everything about that night in Vegas. But I thought we could maybe make some new good memories this weekend. Something we can both share.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and after a minute, I looked up into his handsome face. “Just this weekend?”

My heart filled my throat. “No. I don’t know. It just… it feels like there’s meant to be more between us.”

“More than friends?” He watched me, eyes intent.

“Yes. I like you. You’re kind and sweet and beautiful and you’re easy to talk to. When we’re not always arguing about Vegas. I feel like…”

His violet eyes were bright. “What?”

I didn’t want to stumble over my words. I didn’t want him to think I was doubting this decision, doubting him. “Like this weekend is a second chance. I don’t want to just let it slip by. I think I’d regret that for a long time.”

He nodded, cocked his head. “So what was your plan? Just kiss me and see what happened?”

I blinked. “My plan?”

He smirked, leaning closer ever so slightly. “I know about you and your plans. You told me all about how you make a plan for everything.”

“I told you that?” I was an idiot.

“Yeah. You did. You especially told me about the big plan.” He stared down at me, eyes intense. “You know… finish school then spend three to five years establishing yourself at a midrange firm before moving up the ranks somewhere more prestigious and starting your own small consultancy business by thirty-five. Then there’d maybe time to get a relationship and those pesky 2.4 kids out of the way.”

My throat was suddenly a dry, barren place. “I was really chatty that night.”

“Mm. But what was interesting was the way you didn’t talk about that plan like it was a good thing.” He looked at me and the way those eyes were looking at me, I couldn’t have hid anything from him, even if I wanted to. “You talked about it like it was a cage and you were rattling the bars.”

I had nothing. He read me like a book and I had no idea what to say.

“So, come on,” he said softly, taunting me. “What’s the plan here, Feyre? How were you going to convince me?”

“Oh. Well, I was, um… I was going to seduce you, I guess. And see what happened. Yeah…”

He snorted. “How? By complaining about me buying you stuff?”

“No,” I said, clearing my throat. “That was just an added bonus. You’re welcome.”

He licked his lips, but I saw the smile threatening to break through. “Right. Come on, then, show me your moves.”

I hesitated. “My moves?”

“Your seduction techniques. Come on, time’s a-wasting.” I hesitated and he clicked his tongue, impatient. “I’m only wearing a towel, baby. How hard can this be?”

“Fine, fine.” I held his fingers tight, refusing to let go. “So, Rhys?”

“Yes, Feyre?”

“I was thinking…”

“Hmm?”

I was so hopelessly outclassed with him. I gave him the only thing I could think of. The only thing that I knew had a track record of working.

“I think you’re a really nice guy and I was wondering if you’d maybe like to come up to my room and have sex with me and maybe hang out for a while. If that’s maybe something you’d be interested in doing…”

His eyes darkened, accusing and unhappy. He started to pull back again. “Now you’re just being funny.”

“No.” I slipped my hand around the back of his neck, beneath his damp hair, trying to bring him back to me. I pressed my forehead to his, hoping he could see the sincerity in my eyes. “No, I’m very, very serious.”

Jaw tensed, he stared at me.

I breathed, “You asked me this morning in the car if I thought you were scary. The answer is yes. You scare me shitless. I don’t know what I’m doing here. But I hate the thought of leaving you.”

His gaze searched my face, but still he said nothing. He was going to turn me down. I knew it. I’d asked for too much, pushed him too far. He’d walk away from me, and who could blame him after everything?

“It’s okay,” I said, gathering what remained of my pride up off the floor, about to grab my Rhys-approved tank, jeans and t-shirts and run upstairs.

“Shit.” He sighed. “You’re kinda terrifying too.”

I breathed, “I am?”

“Yeah, you are. And wipe that smile off your face,” he teased.

I did no such thing. “Sorry.”

He angled his head and kissed me, his lips firm and so good. My eyes closed and my mouth opened. The taste of him took me over. The mint of his toothpaste and the slide of his tongue against mine. All of it was beyond perfect. He lay me back against the stairs. The new bruise at the back of my head throbbed in protest when I bumped it yet again. I flinched but didn’t stop. Rhys cupped the back of my skull, guarding against further injury.

The weight of his body held me in place, not that I was trying to escape. The edge of the steps pressed into my back and I couldn’t care less. I’d have happily lain there for hours with him above me, the warm scent of his skin making me high. His hips held my legs wide open. If not for my jeans and his towel, things would get interesting fast. God, I hated cotton just then.

We didn’t once break the kiss. My legs wrapped around his waist and my hands curved around his shoulders. Nothing had ever felt this good. My ache for him increased and caught fire, spreading right through me. My legs tightened around him, muscles burning. I couldn’t get close enough. Talk about frustrating. His mouth moved over my jaw and down my neck, lighting me up from inside. He bit and licked, finding sensitive spots below my ear and in the crook of my neck. Places I hadn’t known I had. The man had magic. He knew things I didn’t. Where he’d learned his tricks didn’t matter. Not right then.

“Up,” he said in a rough voice. Slowly he stood, one hand beneath my ass and the other still protecting my skull.

“Rhys, no.” I scrambled to tighten my hold on his back.

“Hey.” He drew back just enough to look into my eyes. His pupils were huge, almost swallowing the iris whole. “I am not going to drop you. That’s never going to happen.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“You trust me?” He asked.

“Yes.” I meant it, too.

“Good.” His hand slid down my back. “Now put your arms around my neck.”

I did, and my balance immediately felt better. Both of Rhysand’s hands gripped my butt and I locked my feet behind his back, holding on tight. His face showed no sign of pain or imminent back breakage. Maybe he was strong enough to carry me around after all.

“That’s it.” He smiled and kissed my chin. “All good?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He simply asked, “Bed?”

“Yes.” I hoped I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.

He chuckled in a way that did bad things to me. “Kiss me,” he said.

Without hesitation, I did so, fitting my mouth to his. Sliding my tongue between his lips and getting lost in him all over again. He groaned, his hands holding me hard against him.

Which was when the doorbell rang, making a low, mournful sound that echoed in my heart and groin. “Nooo.”

“You’re fucking joking.” Rhysand’s face screwed up and he gave the tall double doors the foulest of looks. At least I wasn’t alone. I groaned and gave him a tight full-body hug. It would have been funny if it didn’t hurt so much.

A hand rubbed at my back, sliding beneath the hem of my tank to stroke the skin beneath. “It’s like the universe doesn’t want me inside you or something, I swear,” he grumbled.

“Make them go away. Please.”

He chuckled, clutching me tighter, but then he groaned and kissed my neck. “Let me answer the door and get rid of them, then I’ll take care of you, okay?”

“Your towel is on the floor.”

He smirked. “That’s a problem. Down you hop.”

I reluctantly loosened my hold and put my feet back on firm ground. Again the gong-like sound filled the house.

Rhys grabbed a pair of black jeans out of a bag and quickly pulled them on. All I caught was a flash of toned ass. Keeping my eyes mostly averted might have been the hardest thing I’d ever done.

“Hang back just in case it’s press.” He looked into a small screen embedded beside the door. “Ah, man.”

I tensed. “Trouble?”

“No. Worse. Old friends with food.” He gave me a brief glance. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be hurting too.”

“But—”

“Anticipation makes it sweeter. I promise,” he said, then threw open the door. A hand tugged down the front of his T-shirt, trying to cover the obvious bulge beneath his jeans. “Drakon. Miryam. Hey, good to see you.”

I was going to kill him. Slowly. Strangle him with the overpriced thong. A fitting death for a rock star.

A couple about my parents’ age came in, laden down with pots and bottles of wine. The man, Drakon, was tall, muscular, and, surprise, covered in tats. Miryam was one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen. They both wore wide grins and gave me curious glances. I could feel my face heat when they took in the lingerie and clothing strewn about on the floor. It probably looked like we’d been about to embark on a two-person orgy.

Which was the truth, but still.

“How the hell are ya?” Drakon roared in an accent I couldn’t quite place, giving Rhys a one-armed hug on account of the Crock-Pot he held in the other. “And this must be Feyre. I have to read about it in the damn paper, Rhys? Are you serious?” He gave my husband a stern look, one brow arched high. “Miryam was pissed.”

“Sorry. It was— ah, it was sudden.” Rhys kissed Miryam on the cheek and took a casserole dish and a full bag from her. She patted him on the cheek in a motherly fashion.

“Introduce me,” she said.

“Feyre, this is Miryam and Drakon, close friends of mine. They’ve been taking care of the house for me.” He looked relaxed standing between these people. His smile was easy and his eyes were bright. I hadn’t seen him looking so happy before. Jealousy reared its ugly head, sinking its teeth in.

“Hello.” I put out my hand for shaking, but Drakon engulfed me in a hug.

“She’s so pretty. Isn’t she pretty, hon?” Drakon stepped aside and Miryam came closer, a warm smile on her face.

I was being a jerk. These were nice people. I should be profoundly grateful not every female Rhys knew rubbed her boobs on him. Damn my screaming hormones for making me surly.

“She sure is. Hello, Feyre. I’m Miryam.” The woman’s coffee-brown eyes went liquid. She seemed ready to burst into tears. In a rush, she took my hands and squeezed my fingers tight. “I’m just so happy he found a nice girl, finally.”

“Oh, thank you.” My face felt flammable.

Rhys gave me a wry grin.

“Okay, enough of that,” Drakon said. “Let’s let these lovebirds have their privacy. We can visit another time.”

Rhys stood aside, still holding the casserole dish and bag. When he saw me watching, he winked.

“I’ll have to show you the setup downstairs sometime,” Drakon said. “You gonna be here for long?”

“We’re not sure,” he said, giving me a glance.

Miryam clung to my hands, reluctant to leave. “I made chicken enchiladas and rice. Do you like Mexican? It’s Rhysand’s favorite.” Miryam’s brows wrinkled. “But I didn’t think to check if that was all right with you. You might be vegetarian.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m not, and I love Mexican,” I said, squeezing her fingers back, though not as hard. “Thank you so much.”

She let out a release and grinned.

“Hon,” called Drakon.

“I’m coming.” Miryam gave my fingers a parting pat. “If you need anything at all while you’re here, you give me a call. Okay?”

Rhys said nothing. It was clearly my decision if they stayed or went. My body was still abuzz with need. That, and we seemed to do better alone. I didn’t want to share him because I was shallow and wanted hot sex. I wanted him all to myself. But it was the right thing to do. And if anticipation made it sweeter, well, maybe this once the right thing to do was also the best thing to do.

“Stay,” I said, stammering out the words. “Have dinner with us. You’ve made so much. We could never possibly finish it all.”

Rhysand’s gaze jumped to me, a small smile of approval on his face. He looked almost boyish, trying to contain his excitement. Like I’d just told him his birthday had been brought forward. Whoever these people were, they were important to him. I felt as though I’d just passed some test.

Miryam sighed. “Drakon is right, you’re newlyweds.”

“Stay. Please,” I said. Miryam looked to Drakon. Drakon shrugged but smiled, obviously delighted.

Miryam clapped her hands with glee. “Let’s eat!”

#snelbz whiv #vegas au #what happens in vegas #feysand #snelbz tacmc collab #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

259 notes · View notes

kiirokero · 3 years

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Selcouth (KNJ)

Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet marvelous. Old English.

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot Series!

Masterlist

Pairing: CarMechanic!Namjoon x Writer!Reader

Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst, but a happy ending :)

Note: I stg this Aquafina water be hittin’ different nowadays

Summary: Having your car break down? Sucks. Having your car break down in an unfamiliar town after losing basically everything? Yeah, that really sucks. Hopefully, the smartest mechanic in town can get you back on the road quickly.

Word Count: 3.6k

“W-What do you mean you’re letting me go?”

“I mean that you’re fired, Y/n, but I wanted to put it in a nicer way,” Your boss explained, releasing a sigh. “B-But why?” You sputtered out, “Mr. Choi, you know I need this writing job... No other position is open the city...” You begged, having the smallest of hope that he would reconsider. “I know Ms. L/n, but the company is going under, even if you stay I can’t pay you,” Mr. Choi groaned, one of his palms resting on his face.

You felt like crying. Ever since you were little, you dreamed of being a writer and sharing stories with others. When you got older, that dream changed to wanting people around the world to read what you wrote, so why not write articles for newsletter companies?

It was difficult. The city you lived in was full of competition for every job you could name. Office workers, technicians, writers. But you had nowhere else to go. You moved away from home for this. Your family sorta cut ties with you shortly after, never really caring for you in a parental way... They were just there. So you needed to succeed. You needed this job.

And now that was all gone.

So you went home, searched up writing jobs in a 50-mile radius, packed your things, got in your car, and started driving. In the next city over there was a new newsletter company getting started and they were looking for writers. It was just the thing you needed. Maybe this was the universe telling you that you needed a change of pace. That you needed a new routine, a second chance to start over and make life your bitch.

The blur of lush, green trees whooshed past your car windows as you kept your eyes on the coarse road in front of you. The rhythmic hum of the machine you were operating was the only sound you could hear. You had a music playlist, but after an hour and a half, it got more irritating than relaxing. So you sat in silence, mind blank, as you ran on auto-pilot.

Until your car made an odd sputter.

Creasing your eyebrows, you looked at the dials on your dashboard, waiting for any warning light to shine, but none did. You shrugged it off, still feeling slightly uneasy, but trusting your old machine to safely get you to your destination. Besides, there's nothing out here. It has to.

Nothing happened for another half-hour. Just the same methodical vroom of your tires on the road and whoosh of your air conditioning vents. You were just thinking about turning on the radio to whatever channel reached out here when... Sputter... Sputter.

Twice now, your car sputtered twice now. “God, please don’t do this,” You groaned to yourself, praying to whatever miracle maker was in the sky that your car wouldn’t break down on an obscure road with no big commune around for miles. Sputter... Sputtt... Sputter... It was getting worse now, but being the stubborn person you were, you refused to believe that the car you had since teenage hood was finally giving out on you.

Sputter... Sputter... Sput... put... pu.. tttt...

Sighing, you pulled over to the side of the road with what little acceleration you had left on your- now dead- car. You sat there in the driver seat for a second, gathering your scattered thoughts, blinking back your tears of frustration. “I can’t believe this,” You whispered to the quiet air in the car. You hit your steering wheel in anger, immediately regretting it when the sting of the hit hurt your hand in turn. Curse you Newton and your 3rd law.

Pulling out your phone from your backpack that laid in the passenger seat, you looked up mechanics you could call. Surprisingly, there was a tiny village not too far from here, only 2 miles, that had a mechanic. Bangtan Village. “Huh,” You murmured, “Never heard of it,”

You’ve never heard of Bangtan Village before. Then again, you’ve never went traveling around these parts either. You were always confined to the big cities for work, so it wasn’t a mind blowing revelation that there was possibly a village out here.

Dialing the number listed, the phone rung a few times before the voice of a man answered. “Hello Kim’s Car Repair, how may I help you?” His voice sounded very warm and friendly. The soothing tone called down your panicking heart, and for that you were grateful.

“Hey, um, my car broke down, do you do towing?” You asked, nervously fiddling with your fingers.

“Yes we do! Do you know where you are?”

You told him what road you were on and approximately how close to town you were and he reassured you that he would get to you soon. So you had no choice but to wait.

20 minutes later, the rumble of the tow truck caught your attention. A tall man, about 6 foot, stepped out of the truck and gave you a dimpled smile. He had tan skin and gold brunette hair that was dirtied by what looked to be the black residue that comes from working on cars. His brown eyes crinkled endearingly and he was dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans combo. He looked like the type of man who starred in a romance drama.

“Hello! I assume your the Y/n I spoke to on the phone?” He asked, walking up to stand in front of me. For a man so tall, his height was comforting in a friendly giant way rather than intimidating. “Yeah, that’s me,” You chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m Namjoon,” He said, shaking my hand. “Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” You smiled, thinking that his hands were calloused from the work he did, but they were also a tough sort of soft.

“Okay, so the plan is to tow your car back to my shop, see what’s up with it, then get you back on the road,” Namjoon explained, smile never slipping off of his face.

“Sounds good, Namjoon,” You smiled back.

Namjoon hooked up your car to the truck as you sat in the front passenger's seat, watching him do his work smoothly, like a true professional. Once Namjoon was done, he got back in the truck, “Ready?” He asked. “Ready!” You firmly nodded. “Let’s go then” Namjoon grinned.

The drive was smooth and somewhat quiet. The two of you talked here and there. About where you were going, your profession, his profession. Just very basic small talk. Before you knew it, you were in the quaint tiny village of Bangtan. Everything was spotless. The streets were free of litter, murals were painted on store walls, people were chatting friendly on the sidewalk. It was an enormous difference from the dirty, tagged, unfriendly streets of the city. It was a pleasant sight to see, a soul-cleansing image.

Soon, Namjoon had your car in the shop and was inspecting it in no time. Already getting down to the problem while you waited anxiously waited for a verdict. “Well, I have good news and bad news,” Namjoon sighed, wiping off his dirtied hands on a hand towel. “Tell me the bad news first,” You said, grimly expecting the worst. “Okay, so, it’s a problem with your engine that will take at least a week to fix minimum.” He sighed, a sad smile on his face. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “But the good news is! You’re in Bangtan!” He said, giving you jazz hands.

“What do you mean?” You asked, raising your eyebrows.

“Everyone here is friendly, and I know you don’t exactly have a place to go, but I’m sure someone would be willing to house you” He shrugged.

“Namjoon, I don’t have the money to pay a rent.” You sighed.

“Then you can stay here! Free of charge! Consider it a few add on to me fixing your car,” He smiled.

You felt a little better at that. You would have a place to stay, and it wouldn’t cost you a thing. Thinking about how much money was in your savings account, you felt like angels were singing at Namjoon’s suggestion. “Really?” You asked, eyes lit up in hope. “Of course. I’m not going to kick you out on the street,” He chuckled, giving you that same adorable dimpled smile. “Thank you so much, Namjoon. I’ll make it up to you!” You grinned, bouncing in excitement. “No need, I’m just glad to help.”

Namjoon lived on the second floor of his shop. It was a small apartment, an open living room-kitchen plan with amazing natural light. His apartment was full of plants. Flowers, mini trees, elephant leaves. He even had a beautiful bonsai that obviously got a lot of care. “Your place is nice.” You complimented genuinely, smiling at the little things spread around the room. He had a Ryan cushion on his couch, a bookshelf full of classics, and solar powered toys in the window. The ones that bobble back and forth. “Thank you,” Namjoon chuckled, scratching the back of his neck while the two of you took off your shoes. “It’s a bit messy, but it’s home,” He said, leading you through the apartment to his small guest bedroom.

“Here it is!” Namjoon said, leaning his head against the doorway. “Thank you again, Namjoon. I’ll be sure to be the best temporary roommate ever!” You promised. Namjoon laughed, patting you on the back with his large hand. “Just don’t murder me in my sleep and we’ll be fine,” He said, and you snorted. “Have you seen yourself? You could snap me like a twig,” You chuckled, gesturing to his sculpted arms that he no doubt got from his rigorous line of work. “I’d never,” He smirked, giving you a wink that made your heart flutter and cheeks heat up.

You nervously chuckled, looking away from him to look around the room a bit, dropping your backpack off on the bed. “I’ll let you get settled, I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” Namjoon said, giving you a little wave goodbye as he closed the door, giving you some privacy. Sighing, you flopped on the soft white bed and let out a groan at how good it felt to lie down after driving for so long. You didn’t realize just how tired you were until you drifted off to sleep, letting the sweet shackles of your subconscious lock you in a state of rest.

“So you’re telling me, that you had to write an article about animal genitalia? And ducks have corkscrew penises?” Namjoon laughed from under the car he was working on. “Yeah, and let me tell you whatever FBI agent is assigned to watching my internet history has quit by now,” You joked, laughing along with the man who has been your roommate for the past 4 days. “Wow, that sounds... interesting,” Namjoon chuckled, rolling out from under the car and sitting up straight to look at you. “Quite,” You answered back, handing him his hand towel so he could clean off his oily hands. “Hey um, I have a weird question to ask,” Namjoon said, grabbing your attention.

Quirking your head to the side, you raised your eyebrows, “What’s up? Nothing can be weirder than a duck's dick.” You giggled, earning a smile from the man in front of you. “Would you... like to go out for dinner? There’s this nice restaurant in town that I think you’d like,” You asked nervously, his pitch gradually increasing as he got more anxious. You internally giggled at the fact that he was nervous at asking you to dinner, but smiled at him nonetheless. “That sounds nice. Are we going tonight?” You inquired, leaning on the edge of your seat. “Um, we can... if you’d like too...” He shrugged, fiddling with his grease stained hand towel. “I’d love to,”

Namjoon’s smiled widened as he stood up to put away his tools. “Great! Um, we can go at 6?” He offered, and you have him a nod. “6 sounds good,” You answered, standing up to go and get ready. “I’ll be waiting.” You smiled, leaving Namjoon swooning as he gave you a look of admiration. “Yeah, yeah I’ll see you soon,” He smiled back, giving you a little wave as you walked out of his shop, running upstairs to pick out the nicest outfit you had from the limited clothes you brought with you that aren’t packed in boxes.

Soon you picked out a cute skirt and sweater, modeling them in the mirror. Once you were satisfied with the way you looked and didn’t look like you crawled right out of bed, you checked the time. 5:45. You had a bit of time left before you left, so you sat down on the couch for a bit. Once you got out there, you couldn’t help but pick up one of Namjoon’s books that were lying around to help pass the time.

The Catcher in the Rye. A classic. Everyone in their senior year of highschool has probably read this book, willingly or not. The sheer amount of angst in this book would seemingly drive reader away, but it does the opposite. “I see you’ve found one of my favorites,” Namjoon chuckled from the doorway, pulling you out of the world in the book. “I have a feeling all the books on those shelves are your favorites” You teased, closing the hard cover and placing the book down on the coffee table.

“Maybe, but I’ve been on a Pride and Prejudice kick lately,” He chuckled, looking over to the bookshelves he had in his living room. “Really? For the dramatic love story or the social critiques?” You asked, but Namjoon didn’t answer right away. He just looked deep into your eyes, something that resembled longing swirling in the brown weaves of his irises. “The love story,” He spoke softly, not daring to take his eyes off of you.

Namjoon looked at you like you were a star in the sky and he was the moon, longing to hold your light in the palms of his hands and never let go. Like he wanted to take you on his personal nature walks and talk to you about all the different flora he’s identified on the trails. Like he wanted you there, 24/7, while he worked on the cars in his garage. Working was a lot less lonely when you had someone to tell you about the anatomy of animal genitalia for an article they were writing that was totally scientific. But Namjoon knew that tomorrow he would have to deliver the news that your car was in working order again.

And then you would leave him...

“Let’s go,” Namjoon whispered, giving you his classic dimpled smile that made your heart swoon every time he flashed one at you. Nodding, you got up from the couch and followed him out the door, taking a walk through the village, waving to a few people that you’ve briefly met, and arriving at the small bistro that was situated on a street corner.

The inside of the restaurant smell heavenly and made your already empty stomach growl in anticipation. “Hungry?” Namjoon teased with a smile. “Extremely,” You dramatically sighed back, chucking along with him. “Well then, let’s eat, shall we?”

“Alright, I know you said you get your money’s worth here, Namjoon. But this sandwich is huge,” You stressed, looking at the thick one foot sub that laid ominously on the ceramic plate in front of you. “You can always save it for later,” He suggested, taking a bite into his own, 6-inch, sandwich. He groaned in delight at the taste. “I love food,” He sighed. “Well, you kinda need it to live, Joon,” You chuckled, taking a bite of your own sandwich.

Namjoon paused mid bite, looking up at you with wide eyes as you eyed the sandwich currently in your hands, trying to figure out how they made sandwiches that tasted like Gods ambrosia. “J-Joon?” He asked, and you looked up to meet his stunned expression. “Oh, sorry, was that not okay? I won’t say it again,” “N-No! I just, I liked it is all,” Namjoon interrupted, stumbling over his words while he examined the sandwich in his hands like you had been doing moments before.

You chuckled, “Well Joon, I saw that you ate my mozzarella sticks,” You playfully scolded, giving him an unimpressed face. “What? You left them in the fridge for too long,” He argued back with a smile while you took another bite of your sandwich. “Mmhmm,” You hummed, chuckling to yourself. “I um, have some good news,” Namjoon spoke up after a beat of silence.

You raised your eyebrows, signaling him to continue what he was saying. “Your car should be ready to go tomorrow,” He mumbled, and you stopped chewing. Swallowing-more like gulping-you let out a deep breath that you were unconsciously holding. “O-oh? Is that so?” You said, feeling a tad bit disappointed now that you didn’t have an excuse to stay.

Namjoon nodded, fiddling with his sandwich. “Yeah, um, I got it fixed up. All good now,” He coughed, feeling unhappy about the thought of you leaving. “That’s good... Thank you Namjoon,” You said back, truly meaning the words, but not having the excitement to put behind them.

The two of you continued to eat and chat with this air of uneasiness around you. Neither one of you talking about the possibility of you leaving tomorrow, continuing your journey and forgetting about the adventures you had here. You weren’t quite sure what you wanted to do. On one hand, you had gotten so used to Namjoon and his presence that being without him would be a hard pill to swallow. But on the other hand, you knew that moving to the city where you could get a job was the safer, and more financially wise, option for you. You were stuck between your happiness and your routine normality that you have gotten used to having.

You looked at your now fully packed backpack in contempt. The feeling of dread that you got about leaving Bangtan village only increased as the day went on and you prepared for the journey to the next city over. You didn’t want to go, but could you truly stay? What would you do? What would be your source of income? You didn’t know, and not knowing this made you feel anxious.

“Are you ready to go?” Namjoon asked you from the doorway. You looked up at him into his golden amber eyes, not saying anything just yet. You thought about the time you shared with Namjoon. The movie nights, dinners, the time in his shop. All seemingly small and domestic things you never thought about in the moment, but now that you're here getting ready to say goodbye to it all, you weren’t ready to.

But you didn’t have a choice. Namjoon wasn’t going to let you live with him forever and you didn’t know if anybody in the town needed a writer for anything, so you had to toughen up and say goodbye with tears stinging in your eyes. “Y-yeah, I guess so,” You mumbled. Namjoon nodded, walking you down to the street where your car was running and waiting.

You stood there next to Namjoon for a couple moments. Basking in the comfort of his presence as you took a deep breath and let it out with a weak sigh. “I guess this is goodbye,” You whispered, kicking stones that laid on the sidewalk. “I guess it is,” Namjoon replied, pretending to care about the dirt that forever laid in his nail beds.

Gathering up all the scattered courage you had, you took a couple steps to your car. You were about ready to opening the driver’s side door when Namjoon called out to you. “Y/n! Wait!” He yelled, as he ran down to your side, putting his hand over yours to stop you from opening the door. “I- Y-yes?” You asked, looking at his fiery, determined eyes. “Stay with me,” He begged quietly.

“What?” You gasped.

“Stay with me Y/n, here, in the village,”

“Namjoon, you know I can’t-”

“Why not? If you’re worried about finding a place to stay, we could live together. I’ll get better at cooking, I promise,” Namjoon wavered, taking your hand fully in his. “Please Y/n, I know we may not know each other that well and you had a plan to move into the city and restart your life but... Can you restart it here? With me?” He begged, confident demeanor slowly slipping away. You were stunned into silence, unable to look away from the man beside you as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“We can continue to have those movie-nights together. The ones where we watch bad horror films that you still get scared at and hide into my arms to get away from the jumpscares,” He said as the two of you chuckled in harmony. “You can teach me how to cook those amazing dishes of yours... We could even get a puppy in the future...” He whispered to you, gradually getting closer. “Please Y/n. Give me a chance to be your second chance. I promise to take care of you,”

“What about a job?” You asked,

“There’s this newspaper that the town has, or my friend Jimin knows a publisher that you can reach out to. Maybe you can follow your old dream of becoming an author,” He encouraged as he spoke softly to you. “I know this is sudden, and we don’t know each other all that well, but we can get to know each other,” He finished, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You didn’t have to think twice before nodding your head, wrapping Namjoon in a hug. “You can be my second chance,”

#namjoon #kim namjoon #rm #rap monster bts #bts namjoon #bts #bts oneshot #namjoon x reader #rm x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

When the Weight Comes Down - 1

Warnings: non-consent sex (series); nothing for this chapter

This is dark! (biker) Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Your father’s a drunk, your mother a recluse, and you’re just another small town girl in Birch.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown

Note: This series features a very inexperienced and shy reader. Not so mouthy as my usual fare but I hope it’s still fun. I couldn’t resist a hot biker Steve spin-off. Most of this is already written and it’s looking like seven chapters total. Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter One: She Didn’t Know

There's a lot you can see when there's nothing to do

💀

You stared out the window as you stood at the sink, your hands pruned in the lukewarm water as you scrubbed the last of the dishes. You could hear your mother in the hallway, wiping the walls. Again. Five, six times a day, she’d wipe down every inch of the place; gather up your father’s empties, and vacuum the old cigarette-scented carpets.

You didn’t remember a day in your life when your mother wasn’t manically tidying every inch of the place. Even when her lip was swollen or her eye was blackened. It was a religion to her. Cleanliness was next to godliness, after all. One of her many lessons.

She rarely left the house anymore. She had never been eager to go beyond the peeling walls but as you got older, she grew more reclusive. She got her check from the government, your father too, though his was often spent on beer and smokes. Some of hers too.

The old house was ramshackle but someone had to pay for it. You’d worked at the bakery since you were sixteen; more than a decade now, closer to two. An excuse to get out as much as a means to pay for the roof over your head. Babs was like a second mother to you and always let you bring home the stale muffins and cookies.

Your eight hours was a brief respite from the home which had been your childhood prison. The cell without a door. Birch itself was impenetrable. Those born there seemed destined to die there.

You’d dreamt of leaving for years; in that very spot, as you washed the dishes and stared out at the lush grass. You’d float away to a world where you had the strength to walk away; from your paranoid mother and your volatile father.

You belonged there though. You couldn’t leave knowing your father would beat your mother without a buffer between him. You knew one day the beer would push him over the edge. To leave would be to condemn her.

You pulled the plug and dried the plates one at the time, then the cups and the old bowls that belonged on a thrift shop shelf. Well, that’s where they came from. Your mother never bought nice things; your father would only break them.

Finished, you closed the cupboard and found your mother in the living room, sweeping the crumbs from your father’s old recliner into her hand. You straightened the pillows on the sagging couch and stood on the other side.

“Should I leave the leftovers in the stove for Pa?” You asked.

“It’s late,” She checked the old clock. It was broken. She stood and cupped the crumbs in her hand. “What time is it anyway?”

“Almost nine.” You yawned. You would have to wake up at five to get to work to do the opening bake. “I should probably lay down soon.”

“Would you grab some more vinegar tomorrow?” She asked. “And… a new mop.”

“What happened to the old one?” You blinked.

She looked down guiltily. Another casualty to your father’s temper.

“Ma,” You sighed. “Why do you let him break everything.”

“Better than him breaking me,” She muttered.

You hung your head and touched your forehead. You wanted to ask her why she stayed, but you had too. You were little better than her. You were both stuck.

“You didn’t give him any off your stipend, did you?”

She frowned. She had.

“The electricity is due,” You said. “Tell me you held onto at least something.”

“I’ll pawn another ring.” She mumbled.

“No,” You waved her away. “No. Don’t.”

“But--”

“I’ll figure it out,” You huffed. “Like I always do.”

You left her there and went to your room. You closed the door and turned on the small lamp beside your bed. You reached under your pillow and pulled out the cracked copy of Frankenstein.

You remembered when you were fourteen and your mother had found it there. A girl at the grocery store had told you she was reading it for class. You always wondered what they did at the school. Your mother schooled you herself. Times had changed and kids were rotten. She didn’t need you corrupted by the wilting branches of Birch.

Your mother had never read it herself so she confiscated it as filth. A monster! Well, you had sneaked into her room and stolen it right back. You were smarter after that; you hid all your good books as you kept the bland ones on your shelf.

Even when you were of age, well beyond truly, you wondered what other people did. Normal people. Working at the bakery, you made up a story for each customer who came in. And when you walked by the bar with Cleopatra over its door, you dreamt of the Egyptian queen and her many lovers. The world was behind a glass; passing you by as you stood still.

You sighed and opened the book as you laid back. A monster betrayed by his creator. So despised and reviled that his heart turned sour. A monster who was more human than his maker. A being who only wanted love. A soul destroyed by neglect.

You didn’t recall falling asleep but when you woke, the crickets chirped loudly outside your window. You yawned and sat up. The light from the living room streamed down the hall and under your door. You marked your page and tucked the book between your bedframe and mattress.

Your mother was in the living room. She sat on the couch as she held a framed cross-stitch and wove roses into the faded white cloth. You checked the time on the kitchen stove. 1:47 am.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” You asked.

“Your pa hasn’t come home.” She said. “You know I worry for him.”

“It’s not even last call,” You countered. “Go, get some sleep.”

“I’ll wait for him.”

You chewed your lip as you put your hands on your hips. You went to her and stilled her needle.

“He’ll be home in a couple hours.” You assured her. “Besides, you know how he is when he’s drunk.”

She looked down and pulled away from you. You shook your head and crossed the room. As you entered the hallway and headed for the front door, your mother rose from the couch and her soft footsteps followed you.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“To get him, so you can sleep.” You shoved your feet into your shoes.

“Oh no, don’t do that, sweet pea,” She said as she clutched the wooden frame. “You’ll only make him mad and, oh, I don’t want you in that bar.” She lowered her voice as she came closer. “It’s full of those bikers.”

“So, go to bed,” You turned to her.

She scrunched her lips and you knew she wouldn’t.

“Fine,” She relented. “But don’t talk to anyone. There are dangerous men there.”

You stared at her for a moment before you turned and pulled open the door. Your heart beat furiously as the screen door clattered behind you and you tripped down the front steps. You’d only ever walked by The Asp but never went in. You’d seen the men who went in and out and mounted their big bikes, but you kept to the other side of the street.

The walk wasn’t very long, like any in Birch. The spotlights illuminated Cleopatra’s breast and the snake at her throat. You stood on the curb as you thought of crossing the street. Just do it. You’d just get your father and go. That was it.

You hesitated and nearly fell as you stepped down onto the road. As you came up on the other side, a shadow moved and you flinched. A man in leather stood beside the door with his thick arms crossed, a bandana over his thinning hair. You stared at him and then door as you stopped before it.

“Well,” He said. “You going in?”

“I, uh, yeah, I’m just… getting my father.” You explained.

“Right,” He scoffed. “I don’t give a fuck.”

You pursed your lips and pushed through the door. Inside it smelled of alcohol and sweat. There was a group of men at one of the round tables and a couple around the pool table. Your father sat along the bar, two other drunks not far from him. He sucked on a brown bottle as he grumbled to himself.

You swallowed and made yourself step away from the door. You neared the bar and a woman looked up. She didn’t look very happy as she asked you what you wanted. You shook your head. You’d seen her before. You were sure she worked at the diner but you must have been wrong.

“Pa,” You leaned on the stool next to your father.

“Huh? What’r’you doin’ here?” He slurred.

“I’m here to take you home.” You said.

“Sure,” He laughed. “Got ‘nother bottle then I’ll go when I feel like.”

“Ma’s waiting,” You insisted. “Come on.”

You tugged on him and he knocked over his half-finished beer. You stepped back at the splash and he staggered to his feet.

“You little brat, I tol’ya leave m’alone,” He snarled. “Fuck’s sakes.”

“You’re drunk. You’ll be lucky if you make it home,” You argued. “I’m trying to help… you got beer at home.”

“And you,” He sneered. “I dun’ wan’ drink there.”

He wobbled on his feet and caught the edge of the bar.

“Beer,” He ordered the bartender who looked over his shoulder. She didn’t move. “S’matter, I got money.”

A man with dark hair shifted in his seat as if to stand and another nudged his shoulder and rose instead. He was tall, a thick beard to match his light brown hair, and blue eyes which sparked as he rounded his table. His jacket was marked with the badge of the club. You grabbed your father’s elbow and he shook you off.

“Looks like you’re done for the night,” The man said as he stopped in front of your father.

“I don’--”

“Excuse me,” The man interrupted his argument. “It’s not a request.”

Your breath was caught in your chest. You’d never heard anyone speak to your father like that.

“I’ll… I’ll get him home,” You said meekly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” The man looked at you. “You don’t need to apologize for him.”

“Come on,” You whispered and grabbed your father again.

He followed you. Barely. He stumbled halfway to the door and swore as he fell to his knees and nearly took you down with him. You bent and tried to pull him up and he batted you away as he rolled onto his back. His eyes were almost entirely closed as his hand fell to his stomach and he gave a loud snort.

Two boots came up on the other side of him. You looked up. It was that man again.

“I’m sorry. He fell. I’ll get him up.” You pulled on your father but he was too heavy. You could barely get his shoulders off the floor.

The man grabbed him and lifted him easily. He stretched his arm around your father and you stood.

“I’ll help ya, doll,” He smiled. You couldn’t.

“Really, it’s fine. He’ll wake up and--”

“Let me help you, doll,” He hushed you. “You’ll never get him home by yourself.”

“I can’t--I--” You gulped. Your mother had told you not to talk to anyone. You looked at your father. The man was right. You’d never get him home. “Okay. Thank you.”

He nodded you out the door and followed as you scurried ahead of him. Your father’s feet dragged heavily and you cringed. As you came out into the cool air, the man stepped up beside you, your father on the other side of him. You turned him in the direction of your house and he dragged your father along.

You were quiet. You didn’t know what to say. Perhaps it was better you said nothing. At the bakery, it was easy. You just had to ask people what they wanted. At home, neither of your parents said much; least of all, your father.

“So your Dorritt’s daughter?” He used your last name. “Old man ain’t very talkative.”

You nodded and kept your eyes on your feet.

“Your name?” He ventured. You cleared your throat before you found your voice to answer him. “I’m Steve.” He offered in return.

You were silent again.

“I don’t know you,” He said. “I know everyone in Birch.”

“Well, I… I don’t go out much, I guess.” You replied.

“Oh shit,” He scoffed. “You were the girl who was home schooled.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

“We were always jealous of you,” He chuckled. “Hated going to school.”

“I still-- I still had class.” You said. “Just… my ma was my teacher.”

“Ha, wouldn’t expect him to be teaching grammar,” He gestured to your father. “You still live with them?”

You scratched your neck and nodded.

“Nothing wrong with that. Just curious.” He said. “Kinda… respectable. Helping them out and all.”

You were too ashamed to tell him that if you didn’t, no one would. That if you didn’t, your mother likely wouldn’t be able to keep up much longer.

“You’re like your pa,” He mused. “Not much on talking.”

“Sorry,” You said softly.

“But you’re a lot more considerate,” He said. “Apologizing for nothing.”

“So--”

“There you go again,” He laughed. “Look, doll, it’s fine. You don’t gotta talk. Don’t gotta apologize.”

You continued on and your house came into sight. Your father’s old mower rusting in the moonlight as the broken Ford loomed in the driveway. You helped Steve get your father up the front steps and opened the door for him. Your mother appeared in the hallway and gasped as she saw your father and the man who held him up.

“Ma, he’s just helping me get Pa home,” You assured her. “You know how he drinks and--”

She nodded frantically and backed up into the front room. You waved Steve through and directed him to drop your father on the couch. Steve looked around and his lip twitched. His eyes returned to you, clung to you, and he smirked.

“Well, you have a good night, Mrs. Dorritt,” He nodded to your mother then you, “And Miss Dorritt.”

“You too.” You breathed as your mother squeezed your arm.

He turned slowly and you both were still as you watched him go. The front door shut and your mother rushed down the hall. She locked the door quickly as you peeked around the door frame. She turned back and pushed herself against the door.

“I told you not to talk to anyone,” She said.

“I didn’t mean to. Pa, he just, keeled over, and Steve--”

“Steve!” She stormed towards you. “That man was one of those bikers. You better leave him alone. Pray he leaves you alone.”

“I didn’t--”

“Bad enough your pa goes down there,” She slipped past you and looked down at your father. “He’s better off drinking on the porch. No one to knock him one.”

“I wouldn’t blame them if they did,” You hissed. “It wasn’t me, ma. It was him.”

“I told you not to go,” She snapped.

“Yeah, I know,” You sighed as you turned to head back to your room. “You told me.”

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #biker!steve rogers #biker au #when the weight comes down #au #fic #series #limited series #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america

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notabloodmage · 3 years

Text

Even then. (DA2 fic)

doin some writing on my canon version of the Hawke family!! this is kind of messy but i needed to get some ideas down ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway listen to me there is nothing in canon that says malcolm hawke couldn’t be an elf @ bioware let me have this

They hadn’t planned to settle in Lothering. Leandra was five months pregnant, the plan was to keep pressing towards the wilds, in hopes of finding a band of Chasind or Avvar that wouldn’t be so opposed to Malcolm’s magical abilities. The prospect frightened Leandra, but Malcolm insisted it was their best shot at a Templar-free life.

The storm had caught them off guard.

The torrential downpour was on them suddenly, and all at once. Malcolm had enough mana remaining to protect them from lightning, but there was no way for him to subtly shield them from the cold that was creeping in through the wet. Ferelden was not always an easy place to live, but it had to be better than Kirkwall.

At least that’s what Malcolm repeated to himself as he scooped his firstborn child up into his arms, trying to ignore the way his back ached from days upon days of travel. The long nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground probably weren’t helping either.

They’d passed several small settlements on the road, but they always tried to avoid contact with other people. People didn’t even need to suspect him of being a mage--being an elf was bad enough for a lot of the country folk. He couldn’t take five steps in a town without being accused of stealing, it seemed.

They always tried to sleep beneath the stars if they could, or in a tent if they thought it would be well hidden enough. Leandra had accused him of being paranoid, now that they were already so far from home but as far as Malcolm was concerned you couldn’t be too careful.

He had done so much--sacrificed all of his ideals-- just to get them this far, and Maker be damned if he was going to be caught now.

Still, in a storm like this exceptions had to be made, and Leandra had spotted an old farmhouse on the horizon. Malcolm, while hesitant, grew more and more at ease as they approached. It seemed to be abandoned.

The couple trudged through the rain hand in hand. The land surrounding the farmhouse was uneven, muddy, and completely overgrown. Malcolm prayed that the rain would cover their tracks as they made their way to the

It was a little worse for wear, looking like it had been sitting untouched for years which was a blessing in disguise because all it took was a swift kick (combined with a bit of mana, of course) to break the rusted padlock.

Malcolm guided them in cautiously, scanning the room for any threats. Abandoned didn’t mean safe. He wasted no time setting up wards to protect them-- but Malcolm was tired too.

Perhaps he’d missed a spot, perhaps he hadn’t been as thorough as he’d thought. Perhaps his wards were weak with his exhaustion as he joined his wife and daughter on a bed of stale hay. Perhaps he’d been distracted with casting a quick warming spell to ensure the most important people in his life slept soundly. Perhaps he’d given in, for a moment, to the sense of hope burning brightly in his chest as he pulled his family close. He slept far too soundly that night. Better than he had in months.

The high-pitched creak of the barn door swinging open jerked the three of them awake.

Rays of sunlight were streaming in through the rafters--had morning really come so soon?

The sight was so peaceful that Malcolm nearly didn’t register the clunk of boots on the wooden floor, and the wide figure stepped towards him, fiddling with the trigger of a small hunting crossbow. Malcolm scrambled back, drawing Leandra closer with one arm while the other fumbled for his staff--lost in the hay.

“Hold still now, friend, I’d prefer not to use this--”

“Stay away from my family!!” The stranger was interrupted by his daughter’s tiny voice.

She had leaped out of the shadows beside them, brandishing the pocket knife that Malcolm kept strapped to his belt.

How did she-- Malcolm didn’t have time to finish the thought. He rushed forward, intent on yanking her back by the shirt collar. He’d been in such a deep state of sleep that he hadn’t even registered her absence. Then again, she was always so sneaky. Malcolm hadn’t the faintest clue where she’d gotten it from, but she had a way of sinking into the shadows and completely disappearing.

She was only four, and a tiny little thing at that-- shaking in the little booties Leandra had made her. Leaping to defend her family with a .

So brave, even then.

“Minerva NO!!” Leandra was shrieking. “Don’t shoot, serah--please!! Minnie get back here--“

For a moment Malcolm thought that all was lost. He pictured himself in chains, being dragged away by Templars-- leaving his wife and daughter alone and penniless in a foreign land. He’d let them down. He’d failed.

The atmosphere of the room changed entirely, however, when the stranger began to laugh.

It wasn’t a bad laugh.

Not condescending. Not cruel.

It was light and youthful, despite the obvious late-middle-age of its owner. It rang through the morning air like a Chantry bell on the breeze. It was the kind of pure laugh that can only be created by the innocence of a child. In that moment the light in Malcolm’s chest returned, soothing his racing heart. He paused, studying the face of the stranger in the barn doorway as he raised his weapon in mock surrender, humouring the child.

“Oh my! Be careful with that, little dragonling!” The stranger smiled down at the child warmly, crouching down to her level to look her in the eyes, before his gaze rose to her fathers, noting the matching eyes that seemed to burn with something he couldn’t quite name. Malcolm saw what he hoped was understanding in the old man’s eyes. “Put that there knife away, and settle down. We can talk this out, I promise.”

Malcolm hurriedly ushered Minerva behind him-- the child kept her eyes glued to the intruder, even when she began to cling to her father’s pant leg. Malcolm could feel her trembling, so he reached down and carded a comforting hand through a mop of brown curls that matched his own, trying to be as brave as his daughter.

A tense quiet had settled over the barn as Malcolm tried to appraise the man before him, who was doing the same. They must’ve been quite the sight--all clinging to each other, covered in hay. Malcolm didn’t dare reach for his staff, he just prayed that wherever the damned thing was it was out of sight.

Finally the stranger huffed, standing and leaning back on his heels.

“Name’s Barlin,” The stranger jutted his chin at Malcolm, crossing his arms casually. “Sorry for bargin’ in on ya.”

“Malcolm…” He held his head high, meeting Barlin’s eyes as he introduced himself. “Malcolm Hawke.”

“Quite the little bodyguard you have there,” Barlin’s voice was genuine. Warm.

Malcolm’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile.

“Small but mighty,” He could feel Minerva nodding against his thigh, as well as the tears she was smearing into the fabric of his trousers.

He called her that a lot, especially when she was little. Such a simple little phrase, but it always made Minerva feel big, in a way.

“Look, I was just checkin’ to make sure you all weren’t bandits, or bears, or something.” The man shrugged disarmingly. “I didn’t come here for a fight. Lothering’s a peaceful little town, and we like to keep it that way.”

“Peaceful? What’s that like?” Malcolm’s sarcastic question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, and Leandra squeezed his shoulder tightly in warning.

Barlin merely chuckled, smiling at him wryly.

“Y’all don’t look like the type of folk who are accustomed to peaceful.” He observed. “I’m just glad you got out of the storm-- it was a good one!”

Barlin took a step inside, eyes travelling upward, surveying how the roof sagged and leaked. The old building had fallen into disrepair, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.

“Look, this place ain’t even mine. It was my brother’s before he moved to Denerim for work. Place hasn’t seen any life in aside from rats and the occasional nug in a while, as I'm sure you’ve noticed.”

The old man paused for a moment, gaze landing on the family before him. He’d later told Malcolm that he’d had a good feeling in his gut about them, and his gut was just about the only thing he trusted.

“I run the tavern in town, why don’t you all come back with me and let me fix you something to eat.”

Minerva perked up at that, and even Malcolm couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the prospect of a hot meal. Leandra looked cautious, but when he met her gaze she nodded slowly. Barlin smiled at that.

“Come on, while we walk, why don’t you tell me what you know about farming?”

Malcolm would find out through gossip in the years to come that Barlin had been trying to get rid of that property for years, but that didn’t change the kindness. He didn’t ask anything about where they’d come from or why they were running. He asked Malcolm what he did and he’d told him he was an herbalist--which wasn’t a lie, and he suspected Barlin could tell.

“Herbalism? Farming? Sounds like the same thing to me.”

The old man let Malcolm pay him back for the land over time after they’d settled in and started earning some money. He’d also scoffed at the notion of charging interest.

The farmhouse was rotting and falling apart, but with a lot of hard work (and a bit of hidden, domestic magic) they turned it into a home. Minerva grew up toddling around the gardens and helping Malcolm till the fields. She’d climbed gnarled tree in their front yard to watch the sun rise every morning since she was six, regardless of weather, much to Leandra’s chagrin.

His eldest child had grown up far too quickly for his liking, and couldn’t help but blame himself. He knew it wasn’t fair to place her in charge of her siblings, especially with the added responsibility of protecting Bethany--but Minerva would insist that she could handle it. She’d lead the twins on adventures in the fields and forests surrounding the little town-- quests, she always called them.

They had to work hard, but Malcolm had taught her to always try to make it fun. The children would race each other home, Minerva usually in front, although Carver would occasionally shove his way past her. Bethany was a lot quicker than she looked too--and always smarter than she let on. Malcolm would never forget the looks on Minerva and Carver’s faces the time he’d taught Bethany how to freeze their feet to the ground, nor Bethany’s own wide grin as she’d crossed the finish line (their garden gate), cheering with victory as Carver swore and Minerva laughed alongside her.

His children were adventurous-- all three of them. Malcolm had lost count of the amount of times Carver and Bethany had burst through the door, shouting that Minerva was in trouble. She had a habit of getting stuck in trees, that girl... Bethany claimed to be the least so, favouring staying inside to study most days, especially as she got older, but even she couldn’t resist the call of a bright summer day.

Minerva always knew exactly what to say to coax her out of hiding, too. Be it a promise to stop by the Chantry for one song, or spinning a scheme so grand that even Bethany couldn’t resist. Bethany was more competitive than she let on, and Minerva was always too clever for her own good. The eldest sister got herself and Carver into heaps of trouble throughout their youth. They were so rambunctious, and Minerva was always pressing Carver’s buttons on purpose, but never in a way that pushed the lad too far.

Always so precise, even then.

Malcolm had had to come down hard on her only once. She’d set off a tar bomb in barracks of the local Templars, bringing the Knight Captain huffing and puffing to their doorstep, completely unaware that he was in the presence of not one, but two apostates. Leandra was beside herself, disguising her frantic panic for Bethany’s safety as being furious at the tar tracked all over their home. Andraste’s Mercy, she had given poor Minerva an earful. Malcolm knew it was mostly for show-- so the templars could believe it was just a well-meant prank by some kid. Malcolm had a reputation around town for being good around a cauldron, and he promised to supply the knight commander with a free shipment of potions, and assurance that Minerva would clean up the mess. Minerva had inherited his alchemic ability. but not his connection to the fade. He’d taught her the recipe himself, so she could help him fix the thatching on their chicken coop.

He was mostly just mad he didn’t think of this himself--he would’ve done the same at her age. He couldn’t tell her that, though, could he?What he did tell her was that she was old enough to know better, he’d said. Perhaps that was too harsh… For the Maker’s sake she was only ten...

He’d come up to her guiltily that evening, offering her a glass of her favourite tea-- a recipe they’d invented together. She was gazing up at the stars, before she mumbled an apology and he did too.

He made it up to her by telling a story about a similar prank he played on the templars back at the Gallows.

“I know they’re the worst, but provoking them won’t do us any favours, Mighty Mini,” The nickname made her giggle. “It’s not your fight.” That made her pause.

“But…” She looked up at him, eyes full of concern. “They make things just awful for you and Bethany!” She protested. “You shouldn’t have to hide your magic! Magic is good!” She said it with childlike simplicity. He’d taught her well… Maybe a little too well, if he was being honest.

“I know, Min, it isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean you should go out of your way to cause problems for the templars. You don’t want their attention. Think of Bethany.” He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze.

She stilled, gazing at her feet.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He took her up into a tight hug. “It’s just not fair...”

Always seeking justice, even then.

Malcolm was far from the perfect father, but, Maker, did he try. At the very least, he was always there when his children needed him. Even years later, he cherished every moment spent outside the walls of the Gallows.

He was able to give his kids the childhood he’d always wanted-- more or less.

On (idk what the dragon age equivalent to Sundays is but That LMAO) Minerva and Carver would spar for hours, using swords carved out of sticks they’d found exploring woods, while Malcolm, Bethany, and Leandra would go into town. Malcolm would take care of the shopping for the week and the two of them would head to the Chantry for the service. Bethany always tithed her allowance at the Chantry, even when her siblings teased her for it. She was always such a sweet, gentle girl. She wanted to help, and the cloister in Lothering was vastly different from the Kirkwall Chantry. They were a peaceful folk, down to earth.

Once their farm was in its prime the revered mother even asked to buy some of their harvested herbs for their healers on a yearly basis, and Malcolm given it to her for free--inspired by the kindness of his youngest daughter. He knew the gift of magic weighed on the poor girl, and he wished he could take the burden from her.

He would’ve preferred they not have to worry about hiding his and Bethany’s magic at all, but he figured that this was as good as it was going to get.

And it was good, indeed. For a time.

Minerva grew up with a Father who could coax her down from the trees she’d get stuck in, and catch her when she fell. Bethany had a Father who could guide her in the ways of the Fade and teach her not to fear her power, but to control it with ease. Carver had a Father who encouraged his study of the blade despite having no combat experience of his own.

Whatever made them happy, as long as they were safe, just, and kind. That was who their father was.

Malcolm Hawke died too young, and too suddenly.

The fever came when Minerva had just turned seventeen, and the twins were only twelve. The illness swept through their entire family, but it took her Father with it when it left. He was buried beneath the apple tree in their garden as a free man. Not a mage, just Malcolm Hawke. His children worked in tandem to carve a headstone themselves, nestling it with care between the roots.

Lothering wasn’t the same after Malcolm died. Minerva did her best to fill the void, standing in as her Sister’s keeper, trying to smile her way through the tears the way her Father taught her to.

Carver left to join the king’s army as soon as he turned sixteen, prying himself out of his mother’s arms with a groan. Leandra drew her daughters even closer in his absence, especially Bethany. The young mage became even more reclusive, afraid to wander too far from home by herself. She became convinced that the Templars in Lothering suspected something, no matter how many times Minerva assured her of how careful they’d been.

Then, Carver was back, and the Blight was upon them. They’d only had a few short days on the run to cherish their brother’s return before the darkspawn ripped him away from them once more, this time for good.

The farmhouse in Lothering never received a proper goodbye from the family that had inhabited it for all those years. The Blight fell upon them far too suddenly for them to grab anything more than their most precious of possessions before running for the hills.

Barlin visits it sometimes, finding the tombstone beneath the trees. The old man hasn’t died yet, even though he’s buried many of his juniors. He chats to the stone as he clears it of moss, pulling out a book with a dwarvish name on the cover.

The eldest Hawke child--the little dragonling who’d stood her ground in that old farmhouse brandishing a knife while shaking like a leaf all those years ago had done quite well for herself, it seemed. Barlin was glad of it. He hadn’t known Malcolm was a mage, but it certainly made a lot about the strange elf make sense.

Barlin wonders sometimes if the Champion of Kirkwall knows how proud those few that survived Lothering are of her.

#barlin is an icon ok i love that dude #he's just a crazy old man who like poison and i can respect that #anyway here's some Emotions #Hawke #bethany hawke #carver hawke #the hawke family #amell #leandra hawke #leandra amell #malcolm hawke #elf malcolm hawke #rogue hawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #da2 fanfic #minerva hawke #handers #if you squint

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