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lizardboiii · 25 days

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｡･:*˚:✧ANGER MANAGEMENT {Possessive!SukunaxFem!Reader}

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✧Summary: Anger management was by no means your strong suit. No amount of lessons or prayers could change that. In fact, it feels like you’ve been doing a lot worse lately with the appearance of a new neighbor in your next door apartment.

✧Chapter summary: There must be something in the water~

✧Warnings: 18+, NSFW, vulgar language, non-con/dubious consent, nonconsensual drug usage, slight PTSD✧

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｡･:*˚:✧⤷Pairing: Ryoumen Sukuna x afab!reader

｡･:*˚:✧⤷Chapters: (i) (ii) (iii) (iv) (v) (vi)

｡･:*˚:✧⤷w/c: 4.3k

｡･:*˚:✧⤷Tropes: NeighborsAU!, AncestorsAU!

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｡･:*˚:✧⤷Chapter IV : TEMPTATION

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Your body felt like it was on autopilot while you half ass grabbed an overnight bag and arbitrarily shoved essentials in. From randomly selected toothpaste to mismatched socks, you just couldn’t seem to get your thoughts to settle. Sukuna’s words took over your mind, echoing like a mantra.

“Have the desk worker call you an electrician in the morning, for now you can stay at mine.”

… stay at mine.

Your movements halted. Red in the face, you slapped a palm against your forehead to rid yourself of unwanted expectations.

Why the hell did he even offer you that? Flustered, you racked your brain for any possible answer only to come up short.

Sukuna was a self absorbed asshole who practically lived to piss you off. If anything, you expected him to laugh in your face, then slam the door on you rather than offer you a place to stay.

You groaned to yourself and rubbed your forehead drained. What a day. You just wanted to eat dinner then pass out.

Finally working up the courage to leave the darkness of your apartment, you slugged over to Sukuna’s residence. Your throat felt tight as an almost ominous feeling leaked from the small cracks of his door, daring you to knock.

Taking a deep breath, you opened and closed your fists at the thought of what resided on the other side. A possible ending to your short lived deal with Nanami perhaps? Most definitely.

Debating on your current life choices, your eyes trailed the thin line of worn paint that just peeked past the door’s frame. Scenes of yelling and trivial disputes flashed in your lingering vision.

Sucking in your teeth, you felt a pit grow in your stomach. It felt weird to go to his place for a reason other than to tell him off. Was it really okay for you to be there? To stay there?

But you just stayed there didn’t you?

Wrapped up in Sukuna’s arms.

Anger and resentment quelled by some unknown force.

You argued with your inner thoughts. No. That was different. You had Yuuji.

This time you were coming by your own free will. Not some accidental sleepover.

This time you made the choice. A choice to be alone with him.

My God, what was wrong with you?

Getting it over with, you moved an apprehensive fist to knock on the door. The distinctive sound was normally drowned out with every visit. However, this time the echo of the wood rang loud, traveling the length of the hallway.

The noise almost reminded you of the tolling bells from the little church down the street. Bells which marked a new hour of reckoning.

Without haste, your pinkett neighbor opened the door with a straight face. You felt on edge at his much larger figure leaning against the doorway, but you felt even more alarmed at his appearance.

He was still shirtless.

For fuck’s sake.

Frowning, you kept your eyes trained on his ruby ones rather than allowing your eyes to lower. Terrified to trace his sharp jaw down the column of his neck to his chiseled chest which was so proudly put on display.

Thankfully, Sukuna was quick to gesture at your tense form with the nod of his head as he held the door open for you. Grateful to look at anything else, you mumbled an insincere thanks and entered.

A quick glance around the apartment’s entryway told you Sukuna’s place was just as clean as you remembered, not a shoe was out of place. You took a deep breath, and the air still held a familiar scent of pine in it.

Standing off to the side, you allowed Sukuna to lead you further into the depths of the apartment. His larger strides easily overtaking your own.

Whether it was nerves or something else entirely, your stare bore into his exposed back as a distraction from the uncomfortable atmosphere. You noted how the thick tattoos that took over his chest and arms snaked over his skin to adorn the canvas of his back. Dark and intimidating, as if they were mimicking their owner.

Sudden movement from Sukuna made you bite your lip at the flex of his muscles. Quickly casting your gaze to the floor, you frowned.

Put on some clothes, whore.

“Here.”

You jolted in surprise when Sukuna's voice broke the prolonged silence. Casually, he propped himself up on his forearm against his opened fridge and held out a small bowl wrapped in saran wrap.

Leftovers.

Though you wanted to be offended, you couldn’t help but feel a small prick in your heart at the unexpected gesture. The last meal you ate at his place tasted like heaven. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to eat Sukuna’s cooking again.

Gingerly grabbing the bowl, you smiled down at it softly, “Thanks.”

Sukuna answered you with a curt grunt before trudging off. Ignoring the blatant inhospitality, you threw your night bag on the ground and sat at one of the bar stools tucked neatly under the overhang of the kitchen island.

Peering at your covered bowl, you felt your stomach growl at the sight of Zaru Soba. Best eaten after chilling for 30 minutes on the dot - no less - was your mother’s saying.

A faint frown carved its way onto your face. Resting your head against your hand, you began to twirl a fork around the noodles, idly picking at them. Soba was your mother’s favorite but it was also hers-

“Don’t tell me, you're a picky eater? How childish can you get?”

You snapped out of your daydream at the sound of a rough voice. Finding its owner, you glared at Sukuna who now held a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“I’m not a picky eater, asshole. Just tired.”

Sukuna let out a puff of air, “Tired, huh? Then this,”

He placed down a bottle of dark red wine, “Should wake you up.”

Giving the wine an amused look, you picked the bottle up and studied it. An Italian name you couldn’t pronounce etched itself onto varnish. You whistled in your mind. Expensive shit for someone who lived in this dump.

Humming, you finished off another forkful, “Thanks but no thanks. I don’t work well with alcohol.”

“What?” A devilish smirk pulled at Sukuna’s lips, “Can’t handle a little wine.”

Irritated at the obvious blow to your ego, you slammed your fork down and growled, “I can handle my shit just fine.”

Sukuna filled a glass and handed it to you with a taunt, “Prove it then.”

An idiot could figure out what Sukuna’s game was. But as it always did, your pride got the better of you. Though, chugging your first glass in spite might have been a stretch.

Sukuna merely chuckled at your competitive nature and refilled your glass before pouring his own. You were quick to continue to sip on the wine as you finally began to finish off your Soba.

In all honesty, you needed a bit of a buzz to finish off the familiar noodles. They held too many memories.

Spinning the noodles around your fork, you watched as they slowly morphed. Their golden brown color suddenly looked a lot more like thick locks of hair.

Dirty blonde hair.

Your form went rigid as you let go of your fork. The utensil clanked against the porcelain bowl with a sharp ring, piercing your ears.

Blurred flashes of red and blue entered and exited your vision with a disturbing uncertainty. Immediately, a panicked feeling began to overwhelm you as muffled music and laughter invaded your ears so loud you thought a night club might have been built inside your head.

Taking a deep breath, you counted down from ten before glancing back at your bowl. The locks of golden returned to their stringy noodle state and the music no longer played. Everything was back to normal.

Still shaken, you grabbed your glass of wine and chugged again, drinking away an unwanted memory.

“It won’t run away from you.”

Already annoyed, you put the glass down harshly and scowled, “I know. A lot on my mind is all.”

Sukuna scoffed, “You actually think?”

Against your will, a small smile tugged at your lips, “Pour me another glass and I might fill you in on these wonderful thoughts of mine.”

Obeying your request, Sukuna shrugged, “I can’t lie, I’m a bit interested in what rats think about in their free time.”

You threw him a mocking look, “A lot more than pink haired bastards.”

Sukuna rolled his eyes, “Indulge me.”

Tracing the rim of your glass you hummed, “You know, I used to go to the same university as Yuuji.”

“You graduated from Yuuji’s school?” Sukuna lifted his glass to take another small sip.

“No.”

Abruptly Sukuna’s eyes fixated on you, almost too interested.

You casted your gaze to the marbled counter, “I dropped out.”

“Why?”

Finishing off the rest of your bitter drink, you let out an exaggerated sigh. In an instant your glass was refilled, slightly higher than the last.

“A scuffle, I guess you could say,” Swirling the newly poured glass, you watched as the red liquid brushed the edge of the glass dangerously close.

“Scuffle?”

Your nose burned as you took another glutinous swig. Leaning against your plan, the world shifted slightly, practically disorienting you. Ah, looks like you’ve got that buzz you were aiming for.

“Ya, a scuffle.”

You yawned before the feeling of a glass being pushed against your fingertips made you pick it up. Sipping the half empty glass your brows furrowed.

When did you drink this much?

Glancing up at Sukuna you noticed he was still on his first glass, its contents barely touched. Bemused, you turned your gaze to his face only for your heart to skip a beat. Sukuna’s eyes thinned as they watched you closely, almost intimate.

“What sort of scuffle?”

“…Some girl…no…friend. Though I guess not friends anymore.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, “She ran her mouth to much and I just-”

You stared into the pool of red in your glass, its color reminiscent of the man in front of you. Blushing, you shook your head to clear your drifting thoughts.

Why the hell were you even telling him this? It wasn’t like you were some school girls who liked gossiping. Though in all honesty, it was nice you were actually able to talk to the man normally.

“Just what?”

Looking away from your wine you stared up at Sukuna’s empty spot. Instead, his form took shape close behind you. His larger hand placed itself next to your own as he hovered above you, inching closer.

When did he get so close?

Your head spun as you moved a hand up to rub your forehead. Shit. You knew you hadn’t drank in a while but how were you this drunk already? Did you somehow revert back to some lightweight?

Your thoughts were interrupted as firm fingers placed themselves on your jaw, tilting your head up.

“Just,” Sukuna leaned in further, “What?”

“I just…”

Sharp cologne made you dizzy as you lost yourself in Sukuna’s closeness. The curve of his lips beckoning you to lean closer.

“Gave in.”

In an instant Sukuna’s lips were on yours. He held your face firmly as he devoured the wine still stained on your lips.

You gasped slightly at the aggressive treatment and moved your hand to his chest. The feeling of his bare skin against your own somehow made you feel drunker as need shot its way down your spine.

Entranced, your mind danced in circles as Sukuna easily slipped his tongue between your lips, massaging your own. You could barely keep up with his pace as your vision blurred and grip tightened.

Sensually, Sukuna’s other hand traced down your side before settling on the curve of your waist. You shivered at the size of it. Large and powerful.

Everything about him was.

Your mind melted as you gave into primal desires and allowed Sukuna to take you in his arms. Wrapping your own arms around his neck, the clashing of your lips never wavered.

Suddenly, you let out a surprised squeak when you bounced against something plush. Letting yourself sink into the thick duvet, you watched Sukuna climb over your body through hazy eyes.

When did you get into the bedroom?

Your concerns were quickly replaced by pleasure as Sukuna began sucking and kissing down your neck, as if starved of your flesh. You whined as he pursued lower down your nape, reaching the beginnings of your breasts.

With a muddled mind, you hardly noticed as your shirt was disposed of leaving you in your bra, bold black with enough lace to strangle a man. A choice you would later thank your past self for choosing in a hurry that morning.

Despite the accidental effort, Sukuna was quick to remove the clothing item as well before taking a moment to stare at your exposed chest.

His tongue grazed against his teeth as he flashed a wild smile, “Damn, Princess. I should’ve gotten you undressed sooner.”

You blushed at the unusual endearing nickname before slurring over your words, “First and last.”

Sukuna chuckled, “We’ll see about that.”

Your body trembled when he suddenly leaned down and took one of your sensitive buds into his mouth, nipping and twisting at your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut and let out a shy moan.

Annoyingly, you could feel Sukuna grin against your chest as he brought his other hand up to your neglected bud. He swiped a rough thumb across your nipple before mercilessly rolling it between his fingers.

You whined as his hands and mouth worked you open. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you rubbed your legs together, desperate for friction. For release.

The growing heat in your stomach combined with the mist in your mind was starting to become too much.

“Aw.”

You whimpered at Sukuna’s deep voice.

“Does my Princess need some relief?”

An embarrassing sob escaped your mouth at his usage of ‘my’.

“P-Please.”

Smirking, Sukuna pushed his knee between your legs, “Earn it, Princess.”

You froze at the sudden pressure. Sukuna playfully rubbed your growing heat tauntingly.

“Come on,” his lips ghosted up your neck, “be good and I’ll help out a bit.”

Hesitating, you gently moved your hips up and started to slowly rub your aching heat against his knee. A spark shot up your spine as you tentatively began to pick up your pace.

“That’s it.”

Sukuna’s words encouraged your growing confidence. You bit back a moan as you rutted against him harder, wanting to be good. To please him.

“Keep going for me, Princess.”

Forgetting your pride, you gripped his shoulders in a tight grasp as you frantically sought after stimulation. The rapid jerk in your hips grew as a knot began to form in your stomach, his knee edging you.

Abruptly, Sukuna bit down on your nipple harshly, drawing blood.

You whimpered as the action almost sent you over the edge, “Please.”

Sukuna lapped the blood up, “You're doing so good for me.”

Like a trigger, white flashed behind your eyes as your hips began to twitch and move on their own. With a silent moan, the cord in your stomach violently snapped.

“Good girl.”

Your body dropped to the bed as you let out heavy breaths. The uncomfortable feeling of wetness in your pants was almost enough to sober you up before strong hands hooked around your waist band.

Sukuna ripped off your pants and underwear in one swipe before throwing the soiled garments to the floor with a soft thump. The action making you shiver at the sudden rush of cold air.

Embarrassment filled your cheeks as you watched Sukuna loom over your bare form with greedy eyes.

Quickly clamping your legs together, you heard Sukuna chuckle, “Don’t be shy now, Princess.”

You bit your lip as Sukuna placed a large hand on either knee and pushed your legs apart, exposing your already dripping cunt.

A wolfish look took hold of Sukuna’s face as he licked his lips. Your heart clenched at the sight, almost telling you to run. Unfortunately, your body felt too heavy and your mind too groggy.

Roughly, Sukuna swung your legs over his shoulders as he bent down. Your vision spotted at the sudden movement before completely going out.

Opening heavy eyelids, you cried out when you returned to something soft licking up your folds. Glancing down, you flushed at the sight of Sukuna, or two Sukuna’s as your vision swirled.

His four hands were firmly placed on your thighs as he ate you out, six eyes locked on your own. With the flick of his tongue, you threw your head back against a pillow as he began to swirl his tongue against your aching bud.

Clinging to the bed sheets, incomprehensible words spilled from your agape mouth as you tried to beg for mercy. Hot tears steamed down the curve of your cheek as your eyes rolled.

Trying to regain any form of consciousness, you forced your eyes to stare at the ceiling. Black dots dotted your vision once again when Sukuna’s tongue eventually made its way to your slit, entering slowly.

It was too much.

Your head pounded as your legs spasmed against Sukuna’s hold. You felt like you were going to throw up.

“Shit.”

Sukuna’s voice felt distant in your ears as you faded in and out. Your body felt like it was shutting down.

“I must’ve put to much-”

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“(Y/N)!!!”

You could feel your grip tighten on your coffee cup as you ignored the familiar voice. The sharp ring of it almost caused you to burst the cardboard cup half.

“HEY!!! (Y/N)!!! OVER HERE!!” The white haired professor flung his arms around wildly in an attempt to catch your attention.

Your teeth grinded as you picked up your pace. Maybe if you walked faster he would piss off.

Glancing behind you to see if he had given up yet, you choked on your own spit as you noticed him running full sprint at your agitated form.

“WHAT THE HELL???”

Your cup crashed to the cement, spilling the left over caffeine all over the concrete as you booked it. Speeding down Main Street, you left out a strangled breath as the back of your shirt was swiftly caught by him.

The silverett laughed as he held onto the thin fabric of your shirt with his pointer and thumb. The deep chuckle could render anyone helpless.

Anyone but you.

“Professor Gojo.”

He smiled at you through pearly white teeth. The action made a knot form in your chest. It was the kind of smile that you meant. A genuine one you didn’t allow just anyone to see.

Gojo has been your professor for three years now. A Criminology professor who had unfortunately taken a strong liking to you.

“How’s it going (y/n)? I haven’t seen you in ages!” He swiped a hand through his fringe, “Almost like you were avoiding me or something!”

You were.

“We have very different schedules, Professor. I’m sure we’re all just as busy near the end of the year.”

Gojo places his hands on his hips, “Professor? What are we strangers? Call me Gojo, (y/n)! Go - jo!”

You stared at him blankly.

Undeterred, Gojo brushed off your open hostility and slug a casual arm over your shoulders, “Always so uptight, (y/n), I can see why your always hanging around Nanamin~”

Your ears flushed as you shoved his arm off you, “Shut up.”

With the flick of his wrist, Gojo spun your body to face him, “Is that anyway to talk to your professor, (y/n)~”

You tilted your head to glare at his cocky smirk, “Is this any way to behave with a student, Professor?”

Amused, Gojo threw another smile and released his hold, “Of course, of course!”

A small smile tugged its way on your face before you quickly quelled it, “I’ve got places I need to be, what do you want?”

“Can’t a professor just say hello to one of his favorite students?”

You gave him a look.

Gojo sighed and put his hands up, “Alright, alright. You got me."

"Do not go to Shibuya.”

You quirked a brow, “Why?”

Like a switch, Gojo’s mood soured. Brows tightening, lips perusing, and the ever so faint glare of his tinted glasses told you as much.

“Stay on campus, at least for tonight.”

You laughed off his attitude, “You're telling me, a third year, to not go to the pre-graduation party tonight? The one that happens only once a year? Once a lifetime?”

“Yes.”

Baffled, you shook your head, “Not gonna happen.”

Gojo leaned closer, “I’m serious, (y/n).”

Heat sparked in your chest as you gripped your hands in tight fists, “Why?”

“Just cause.”

You snarled at his vague answer, “WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU LIKE THIS?”

Gojo's demeanor pulled another 180 as he laughed at your enraged form, “I have something better planned anyway, (y/n)!”

Gojo pranced around you, “Why would you wanna go to Shibuya anyway? That place is loaded with felons!”

You clenched your jaw, “Listen Gojo, I’m going to that party whether you like it or not.”

The white haired man halted his movements, “I was afraid you’d say that.”

You stared at his pondering form in confusion. Clearly this man needs to be put on meds.

Your evaluation was only amplified as Gojo suddenly stood straight. In the blink of an eye heavy metal handcuffs snapped onto your unsuspecting wrists.

Your mouth fell agape, “THE HELL?!”

Gojo sighed as he threw your screaming form over his shoulders, “The hard way it is~”

“SATORU GOJO I SHOULD KILL YOU!”

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You woke up from your vivid dream with a start. Whipping up from the bed, your form shook slightly as you took in deep breaths of air. The room was silent save for the quiet ringing in your ears.

Sighing, you swiped a hand through your damp hair. Shit. You hadn't thought of that conversation in months. Why now?

You rubbed your face with your hands aggressively, whipping away any traces of sleep. The room was dark signaling daylight was far from near.

Glancing around for your phone, you cursed when you couldn't find it. What you managed to find was a small digital alarm clock on the bedside table.

1:11am

Damn it. Why couldn’t you sleep through the night like a normal person?

Your head pounded as sleep deprivation finally caught up with your awakened form. Groaning, you took in your surroundings to try and lull yourself to sleep.

Gray walls, white sheets, and a fait scent of wood.

Your brows furrowed. Your room didn’t smell like pine… but Sukuna’s did.

Ah, that’s right. You stayed over at Sukuna’s. But how’d you end up in his bed?

Pinching your brow, you tried to recall the events after leaving your apartment. Unfortunately, your memories got foggy around the time you ate dinner and were almost completely gone after that.

Your brain throbbed as you struggled to find answers. Nothing was adding up. In fact, where the hell was Sukuna?

A gruff sigh made your form go rigid. Peaking over at the other side of the bed, your eyes widened at said man’s sleeping form.

He was hard to make out in the dark, you could just discern his spread out form. One hand propped his head up while the other laid lazily beside you.

Despite the low lighting, it didn’t take long to notice his lack of attire and it took even less to notice your own. Instantly, you grabbed as much of the white duvet as Sukuna’s form allowed you to and covered yourself.

What. The. Hell.

Your brain ran in circles as you tried to come up with an explanation for your situation. As much as you tried to pin it on some unseen force, you knew very well why you were in the position.

Why else would you be naked next to a man modeled after a god other than to have slept with him?

You weren’t that dumb, and you definitely weren’t some virgin.

But why him of all people?!

Spinning your body to the side, you placed your feet on the cool floor. The temperature felt nice compared to the inner rage you felt at yourself.

Seriously, what was wrong with you?

“You always seem to try and run away from me in the middle of the night.”

Your hands clenched the duvet, which now fell to your sides. A sense of deja vu flooded your mind. Would you choose to stay again?

“(Y/n).”

No.

Something was different.

You could feel Sukuna’s form rise behind you, warming your bare back. His larger hands covered your own which still clutched the covers.

Breath trailed your neck as Sukuna melted into you. An eerie silence shrouded the room as neither of you spoke. You simply basked in one another’s presence.

This time was different.

You didn’t have a choice.

You closed your eyes, allowing his scent to engulf you.

“Why is it we only complete each other at night?”

“It’s easier to hide.”

You turned your head to meet his gaze. He blended in with the darkness so much you were sure if his arms weren’t wrapped around you, you wouldn’t have known he was there.

“Show me how.”

You felt a chuckle rumble across his chest. It didn’t feel mocking as it usually did. It felt…gentle.

“If you learn how to hide any better, then even I won’t be able to find you.”

You rested your head against his chest, “Maybe it’s better that way.”

A tightening grip was your only answer. Slowly, he pulled you back into the bed, holding your frame captive.

You bit your lip. Who were you kidding? You were tired of hiding.

Tired of trying to forget that night in Shibuya.

Tried if being angry.

What’s done is done.

Regret would only hold you hostage.

Sukuna’s soft breath’s tickled your ear, reminding you of his presence. Your heart throbbed. Sukuna. Who even was he to you? Cuddled up one minute then combating the next.

How could he be your damnation yet your salvation?

You squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe it was time to wear the rose colored glasses for a short while. Even if it meant getting hurt.

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thewintersoldierdisaster · 10 months

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a/n: happy father’s day and happy birthday to me! a fun little fluffy thing with dad!andrei to celebrate the day 🥰 i’m off to enjoy some birthday cake and presents lol

word count: 4k

tw: some mild smut, mostly just a lazy make out session

summary: it’s andrei’s first father’s day and you and evie celebrate with him all day long

Andrei is still passed out, snoring, with his arm thrown over his face, when the baby monitor crackles to life and Evie’s soft baby coos penetrate the sleepy haze of your brain. On autopilot, you swing your legs out of bed and yawn. Blinking blearily, you scoop up a crew neck stolen from Andrei years ago off the floor and yank it over your head before you pad down to the nursery. Andrei shifts as you leave the room, sheets drifting lower down his stomach. You linger in the doorway, appreciating the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, the faint tenting of the sheet from his half-hard morning wood. A lick of desire sparks at your spine, even as your poor, battered vagina screams at you to avoid the temptation of sex with your husband.

Shaking your head a little to get rid of the smutty thoughts, you twist your hair up into a neater bun and creep into the nursery. Evie’s awake in her crib, arms and legs kicking and flailing. You lean a forearm on the railing of the crib and rest your other hand on her belly, rubbing softly. “Hey, baby cakes,” you grin, Evie’s attention immediately focused on you. She gives you a big, gummy smile, her brown eyes wide in her tiny face. “You ready for some mama time?”

Evie waves her hands up at you and you scoop her up, cuddling her to your chest. She’s soft and warm and smells like baby soap and milk. You can’t help but smother her little face with kisses, making her laugh - your favorite sound in the whole world. You narrate while you change her out of her sleep sack and pajamas, “today’s a big day, bunny. It’s Father’s Day, your papa’s first ever one! So we have to make him feel extra special today.” She scrunches her little face up, babbling nonsense sounds.

“That’s right!” You reply, acting as if she had actually responded to you. “Papa’s special every day and even more this year because he won the big trophy! And you, little miss Evie, are going to be the star of Uncle Jordo’s barbecue because we’re putting your cute little diapered behind into the Stanley Cup.”

Evie drools and you laugh, wiping at her chin with one hand. “Keep up that energy for the party, baby girl,” you adjust her little pink romper set and settle her back in your arms so you can feed her. While she eats, you hum softly, rocking in the chair that your parents had bought for the nursery. Evie’s tiny hand splays over the top swell of your breast and you can’t help but marvel at how minuscule and perfect her little fingernails are. It still blows your mind that this perfect, little baby is all yours and Andrei’s. She pops off your breast with a little baby grumble and you burp her, pulling your bra and sweatshirt back into place.

“Okay, Evie,” you plant a smacking kiss on her cheek, “time to get the day started.”

With Evie cradled in one arm, you head downstairs, already mentally running through your to-do list before heading over to the Staals’ house later for a Father’s Day barbecue. You’ve got a busy day ahead of you - before the barbecue, you’re getting together with your parents and Andrei’s parents for lunch so they can spend time with Evie. But before that you want to celebrate with Andrei, just the three of you.

And the celebrations start with breakfast - so you tuck Evie into the carrier strapped to your chest and get started. Her cheek presses against your chest and you bounce a little on the balls of your feet, making her giggle. “What do we think about a fancy breakfast for Papa, Eve? Pancakes and eggs and bacon?” You narrate your actions to Evie as you go, knowing that she’s absorbing so much even if it doesn’t seem like it. Her little legs kick at your sides as you work, cracking eggs into a bowl of pancake mix. In the two months since Evie was born, you’ve become incredibly skilled at doing things with her strapped to your chest, so making breakfast is nothing.

Add in the fact that you’ve been functioning essentially as a single mother while the Canes were winning game after game during the playoffs, eventually winning the Cup just a few days ago, and it’s almost weirder for you not to have Evie attached to your body.

“Pancakes done,” you say, dropping the third pancake on the plate and immediately getting started on scrambling eggs. The bacon gets laid out on a sheet pan and popped in the oven and you’re feeling good about getting everything ready and making sure you’re quiet so that Andrei doesn’t wake up before you’re ready for him. Evie starts to get cranky, scrunching her little face up before she starts to cry. “Oops, sorry baby cakes,” you put the bowl of eggs back on the counter and adjust so you can feed Evie. She quiets immediately, closing her eyes as she sucks.

“Mom win,” you mumble, happy you got her before she really started shrieking. While Evie eats, you make the scrambled eggs, getting them light and fluffy and creamy and perfect. Once the eggs are off the stove and on a plate, you cover them with a bowl so they stay warm while you burp Evie. She lets out a noise that sounds like it could have come from one of Andrei’s teammates and you laugh, finding it adorable how startled Evie looks by her burp. “You’re the cutest baby in the whole world, did you know that?” You brush your nose against Evie’s temple, pressing a few kisses to her chubby cheek.

She squeals and you grin even wider. “Papa’s going to love our surprises,” you tell her, tucking her back into the carrier wrap and finishing up breakfast. The eggs, bacon, and pancakes get put on a tray and you cut up some fruit too, mixing it all together in a bowl. Two mugs of coffee - doctored to perfection for the both of you - and a glass of orange juice round out breakfast. You have his presents hidden in your closest upstairs, so you don’t have to worry about making two trips.

It’s a little bit of tricky maneuvering, with Evie cuddled close to your chest and the tray balanced in front of you, but months of practice carrying the baby and the laundry basket or the grocery bags is coming in handy now. You bump the bedroom door open with your hip and poke your head in. Andrei’s still asleep, but he had to have moved while you were downstairs since the sheet and blankets are tugged up over his lap, halfway over his stomach. His face is still slack with sleep, the full playoff beard overwhelming the lower half of his face. You smile to yourself and put the breakfast tray on top of your dresser, taking Evie out of the wrap and laying her on Andrei’s chest. Instinctively and immediately, both of his hands come up to cradle her head and back protectively. He yawns, eyes still scrunched shut, and murmurs, “my little zaychik hopped here by herself?”

“She’s a genius,” you tease, taking the carrier wrap off your body and dropping it to the floor. “Just like her mama.”

Andrei cracks open one eye and the corner of his mouth lifts in a grin. “You are something, solnyshka,” he teases back, cradling Evie close while he manages to sit up. She wiggles in his grip, letting out soft cooing noises. Andrei’s entire face transforms into a sappy expression and he presses kisses all over Evie’s face. “Papa’s little zaychik. You’re cuter every single day,” he says, holding her in the crook of his arms. Her little arms and legs kick and wave and you laugh.

“Another thing she gets from her mama,” you lean over and run a hand through Andrei’s overlong hair, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Happy Father’s Day, by the way.”

“Spasibo,” Andrei captures your mouth with his before you can pull away. “I smell breakfast.”

You waggle your eyebrows at him and bring the tray to bed. “Only the best for Mr. Svechnikov’s first Father’s Day! Dig in and I’ll get your presents.” You scoop a piece of bacon off the plate and bite into it while you dart off to your closet.

While you dig around under the pile of blankets and clothes you used as camouflage, you can hear Andrei talking to Evie. “Mama has predstavlyayet for Papa? But you’re my present, yes? My little zaychik, my little heart.” Your own heart melts with Andrei’s words, hormonal tears pricking at your eyes. You swipe the back of your wrist over your eyes quickly and reach for the shopping bag’s handles, tugging it out from under a winter comforter.

“Okay! Presents for Daddy,” you sing-song, shaking the bag in your hand. Andrei narrows his eyes at you, smirking a little, and you blush, waving him off with your free hand. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not even remotely ready for kid number two.”

“What if I want that to be my present, solnyshka?” Andrei laughs, bouncing Evie in his arms. “I love how you look pregnant.” His smile is wide, teeth glinting beneath the beard, and you genuinely feel your knees wobble a little. He’s too fucking handsome for his own good.

Setting the bag of presents on the bed, you shake your head, “nope, no way. I need time to recover before I let you get near me with that weapon.” You wave your hand at his lap, grinning.

Andrei shrugs and lifts Evie up to stage-whisper, “we’ll work on Mama. No way are you going to be an only child.”

A scoff leaves your mouth - he’s not going to have to work very hard, you one thousand percent want to give Evie a sibling - and you push the presents closer to Andrei, simultaneously picking up your coffee mug and taking a sip. “Go ahead, open them,” you encourage him.

Andrei shifts Evie to hold her on one arm, her head and neck supported by the crook of his elbow and her body stretched out over his forearm, little pajama clad feet cradled in the palm of his hand. He’s so comfortable holding her now, a practiced ease in his movements, and it’s extremely fucking hot how good of a dad he is. You scoot closer on the bed, pretzeling your legs and cupping the mug of coffee between both hands. Now that you’re not pregnant, but still breastfeeding, your caffeine intake is still limited so you savour every single cup that you manage to drink while it’s still hot.

“This is not such a big deal in Russia,” Andrei says while he unwraps a gift with one hand.

“Get used to it, buddy,” you reply. “Father’s Day is important and we’re always going to celebrate you.”

His mouth curls up in a small smile in response, the blue striped wrapping paper finally falling away from the box. Andrei pulls out a black baseball hat with white embroidery on the front proclaiming him a GIRL DAD. You watch him read the words, his smile growing to show off his dimple and missing tooth. When he looks up at you, his brown eyes are twinkling. “Girl dad?” he says, already pulling the hat on over his hair.

“It’s a high honor,” you tell him, faux-seriously. “Means you have to let her do your hair and makeup when she’s older and twirl her in her little princess dresses. Be her best friend and biggest supporter. Think you can handle all that?” You clear you throat a little, getting emotional thinking about watching Evie grow up and bond with Andrei.

Andrei nods, bouncing Evie softly in his arms. He lifts her to his face and kisses her forehead. “I think I can,” he replies carefully, looking up at you with wide, adoring eyes.

You nudge his foot with yours and he finishes opening his presents - including a card that you made that includes Evie’s little footprints in the shape of a heart. Andrei laughs and tickles the bottoms of Evie’s feet, making her squirm and laugh her baby laugh. She stretches in his grip, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Looks like someone can’t hang,” you murmur, taking her into your arms and resting her against your shoulder. “Time for a nap, I think.”

Andrei steadies you with a hand on your elbow as you climb off the bed, resting his other hand on your hip when you’re on your feet. His hands are warm through the fabric of your pajamas and you lean into his touch a little. “I’m going to put her down and I’ll be back. Finish breakfast,” you tell him, bending at the waist and kissing him quickly. Andrei’s hand snakes around your waist before you can pull back, holding you close. He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue over your bottom lip until you let your mouth fall open softly. His beard scrapes against your face deliciously.

Evie lets her presence be known, letting out a cranky sounding cry against your shoulder. You huff a sigh against Andrei’s mouth and pull back reluctantly. “Nap and then I’ll be back,” you promise, lips tingling from the kiss. Your cheeks and chin feel a little chapped from his beard.

He smirks at you, the baseball hat on his head slightly askew. “I’ll keep the bed warm, milaya.”

Shaking your head, you carry Evie back into her nursery, calling over your shoulder, “we have lunch plans at noon, don’t get too comfy.”

Evie falls asleep quickly once you have her all swaddled up. She lets out a soft yawn and her entire face goes slack once she’s out. You watch her for a few moments to make sure, smiling softly as her little nose and eyelids twitch while she dreams. You have to resist the urge to run your finger down the perfect little slope of her nose and cuddle her close. It’s almost scary how much you love her.

“Sweet dreams, bunny,” you whisper, backing out of the nursery and padding down the hall to your bedroom. When you get there, Andrei’s got his legs out of bed, his feet on the floor, and he’s pulled on a pair of cut-off sweat shorts. He’s still wearing the GIRL DAD hat, but it’s flipped backwards now, making him look sinfully hot. He scrubs a hand over his beard.

“Should I shave?” He asks, spreading his legs apart so you can come to stand in between them. He loops one arm around your waist and guides you so you’re sitting on his thigh.

You hum thoughtfully, cupping his cheeks and scraping your nails through the bristly hairs. They rasp against your palm and you shake your head. “I like it. Reminds me that my husband won the Stanley Cup,” you wink at him, giggling when he pulls you closer, crushing your body against his in a tight hug. He buries his face in your neck, kissing and rubbing his cheeks against your skin, chafing it.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he mumbles into the fabric of your sweatshirt. Andrei’s hands smooth over the side of your hip, fingers playing at the hem of your sleep shorts. Goosebumps prickle at your skin, rising up after his featherlight touches.

His fingers skim higher, higher, brushing against the crease of your thigh. You hum, threading your fingers into the hair wings formed by his hat. Andrei’s thumb swipes over your hip bone and you wiggle on his thigh, a throb pulsing between your legs. The heat in your belly almost makes you lose your mind, but an almost immediate twinge of pain follows the ache of desire and you frown.

“I’m not quite ready,” you mumble, disappointed in yourself.

“I can wait,” Andrei replies, flattening his palm over the inside of your thigh, but keeping his fingers to himself. He lies back against the mattress, pulling you with him so you’re draped over his chest, feet dangling to the floor. His arms are wrapped around your back, holding you close. “We could make-out like teenagers?”

Andrei waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh. You plant your hands on the mattress next to his head and kiss him, stretching your body out over his. Andrei responds happily and immediately, his cock hardening underneath you and pressing into your stomach. You hum into his mouth and one of Andrei’s hands slides over your back to come and tangle in your hair. His free hand cups your ass and lifts you a little, encouraging you to bring your legs up and straddle his hips.

“Feel so good, solnyshka,” Andrei mumbles into your mouth, kneading your ass with one hand. You kiss slowly, exploring his mouth with your tongue. Lazily, your hips rock over his erection, warmth pooling low in your stomach. He meets you hip roll for hip roll and you could almost come this way, with his hands on you and his body warm and hard under yours. Your hands tangle in his hair and Andrei lifts his hips up into yours, pressing right up against your throbbing clit.

“Andrei,” you whine his name against his jaw, reaching down between your bodies. It’s a tight fit since you’re pressed so close to him, but you wiggle your hand under your stomach and wrap your fingers around him over his shorts. He grunts at the contact and thrusts his hips up into your hand. “I can’t have you in me yet,” you sigh, peppering soft kisses over his cheeks and chin. “Let me get you off though since it’s Father’s Day and all.”

Andrei huffs a strangled laugh and slides back on the bed, taking you with him. “It’s not fun if you don’t come too, solnyshka,” he says seriously, kissing your temple. You twist your wrist a little and he groans, eyes closing and mouth falling slightly open.

“I’ll make it fun, baby,” you promise, crawling onto your knees in between his spread legs and slipping your hands beneath the waistband of his shorts. His cock is hot and hard in your hand, the skin velvety soft. You run your fingers delicately over him, enjoying the sounds Andrei’s making. “So good for me,” you murmur, “my favorite man, making my favorite noises.”

You dirty talk him through a semi-hand, semi-blow job and Andrei tries to return the favor when he convinces you to join him in the shower. He manages to nudge one finger inside of you and makes you come with his thumb pressing firmly on your clit, so all-in-all, it’s a good morning.

And that good morning makes you a little late to lunch with the parents, but they don’t mind - immediately monopolizing Evie’s attention and passing her around the table. You had custom frames made for your dad and Igor as gifts “from” Evie - they both say ‘I love my grandpa’ but Igor’s says ‘dedushka’ instead of grandpa. You added photos of each man’s first time holding Evie into the frames and you’re pretty sure the gift goes over like gangbusters. Your mom and Elena absolutely lose it over Evie’s little outfit - the tiny pair of overalls really is more adorable than it has any right being. Evie is a good sport throughout lunch, being totally chill and only have a minor freak out when she got hungry.

She falls asleep in the car on the drive to the Staals’s home and you know you’re pushing your luck by taking her to a second location and disrupting her routine even further. Andrei settles her in the wrap strapped to his chest while she’s still sleeping and you help him get her situation, both of you holding your breaths like you’re trying to dismantle a bomb. She scrunches her face briefly and then relaxes, snug against his chest.

“Oh thank god,” Andrei mutters, cradling her head in one large hand.

“You look so attractive with a baby attach to your chest,” you say, lifting the diaper bag onto your shoulder.

“If you let me put a second baby in you, I’ll be twice as attractive in nine months,” Andrei grins, teasing.

“We’ll see,” you roll your eyes, pushing open the gate to the backyard. It’s a casual barbecue, with people coming and going, but the backyard has plenty of people mingling around. Heather spots you immediately and comes over to greet you and Andrei, wishing him a happy first father’s day.

He grins, keeping one hand on Evie’s back, saying, “it’s not so big a deal in Russia, but is nice to be celebrated.”

You pipe up, “the bigger celebration was for the Cup, honestly.”

“Make sure you put that cutie in the Cup again,” Heather replies, tickling one of Evie’s exposed feet. “Jordan has it on the patio.”

Eventually you do wander over to the Cup, saying hi to everyone on the way, and getting drinks as you go. Evie’s awake by now, making little noises against Andrei’s chest and wiggling around. He takes her out of the wrap and squats by the Cup, holding Evie just above it for a second before thinking and shouting to Jordan, “you didn’t put any weird shit in here?”

Jordan snorts and shouts back, “they cleaned it up after the parade, you’re good to go.”

“Into the Cup you go,” you laugh and Andrei puts Evie into the bowl, holding her steady. “Ugh, it’s still the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He grins at you and you snap a picture - later you’ll use the picture as part of your Father’s Day post for Andrei. You hang around the barbecue for a little longer, until Evie finally has the meltdown you were expecting, giving you the perfect excuse for an Irish goodbye.

Once Evie’s back in her crib, napping away, you and Andrei drop to the couch, your legs draped over his lap. “I have another surprise for you,” you say, pulling an envelope out of the back pocket of your shorts.

Andrei’s hand is clasped around your ankle and he takes the envelope in his free hand, sliding the flap open with one finger and pulling out the card inside. There’s a Superman cartoon on the front, proclaiming SUPERDAD! and Andrei huffs an amused little laugh at the image. You smile to yourself, watching him flip open the card and the way his forehead scrunches together in confusion when a tiny square photograph of Evie falls out onto his lap. “What’s this?” He asks, picking up the picture. He laughs when he sees Evie’s expression - she looks like a tiny drunk, but little does he know that it took a dozen attempts to get Evie to even look at the camera.

“Evie’s passport photo. Well, the extra one,” you explain. “She needed one to travel since we’re heading out of the country in two weeks.”

Andrei raises an eyebrow. “We are? And where are we going?”

“Russia,” you lean closer to him, kissing his cheek. “Spending the summer with your parents, showing Evie the sights of your childhood.”

“Really?” Andrei looks surprised and touched. “I didn’t think you’d…she’s little.”

“Exactly, she’s little. It’s easy to travel with her when she’s so tiny,” you explain. “I planned everything out with your mom. You just have to pack a bag.”

Andrei cups your cheek in his hand and kisses you sweetly. “Thank you, solnyshka. Best gift ever.”

“Fitting, since you’re the best dad and husband ever,” you crawl into his lap and rest your wrists on his shoulders. “I can’t wait to see you with her as she gets older.”

#andrei svechnikov imagine #andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov x you #andrei svechnikov #andrei svechnikov x reader

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glorified-red · 1 year

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Autopilot (Damian Wayne x Reader)

summary: After witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home, you were left at the mercy of your own memories. All the usual tactics Damian knew weren't helping. It's a good thing he had a little helper.

word count: 4,070~

warnings: flashback during a panic attack, disassociation and driving through it, reference to past physical abuse (not specified from who or if it's domestic, it's very vague. But is heavily implied to be from a male), depictions of physical abuse in terms of verbs (punch, kick, hands on body, etc. Nothing more. Aka no bodily harm, just the feeling), and reference to passing out from a panic attack in the past.

Nothing quite like real world events to jerk me out of a writer's block, aye? This is based on a personal experience from just a few days ago so if there is a complaint with this story being too specific, I will ignore it. This fic means a lot to me so please be kind to it. Dont hesitate to let me know what you think of it! For those wondering, yes, I did finish writing that essay. Have not submitted it because I would love to read it and edit it at not 1 am, so that's a task for tomorrow while I dye my hair.

Autopilot — acting or functioning without conscious thought, as a result of routine or habit.

That was one way to describe what was happening.

From the second you put your helmet back on to the moment your hand closed the front door, you couldn’t pinpoint a single frame in between. The entire world around you was a blur, even as you zipped through Gotham traffic on a busy afternoon.

Distantly, you knew you should be aware of the wind hitting your skin, especially as it assaulted your jacket with its wispy breath. Each red light and your boots hit asphalt. You should’ve been able to register that feeling shoot up each of your legs, maybe feel the way your body shifted into an upright position.

But instead, your eyes were blank behind the tinted lens of a bike helmet.

You didn’t even try to fix it, not yet anyway. Not when there were cars blocking you in from every angle; not when one wrong move—one stuttered breath—could mean your bike jerking into a freefall.

So you didn’t even try to fight for awareness. If you did, maybe your hands would be gripping the handlebars a little tighter, maybe even twisting the kevlar of your gloves into the grooves until you felt something. You would’ve rubbed your hands down your thighs, dragging the fabric along your skin just enough to force your body into consciousness.

But you didn’t.

You just let yourself run on autopilot.

It was safer that way anyway. Safer than having the worst panic attack of your life while driving at least. You didn’t even want to think about how Damian was going to react when he found out you were driving this far down into your subconscious—on your motorcycle no less.

He really was going to murder you one of these days. But then again, you had countless retorts ingrained into your repertoire, countless callbacks to days where it wasn’t you in the driver's seat doing this, but the hypocrite himself.

So you didn’t worry enough about it. You gave it maybe two seconds of thought before you put your helmet on and rolled out of the parking lot. Should you call Damian? Wouldn’t it just be easier for him to pick you up and worry about the bike later?

Your brain sighed, maybe your body did on instinct, if it did, you wouldn't have known. He was at home—which was barely fifteen minutes away, you could survive that long—waiting for you, it’d worry him too much to get a phone call two hours after you were supposed to be home.

Somewhere between hues of gray, your legs guided you through the maze of a familiar home. There was a buzz in your ears, like the poor organs were trying desperately to comprehend the noise around you but fell short every time. They were filled with water then dried with cotton only for it to dissipate with water once more: a ferocious cycle that left you a stranger to the greeting happening right before you.

You shouldered passed . . . something? It didn’t matter. If it did, surely your brain would let you know later . . . right? Then came the mechanical routine of finding a place to bring yourself back. But when every wall looked the same and your boots trudged against the carpet—Damian was so gonna gripe about shoes in the house later—it felt like a losing game.

So you stuttered to a stop, somewhere. Arguably the worst place because the only tether you had to the outside world was the ground under your boots, which you couldn’t even feel because there was at least an inch of rubber tread between your reality and everyone else's.

The same buzz hit your ears. Maybe if you tried hard enough, you could blame the disconnect on the inner padding of the helmet stuffed against your head. It’s worked before, it’s not like it’s easy to hear with this thing on, let alone when your brain didn’t even want you to.

You could start to feel the autopilot wearing thin, the remnants of it dissolving with each passing second you remained idle. You tried to tap each of your fingers against your thumb one at a time to cling to what little autopilot was left. All you got from your body was a single twitch in your thumb.

A tap, a click, and a slide. All sounds you saw rather than felt or heard yourself. The tinted panel in front of your eyes lifted slowly until your grays turned into greens. You could get lost in that green for eternity and your soul would find contentment. You could find that green from memory, even when your eyes were filled with grays or your body turned blind to it. That green was one you would never lose.

It came naturally, locking your eyes into his. You could almost laugh at the fact that the last wisp of autopilot was used connecting yourself to him, as if your body had formed a habit you didn’t even know about until now.

You knew those eyes better than he did himself, even if he’d spent years staring at them before you. It was an easy victory when you traced them in your memories. So you knew each crease of worry that outlined the narrowness they had at the moment, the subtle squint as he tried to reach you.

Unfortunately for the both of you, he succeeded.

Your next breath came right before your lungs were punched by reality. The sheer weight of it was enough for you to struggle for air. It was like you were trapped as Atlas once was. But instead of holding the weight on your shoulders, you were crushed underneath all the rubble, having failed to keep everything upright.

You choked out a sob, hating the way your own breath ricocheted off the helmet back into your skin. You were suffocating. Your hands shot to the offending metal and clawed at each of the safety latches built in. Shaky fingers didn’t have enough dexterity to succeed which only made you gasp harder.

In an instant, there were skilled hands overtaking your own, practiced enough to succeed where you had failed.

“—eathe, I’ve got y—”

Newfound peripherals blindsighted you, they were both a blessing and a curse. While the new vision made it easier to protect yourself, the responsibility of having to do so was far too heavy a burden. You wanted to keep living in your tunnel vision and pretending it was safe there.

You were still suffocating. Air was scarce to come by and when it did travel through you, it scorched your lungs until you considered if air was truly worth the fight if it hurt so much. The same shaky hands grasped for the collar of your jacket, suddenly far too tight against your neck. It was as if the fabric itself was choking you and not Reality. Thready hands were better to imagine than calloused ones.

You didn’t notice your feet tripping backwards until your back collided with a wall, you didn’t even care, you just wanted this stupid jacket off. Agile hands swifty unlatched everything, unclasping safety mechanics and helped shrug the leather bind off of your skin.

“—ok, it’s off. Brea—”

The wall was solid; the wall was good; the wall was safe. You let yourself slide all the way down until you hit the floor, your green easily followed. You coughed on an exhale, your inhale having hurt far too badly to finish.

Your hands settled together behind your neck, fighting to grab at something, might as well protect your pulse points.

“—off?”

Your gaze struggled to lift up to him without staggering. When it settled back into his calming hue, you choked out a response: “What?”

Realistically, you exhaled far too much on the word when you received another kick to the chest but you figured he would get the gist. He’s smart.

“Do you want your boots off?” His hands floated in the space between you both, where your bent legs ended and his crouch began.

With a tilted comprehension, it took a few breaths—albeit pretty quick ones—for the words to sink in. When they did, you jerked out a nod. Without hesitation, he made quick work of velcro, buckles, and zippers, forcing you to trudge through heightened awareness alone.

Awareness was always worse than letting your mind shift into sand to pass through fingers with ease, free from the pain those fingers always left. Especially when Reality was combing through sand with a sharp comb, breaking each particle down to the atom. Water couldn’t wash away atoms the same way it could sand.

Your lungs convulsed again just as your socked feet felt the bite of cold tile, boots long since forgotten.

“Breathe,” he said simply, telegraphing his movements slowly. “Can I take off your gloves?”

You liked the safety of where your hands were, but feeling a leather mesh on your neck wasn’t exactly the most comforting feeling.

You jerked your hands out slowly, seeing for yourself just how much you were shaking compared to his steady hands. His movements were slow and deliberate, testing the waters to see how you reacted to his touch on your skin. The second both hands felt air instead of fabric, they retreated back to safety.

“You need to breathe.”

You shook your head, feeling the muscles under your hands twist along with the motion. “I—” you choked, “I can’t”

“Yes you can.” Damian shifted from his crouch to sit before you. “You’ve been through this before and you always come out of it, don’t you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it would help somewhat. Another kick to the chest and you were back to scrambling.

“ ‘t hurts,” you whined.

“I know it does, but you have to breathe. Breathe with me.” You opened your eyes to look at him through the blur of watery tears.

That was a mistake.

Reality was finicky at best. It shifted like the waves in its fluidity, morphing into new forms and combining within itself. Your fingers twitched against your neck.

Focus on the green.

But then his hands slowly laid atop your knees, a familiar trick he did every time. Innocent touch, a tethered connection between you two to bring you back to him. The further the attack would go, the more weight he’d put into his palms until your legs unbent without your knowledge. It was an easy way to open your chest cavity to make breathing a little bit easier while making it seem like nothing is changing, especially when your brain is occupied with other things.

But this time, his hands felt bigger, they felt more calloused, and held more weight in them. You jerked in an inhale. “Sto—stop touching me.”

Immediately his hands lifted off of you. “Okay, I won’t touch you.” His palms raised in the air so you could see them, an emphasis to his word. “But we’re going to breathe together.”

Damian waited a single moment for you to register his words, for your eyes to shift from his hands to his eyes, then finally, to his chest.

“Breathe in.” He exaggerated his chest visually for you to replace touch. Usually there would be some comfort in the way your hand was guided to his sternum, fingers spread out to feel the fabric of his shirt and the way his chest rose with each inhalation, only to fall when he exhaled. Yet this time, his chest would’ve felt different and that thought alone was enough for your breath to stutter.

“And out.” You envied the way he released his breath so slowly and with so much control where yours was rushed and clunky.

He praised you all the same. “Good. Again. In,” he breathed in, you followed shortly after, “and out.”

You fell out of the inhale before he did, your lungs quivering under an invisible hand. Your head hit the wall with a whine. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he stressed. “I know you can. Try again.”

You wheezed where he inhaled, you coughed where he exhaled. Your hands sunk from your neck to your chest, gripping on tight to the kevlar.

“That’s it,” he said, just before another set of breaths. You hated this part the most. You could live with the shakiness afterwards, the pain and the burn of your lungs once they finally settled down. You could ignore the feeling of being on edge for hours after, the feeling of fragility, like someone could blow and you’d wither away with the feeble wind.

But the feeling of true hopelessness that came from this part was always the worst. You couldn’t fathom succeeding at this simple human task, a task that comes mechanically—completely on autopilot. Yet for some reason, it was a monumental task for you.

Before Damian—and a little bit during—you let yourself get consumed by the darkness. You let the hands squeeze your lungs until your brain fizzled out, the consequences to be dealt with once you woke up. It was far easier than fighting for consciousness, especially when said consciousness was so painful.

He didn’t like that very much.

So here you were, clamoring your way through a breathing exercise as if it wasn’t the most painful thing in the world. As if your lungs weren’t burning with rage and your muscles weren’t aching with tension.

As if you couldn’t feel hands all over your body with each step back into awareness.

As if you couldn’t hear and see things just passed Damian’s silhouette.

“This isn’t working,” you bite out. Your head had sunk down to face the floor at some point. The carpet was a darker shade of beige than it was a moment ago. Maybe it was your shadow affecting it, but considering everything, you didn’t think so. “I need—” you choked.

You saw the way Damian’s hands twitched against his pants, fighting to do something to help you. “Tell me what you need.” He tried searching your eyes like before, that tether was one that could bring up to him from just about anywhere. But you were studying the carpet as if it had wronged you on a visceral level.

You closed your eyes, trying to think past the echoes of an old voice and the remnants of old touch. You were stuck in limbo, caught between two realities that somehow merged in a single moment. Another kick to the chest and your body caved inwards—the same way it had before.

You could feel your grip on Damian’s reality fading. It was the one you’d prefer any day and it was the one you should be in. Not this one. Yet here you were, taking the hits of hands long in the past.

But . . .

Damian.

“When did we meet?” you demanded more so than asked, the words coming in and out with your breaths.

Despite his shock—and extreme confusion—he didn’t hesitate to answer with a number of years that have passed you by. Questioning you, especially your needs, at this moment wasn’t going to help.

You shook your head, your legs twitching together and back apart, the muscles contracting at random. “What year?” you said, trying to keep your oxygen inside for just a second longer.

He responded simply, your ears catching the sound with ease. The outside chatter cut down to a buzz. You breathed out a little slower.

“How?” you breathed in, your inflection cut off just slightly.

Damian didn’t waver. “We met in high school. I transferred in late and you were assigned as my peer guide to the Academy. You gave me a tour around campus to help figure out my schedule,” he paused, gauging your reaction before adding on just a bit more. “We ended up having a few classes together that year.”

“How old—” you breathed in, “How old were we?”

Damian blinked, his eyes shifting to the side as he recalled, probably doing some kind of mental math in his brain. “I started school when I was fourteen. You were probably fourteen or fifteen at the time.”

You blinked your eyes open, your lungs expanding happily at the information. Realities were disconnecting slowly, each question cutting a strand of fate that had sewed them together. Since neither could coexist, this new information was proof that the voices were just that, the past. Damian didn’t exist in the same era of these voices—these hands—him being here was a testament in it of itself.

The carpet was tinted just so, but it was enough to make it lighter.

“What about now?” you asked.

“What about now?” Damian echoed you, his confusion still prevalent in his voice. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed down the fire. “What year is it?”

For someone so intelligent, he really was not catching on to what was happening. Knowing him, he was probably scanning your head for a concussion right about now. But he didn’t show it outwardly. As much as he was confused and incredibly concerned, this was helping. So even if he didn’t sign up for trivia night, he’d play along—and he was sure as hell gonna win.

He responded factually. The math not only aligned, but since it was late into the year, it wasn’t exactly hard to remember. The buzz got even softer than before. You were able to breath out shakily, the intake was sharp in return but the progress was showing.

“And the date?”

Your eyes had closed softly, a sense of calm starting to breach through the anxiety.

Damian’s response immediately shrouded that progress. Suddenly the voice was right next to your ear and a foot was on your chest, constructing any airflow from ever hoping to come to your lips. The same date. A stupid number that just so happened to align, an anniversary, was enough to derail everything.

Damian’s voice turned to nothing but a buzz, a low rumble with a worried inflection.

He had asked a question. That much you knew. But your eyes had opened to a shade of dark beige and dreary grays, completely at the mercy of a dissociative state.

Even your hands lay limp from where they were resting between your knees, your wrists balanced atop the bony joints. You let it happen. You let your breath get squished underneath calloused hands along the back of your neck and a knee to the spine. You let your fingers go numb and your skin go cold as the room around you soured.

Suddenly it was a different time and a different place entirely.

Just dark beige and dreary grays.

The thuds of footsteps were easily drowned out until it was a simple buzz, just a low static rumbling beneath your skin.

But then your hands lifted at the feeling of fur underneath them. It was soft to the touch, the small fibers splitting away underneath your fingers. The fur shifted, it nosed in-between your pointer and middle finger before sliding down your palm, leaving a slight trail of warmth along your skin.

Your fingers twitched, the ice around them thawing slowly with each press of warmth until you could interact with it yourself. The fur morphed from a body to a small head that could fit just along your palm. Whiskers pressed into your hand as it was used as a scratching post. A head bump and your palm raised with it, only to slide down the back automatically as if your hand had done it a thousand times before.

Just along the back and up to the tip of the tail, just for the head to return for more scratches. You felt the tail wrap loosely around your ankle, shifting and swishing, but always remaining against you.

You scratched at the chin, your chest feeling lighter when the gentle creature tilted their head back to accept more. Reality itself couldn’t deny the creature’s existence, even if they truly wanted your reality to morph into the past.

Yet here it was, defying Reality, with nothing to say aside from a purr. Your hands touched black and your fingers graced white until you could make out the cat yourself, perched contently between your legs.

“Alfie,” you sighed out, half out of astonishment and half out of relief.

“I always seem to find you two together after a hard time,” came Damian’s voice, cutting straight through the static with his deep timbre. “He can help you where I can’t.”

There was still a shake in your breath, your chest still rising and falling with great difficulty, more than Damian liked. He looked up at you briefly before looking back down at the precious cat, one that only seemed to like a few people on this earth. Even if he liked Damian, it was a hell of a taming. But with you, you two clicked instantly.

Damian would never forget the day he found you holding Alfred, hugging him close and the content kitten doing nothing but hugging back with its smaller limbs. Alfred’s little head perched on your shoulder, eyes closed in pure bliss. You were swaying slowly, humming in harmony with the soft purrs omitting from the shorthair.

You were waiting on him, that much he remembered. It was years after you two had met, just shortly after high school graduation and just before Damian started college. That was the blissful moment of limbo where it was just you two hanging out for the summer and getting his apartment together.

That was the day Damian Wayne fell in love with you.

So here you were, years later, yet all the same.

“Alfred gave him to me my senior year,” Damian started. He knew you already knew Alfred’s origin, you were there. But for some reason, exact details of dates were helping you, so he was happy to recall a core memory. “He called it a graduation gift even though the meeting was pure happenstance. He didn’t want to admit the cat reminded him of me, but I knew.”

You glanced up at Damian and he glanced back.

He stated the year easily, the fricative consonants adding to his timbre. “That was the year I fell in love with you. I was nineteen. It started with prom night, I should have known what that feeling was by then. But it wasn’t until late summer that I finally realized I could see no other future than one that was beside you.”

He pointed down at the fuzz ball that was now laying across your crossed legs. “It’s all because of him.”

Your hands pressed into the fur and massaged the skin underneath gently until the final strand of fate was snapped. You looked into the green, seeing each shade of bright emerald and late spring, eucalyptus and summer leaves.

You found your voice and it was among his, miles ahead of the distant voices of the past. You said the same year, finding that your consonants blended with his after being around him for so long. Your voices intertwined in some ways and diverged in others.

“That was the year I fell in love with you.” You responded. “We got bored and decided to paint your bedroom a different color.” You found yourself smiling at the memory, not even thinking twice about how your voice became steady against the mechanics of breath. “We were trying to figure out how to use the paint rollers and you learned the hard way that too much paint was in fact, not, more efficient. You had paint all in your hair after just one swipe.”

You laughed and Damian found himself smiling at the sound. “I managed to get some on your cheeks,” he recalled.

You nodded. “You did,” a slight chuckle shaking your shoulders. “I got you back though.”

“Please,” Damian rolled his eyes, “you were covered in far more paint than I was at the end of the night.”

“Was not!”

Damian hummed in absolute confidence. “As I recall, Alfred gave you a far more disproving look than he gave me.”

“Because he found me first!”

Sometime in the near future, you would retell the events that led you to this moment. From witnessing an event that hit just a little too close to home to the police report that followed, you’d tell him everything.

But for now, you were happy just enjoying the moment with him.

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@cherry-dropp

@missredrobin

#damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #robin #robin x reader #robin x you #robin x y/n #dc #dc comics #batfamily #batman #batman comics #dcu #hurt/comfort #emotional whump

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legally-allowed-to-slime · 5 months

Text

“everybody always wants something”

i thought that gem’s little spiel around 5:23 in session 4 ep was pretty intriguing, so i decided to write about it a lil ;)

“Just passing through, just passing through!”

Gem watched the harassed-looking Scar scurry away and disappear down the hill. She opened her mouth to say goodbye, but the blur around her vision that had been plaguing her for the last few days suddenly slammed back around her peripheral.

She couldn’t quite pinpoint when it had started — around the first day on the server. A purple smear around the corners of her eye would wax and wane, seemingly at random.

It must have been new player anxieties, she thought, but at the end of the session her eyes had met Grian’s for half a second, and everything flared purple briefly.

She brushed it off. Never mind that Grian used to be a Watcher, and that Pearl had told her the Watchers’ colour was purple, and that they said the Watchers made the Life Series—

Everything was fine.

And now, standing in the cherry-smelling air next to Bdubs’ horse, there was a shift. She felt — in control. Like there was nothing that could move her, because she was above everything, watching as if from a third person view.

“Everybody always wants something, nobody’s ever just passing through.” She said. “This is the first thing I’ve learnt about this server.”

Bdubs didn’t hear it, still trying to get into Gem’s good graces. “Gem, I- you’re my favourite—”

Joel bounded into view.

“Uh, no— ” Gem’s voice took on a sarcastic edge, “What’s he want? What do you think he wants? We’re taking bets right now, what’s he gonna steal-” The words seemed to flow out, as she rambled on, surprised at herself as she spoke, her normally cheerful tone twisting into—

She finally understood! This game was so cruel and stupid, no one would even give up a carrot if they didn’t get something in return, she could see everything properly now!

Pull back the curtain, she’s seeing too much.

“Hey, you’re starting to seem a little grumpy and crochety.” Bdubs remarked, dragging her rapidly unhinged train of thoughts into the ground.

Gem laughed, still foggy on the last five seconds. What was that? She wouldn’t have said that.

She tried to recollect herself, but Joel came into earshot before she could think about what had happened.

“Is this your camel?” He casually questioned.

“Are you gonna take the camel from us? That’s what you’re gonna take? That’s your choice?” Gem laughed again, her voice cracking. The purple in her vision crept in from the sides, like tendrils reaching across her eyes.

Her heart was horrified at what her mind was racing out of her mouth. This wasn’t Normal Gem’s thoughts. This was someone else, it wasn’t her.

“Well, there’s just so much to do, so much to see—” Joel slid in the lyric subtly and stopped himself mid-sentence. “What is your skin?”

Right, get out, whoever you are, this is my brain—

“Oh, it’s yellow, hello, I’m yellow.” The purple got knocked out of her vision as her brain shunted itself back into its proper place. She blinked, and quickly gave a few unthinking answers to Joel’s small talk. Right. Normal Gem.

“Are you feeling like you’re losing your mind as well, or is that just a me thing?” Gem grinned nervously and chuckled.

It’s just you. The words seemed to come from her own head, but she wasn’t sure if she could even call it her own anymore. Gem, startled, stopped herself before she shouted the “Shut up”.

Who are you? She asked apprehensively, as her mouth ran on autopilot, keeping up the trivial conversation.

Oh, you don’t need to know that. We’ll be watching you with interest.

#geminitay #secret life #secret life smp #traffic life #traffic series #trafficblr

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inkonapage · 1 year

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Oh, the Misery (Green Goblin and Norman Osborn/Reader) Ch.1

Gobbies a real creep and Norman is trying his best.

This was the most important job of your entire life, and you weren't about to give it up for anything. You couldn't afford too. One needed money to pay for their bills, and boy did Oscorp make that a hell of a lot easier than most dead-end jobs out there. It had been the hardest application process that you had ever gone through, maybe that anyone could ever go through, but you triumphed in the end and landed the job! Working for years to make an impact on your peers, as well as your higher-ups, it was a safe assumption to say that you were well liked among them all. Sure there were the normal fights and disagreements, but for the most part nobody had a complaint when it came to you or your behavior. That's why you were trusted with the more important tasks, and why you were given that promotion. Basically becoming Mr.Osborns personal assistant had its perks, but it also meant having less free time. While the man did his best to keep things fair for each and every one of his employees, there was only so much he could do but you never complained. Not once. No matter how many late nights you spent in your office, no matter how much sleep you lost, no matter how many coma inducing galas you had to attend too, all you did was smile and promise to get it done as soon as possible. Mr.Osborn had to much on his plate as it was and you wanted to lesson the weight on his shoulders as much as you could, even though the man himself was stubborn and insisted on doing most of it himself.

That's what lead you to being the last one in the building that night, having been there well passed closing working on a pile of paperwork that had been having a standoff with you for the passed few days. Stretching as you leaned back in your chair as you finally tamed the beast, a yawn left you before you were standing and gathering them up into your arms. Stepping out from being your desk, your feet moved on autopilot towards your bosses office as your muddled brain struggled to keep functioning. Stifling another yawn as you came to the outside of the dark wooden door, you had just been about to open it when something met your ears. Was he still here? It was well passed ten o'clock, what could he possibly be doing here this late?! Just about to open the door and demand answers, the tone in his voice had your hand hovering over the doorknob. It sounded like he was arguing with someone, his tone hushed but just loud enough to be made out from your proximity to the door, but you couldn't hear the other end. Was Mr.Osborn on the phone?

"I said no!" Norman hissed to a voice only he could hear, standing behind his desk with his hands pressed up against the glass as he glared out the window.

You know I'm right!

"I will not stand here and listen to this." he grumbled with a shake of his head, normally perfect hair now messy, "There is nothing you can say to convince me otherwise, that is not going to happen. I don't care what you say, I won't allow it!" Norman flinched back as the voice cackled in the back of his head, clearly finding his refusal amusing to say the least.

What's wrong, little Norman~? Scared to admit you want to fuck that pretty little assistant of yours into submission? Scared to admit that every time they get close, you feel like some teenager with his first crush? Unsure how to act? Barely able to keep from getting an-

"Just leave me alone-"

"Mr.Osborn?"

Oh, no...

Spinning on his heel, wide blue eyes take in your form as you walk into his office with a worried expression and a stack of papers in your arm, "(Name), what are you still doing here? I-I thought you'd gone home by now." Norman offered a smile, though it didn't quite meet his eyes, while smoothing out his suit before turning to his hair.

"I was just finishing up some paperwork... Are you alright, sir? You sounded like you were arguing with someone a moment ago?" You murmur, glancing around as if someone else would be there aside from the two of you. At the very least, he should be holding a phone! Yet, there was nothing. Not a single thing to indicate that man had been speaking to another living soul moments prior aside from what your own ears had heard.

"Sir-"

"I'm perfectly fine, no need to worry yourself about me." the man offered up a chuckle, eyes honed in on the door as you closed it with your heel and moved over to his desk to set the papers down, "Thank you for finishing these, please go home and get some rest. You've been here far to long for one day." Norman needed you out and he needed it now. With how riled up Goblin had been getting throughout their argument, it was all the man could do to keep him in control! That parasite wanted out, wanted control, and Norman was struggling to keep it for your own safety. Oh, if only you knew the kind of danger you were in.

"Mr.Osborn, sir, I don't think I should-"

"Oh, sweet thing, you don't need to think~."

Your eyes widened as you watched your boss speak, but that sure as hell didn't sound like him. Not one bit. "Sir, are you alright?" Maybe he was sick? Maybe you needed to get him to a hospital? Had he been working himself so hard lately that it was beginning to mess with his mind? There was no way on Earth your boss would ever call you something like that normally!

"No!" he snapped, a hand on his forehead while the other rested on the desk Norman now used to hold up his weight, "You need to get out! I'm n-not- I can't- He's to strong..." The man grunted in pain, hunching over as his hair fell from its position once more and added to the air of struggle that had settled in around him.

"Mr.Osborn, I'm taking you to the hospital." You'd seen enough. Walking briskly towards the man, the only reason you stopped dead in your tracks was because the air in the room grew heavy. It grew deadly. Something was wrong. Head tilting a bit as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, everything in you was screaming for you to run out of that room and not stop until you reached the safety of your car. Why? It was just Mr.Osborn! The man had never been anything but kind and polite, a gentle man that would do anything it took to help mankind! So why were your instincts suddenly acting as if the man was some sort of beast about to tear your insides out?

Tap.

Tap, tap.

Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.

Honing in on the source of the sound, you realized your boss had started tapping his fingers against the wood underneath them. He had seemed so tense moments ago, so ready to bolt, but now? Not he seemed like whatever fog had been behind his eyes was now cleared away. However, that minor bit of hope you felt died in your chest as his head tilted up to look at you. Taking a half step back, there were several things wrong with the picture before you. The bags under his eyes were dramatically prominent, even from a distance, but Mr.Osborns eyes were no longer that gentle shade of blue.

Instead they were venomous green, the same color branching out in fading spiderwebs around those horrible eyes.

"Mr.Osborn?" You heard yourself whisper, voice trembling as your body forced another backwards step.

"Norman isn't available right now, but I can take a message~." That same voice from before spoke, a feral grin taking up his features as he stood to his full height. Hair a mess, shoulders squared back with a new form of confidence, he stepped out from behind the desk and began to stalk towards you. Oh, it was so precious how you backed away from him. Cowering before him as your little mind tried to put the puzzle pieces together, only to come up with a jumbled image.

"Mr.Osborn, this isn't funny-" You squeaked, the cold barrier of the door suddenly pressing against your back as you ran out of room.

"What did I just say?!" The man snarled, baring his teeth as if he were an animal as his hands slammed on the door next to either side of your head, "Come now, honey, I know you're a better listener than that~. That worm isn't here, now we get to play. Oh, I've been watching you for so long, waiting for this moment! Waiting for him to slip up enough when the two of you were all alone, it was only a matter of time." Suddenly calm, he caged you in as he was finally able to get a proper good look at you. You were just as lovely as you had been when that fool was in control, but now he could feel you. He could smell you. Someday soon, he'd taste you. The thought of you splayed out underneath him, a squirming and whimpering mess, was enough to draw a crazed titter from the man.

This wasn't Norman- it couldn't be! Sure the man had an odd sense of humor at times but this was never something he'd pull! So what was going on? What was making your boss act like this? "I don't understand..." Your voice was a soft mutter, confusion clear in your voice as the two of you locked gazes. God, those eyes...

"You and I are gonna have a little chat, dearie~." Goblin snickered, his grin showing off suddenly sharp looking canines, "You see, I can't have you leaving us. Leaving me. Norman doesn't understand what it takes to be a man, but that isn't what this is about. This is about you. About us. So here's the deal: I'm going to let you in on our little secret~." Once he did that, you'd never be allowed to leave. Not if you wanted a safe existence for you and your loved ones.

"Se-Secret?" You parroted, heart pounding in your ears as the man who had once been your boss loomed over you.

"You're a smart cookie, I'm sure you've heard of Green Goblin by now." He had been all over the news more than a few times after all, "Well, congrats honey, you're looking at him~! Who would've thought your meek little worm of a boss could be a villain? That serum of his had a nasty little setback, one that he wishes he could get rid of. Oh, but I'm the one doing the work. Giving him everything he's ever wanted, taking what we deserve!" The man snapped, baring his teeth as a sudden wave of anger took over. Blinking a bit as he watched you shrink back, Goblins head slowly tilted to the side as his green eyes seemed to flash briefly. Oh, you looked so tasty when you were scared~.

"So here's the deal, sweetcheeks." Goblin continued, a hand gripping your jaw to yank it up and force eye contact, "You're staying here, so we can keep an eye on you. We can't have you telling anyone about us, now can we~? Oh, but don't worry, so long as you behave you'll be just fine. I'd never hurt my little pet unless you begged me to do it, and someday you will." A giggle left him that quickly built into a full blown cackle, and you'd had enough.

Shoving the man -Goblin- back, your body spun around and before you knew it the office was far behind you. Practically running for your life, the only things you could hear were the sound of your footfalls and the mad cackling that faded into the distance.

#marvel #spiderman #norman osborn #green goblin #x reader #reader insert #norman osborn x reader #green goblin x reader #gender neutral pronouns

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everythingne · 1 month

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no new writing because i’m on a set this weekend— HOWEVER. pls take this ‘out of the woods’ WIP snippet instead :)!!

“I don’t understand!” I shout in frustration, nearly throwing my helmet across the room. I’m not violent, I never have been, I don’t understand why I’m so short of breath. It feels like the rage in my belly fights to be fed by all the oxygen in my lungs, my hands shaking as he slam my helmet down and punch the plush surface of my bedding.

“Dhanishka—“ Aakash tries and I whip around, pointing at him and watching his face fill with shock as I finally snap under the pressure of the weekend.

“[You all love Charles, treat him like your golden child! He coughs and you all run to get medicine, but when I am out there and I am struggling and nearly dying, you do nothing! I fought with a broken wing and a fucked up steering wheel and what help did I get?!]” I snap at him in my mother tongue, watching his face fill with something like horror as I step even closer, “[None of you were there for me! You all went to coddle poor Charlie—he was fine! I was the one who suffered for you! Where is my help? You have all done this the whole season!]”

“[Charles was frustrated—]”

I cut Aakash off, screaming, “[And I nearly killed myself out there because none of you would help! Do you think I wasn’t also frustrated?!]”

“Listen, I—“

“Get the fuck out of my room! I’m not doing media! I’m going the fuck back to my hotel.” I snap and Aakash listens, quickly ducking out of the room. I rip off my suit and throw it in my bag and I get changed into my street clothing, only pausing to touch up my makeup. I pass by Charles coming back from podium with a cold shoulder and shove through the crowd to my car, digging out my keys and getting in. I sit there, hands tight on the wheel for a while, and my fingers start to go numb as I feel like my brain is shutting off and going into autopilot.

I just sit back and watch, like a movie goer, as the world around me fades in my mind.

I come back to my senses sharply, knees digging into the tile as I’m sitting on the floor in the bathroom. I can feel the remenants of a panic attack shaking off my limbs, leaving them staticky. My hands shaking at the slamming at the door to my hotel room.

“Isa!”

There’s only one man who calls me that.

I try to shout that I’m gonna let him in but the words are caught in my throat, and I hear him echo and think I’m going crazy as I whine into the bathroom air. Then I realize I’m clutching my phone tight enough to shatter the screen and Logan’s contact is up—blazing bright into my face.

“Lo…?” I wheeze and I hear him pause mid knock before he shuffles and—

“Isa?” He crackles into the phone screen and I nearly sob at the familiarity of his voice.

“I-Give me a second. I’m coming to the door.” I whisper, slowly raising to my feet and stumbling out into the hall as my senses fight to try and come back to me in full. My hands are numb when I un-deadbolt the door and I barely have enough time to step back after I pop the door open. In a flash, Logan is everything around me, tucking me against his chest, his hand carding through my hair, kicking the door shut behind us and sighing softly.

“Oh, Isa—“ He murmurs into my hair and I feel the numbness snap away in favor of tears as I bury into his grasp and sob. I have cried more since starting F1 than I have in my entire life.

“Oh, Isa, I’m so sorry they’ve turned you into me.”

#someone just let me talk about them forever pls pls pls #i’m gnawing at the bars of my enclosure #i am in my own hell. i created this.#logan sargeant fanfiction

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 2 months

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Sweet Dreams--Part 9

Calum and you have dance around reality for a few months now. But after Calum leaves and returns from a trip, the reality has to be confronted.

Weeks are passing and maybe more is blooming between you and Calum than might meet the eye.

Prince!Calum x Reader Insert.

CW: Smut (dry humping) in this part. Mentions of using sex to numb feelings. Please read with caution and skip if need be.

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

________________________________

There are certain messages Calum’s used to seeing--ones about meetings that have gotten pushed back, good morning texts from you, one from his parents about some sort of article they came across and wanted to send to him, thinking it would be good for him. There’s the texts from Michael or Luke or Ashton about bullshit--videos, memes, a bad selfie in their thread. There’s the text messages about a cute dog or cat that someone’s spotted in public. Then there are text messages that Calum is not prepared for. Ones that he hopes he never gets accustomed to receiving, that are bearing the bad news.

However, seeing, If I asked to borrow the back garden or some kind of back yard area to tie dye socks, would that be an immediate no? is the type of text that Calum thinks he would never want to brace himself for. There would be no fun in being prepared for spontaneity. Calum laughs, dragging the towel over his face to wipe away some of the sweat pouring from his hairline. Even with the heat of the summer fading, the long hours on the weekend with the shed still causes a sweat to break out.

Yes, you could use whatever you needed, baby.

Excellent, because I may already be here. Are you working on the shed?

Calum taps the icon for a call. It rings, once then twice against his ear. “Hi, love,” you answer. The pet name never fails to send a jolt of desire down his spine. You always say it so softly, like you’re trying to savor the taste of every syllable on your tongue. Sometimes, Calum’s tempted to ask what it tastes like. Does it taste sweet like cotton candy when he calls you baby?

“Hi, baby. Now what is this about needing to dye some socks?

“Charlie wants tie dye socks. The ones in the store don’t have color combinations that he likes. I’ve got some dye from when I had to recolor some shirts that were starting to fade and helping roommates out with stuff. The apartment’s been overtaken because Josie’s invited friends over, which I knew would be happening so it’s not a problem. But I know I have free time and can’t sit still to save my life. You don’t have to say it. Hence why I’m asking to borrow space for a little bit.”

“There’s always space here. Do you need help setting up somewhere? Put you closer to the laundry room--wouldn’t you need that for dying?”

“Yes, I should say, the socks would have to stay there for at least today and then if I could stay the night, I’d rinse them in the morning and take them with me.”

Calum nods, though you can’t see it. “Yeah, that’s okay. Whatever you need.”

Faintly in the background, voices arise from your side of the phone. “You’re supposed to be gone. You can’t tease us like this,” someone hollers.

Calum just makes out the words but catches your laughter as you respond, “I am a ghost. You do not see me.”

“That’s it, I’m dead. Dead,” the person laughs.

“Are you still using the service entrance? I have let the guards at the main entrances know about you. You literally can just walk into the front door,” Calum states through his laughter.

“If I’m honest, my brain just went on autopilot mode and hadn’t realized I’d missed the turn for the main entrance until I was already past it.”

“Habit, huh?”

“You know they say they die hard.”

“It’s alright. Next time, you’ll get it. I’m shocked the codes are still the same for you.”

“I don’t think it’s been deactivated yet. Part of me wonders if Janet’s ever going to deactivate it.”

“She may not.” It shouldn’t shock Calum if Janet decided not too. Though, he does think it might be a tough sale to security. They could win the battle if need be, but Calum worries about that for another day--should it ever come up. “But what do you need for this tie dying venture? A table or something, I’m sure.”

“I can get all that, don’t worry.”

“You sure? At least let me get you a table out from storage, baby.” Calum figures that it might be a mute point, that you might already have the table, but he’s still going to offer. The last thing he’ll do is not attempt to help. After throwing a quick warning back over his shoulder to the guys assisting him, he starts towards the doors. He doubts he can beat you to wherever you’re headed if it’s not directly outside.

“You’d have to come all the way through the back when I’m already inside to grab it,” you counter.

You are right. The curse to the size of the castle and its grounds is that sometimes it’s much too big for its own good. Getting anywhere in the residential wing is a bit of a chore--long hallways, limited number of doors. Calum’s sure it’s all due to safety, someone somewhere had a reason for the pain, but that’s not going to stop Calum from trying. Not when he knows it’s for your brother. The last thing he wants to do is get in the way of that relationship.

“I can at least try,” Calum quips back. He’s never considered himself a track star, but he’s glad for the years he did football.

“Don’t wind yourself out, love.”

“Is that a challenge I hear?”

Your laughter echoes, skips for just a moment but then your voice filters back in through the speakers. “I wouldn’t dare dream of such a thing. But seriously, I’ve already got a table. You better turn yourself back around.”

Calum continues on, just as he gets to the door, a bit more huffy than he would ever like to admit, he spies you rounding the corner from the hallway storage is on. “Hi baby,” he calls out once you make it closer to him.

“You’re hardheaded, you know?”

“Only….everyday though.”

You pause in the doorway, table in your grip--it’s a smaller one, but taller so you don’t have to bend down so much with it. “Yet, somehow, I still find myself attracted to it.”

“It’s the boyish charm. Need anything else?”

“Boyish charm,” you laugh, leaning into him a little. “We can call it that.”

Calum meets you, a quick kiss before you continue on through the door he’s holding open. It’s a silly thought, Calum tells himself, as he watches you carry on through the garden. You’re careful as you go, keeping the table a good six inches away from the ground as you go. But something does feel a little different. Your smiles at him melt a little bit more, feel a little bit warmer than before. To see you comfortable enough to ask for a kiss--even a peck as it was--in public made his stomach flutter yesterday.

The party was about you, so Calum withheld any conversation about it. The thing his parents did teach him was to be mindful of the time and place in addressing certain conversations. But for you to think, well before asking, that the castle would be free to you feels like further confirmation. You are changing, or maybe it’s a bit more like you’re unraveling. Though you and Calum walked in the early stages, you’d never mentioned your siblings. Now with that bit of information revealed Calum seems just how much you care about them--enough to dye socks so they have what they want.

He can’t say much about your dating life prior. He assumes you might’ve had some experience prior. Calum can say for certainty that building the relationship with him has been slow with you. Worry and concern are the biggest culprits for that. But that seems to be falling slowly to the wayside. Calum won’t take any credit for this. He just watches, carries with him the tiny pieces of how you’d opened up. He does not consider himself a poet; he’s much too meticulous with when and how he shares anything. But if love is watching someone blossom into something more magnificent than they’d ever been before, then he thinks he’d ought to give it a shot to capture the feeling of being witness to it. It’s pride without arrogance, awe without jealousy. An emotion sure pure he’s sure he’s never felt it once since he left his childhood. But he feels it now, watching you pause at tomato plants.

If all Calum gets to do is watch you grow and evolve, then it will still be a life well lived.

“You’ll let flies in, Your Highness,” Janet teases passing back the doors.

“Just put me on fly duty,” Calum laughs, but does move to let the door close behind him. There’s no embarrassment as Calum catches up behind you at being caught staring. “See anything else ready to be picked?”

“Oh, that’s still well beyond my wheelhouse. But I don’t think so.”

“You know more than me.” Calum means it sincerely. That you do know more about the garden than he does. But he thinks too that there’s a kind of life that you’ve lived that Calum had only once thought would be his. It’s a great honor to serve, take on his duty as expected. But there’s a little bit of life, a certain kind of living that he’d never really do. There’s a certain kind of wisdom he didn’t have. Not that Calum would ever want to romanticize your struggle and your suffering. But he knows that your experience gives you a perspective different than his--a perspective that Calum’s glad you’re willing to share with him.

“I’m sure your mother could teach both of us a thing or two about gardening. How’s the shed coming along?”

The new one fades out of view, leaving the current restoration project bare in front of the two of you as you walk closer to it. “It’s going,” Calum returns. “There’s some shelving we’re working on now and the bench. A little behind schedule, but we anticipated that much from the start.”

“Looks good though. A fresh coat of paint?”

It’s the same blue as before, just not chipping anymore. “Yeah, a little birdie suggested it.”

“One smart bird.”

Calum helps you get set up--from getting the table stable to getting the dye into the more appropriate squeezable bottles, and once you’ve sworn up and down at least three times that you’ve got it from there, he ventures back over to the shed. The group doesn’t say much, but the smiles passed around them tell Calum everything he needs to do. He’ll never live this down.

“It’s not a crime to be in love,” he laughs.

“No one said it was. But to think, the same man just a year ago was swearing off love now following his partner like a puppy--it’s quite the sight,” Vance returns, looking up from his measuring where he works on the last few pieces of the built-in bench before they’ll start installing it. Getting power to the shed set them back longer than anticipated and when Vance’s gout flared, there were a few days that a lot of the light work went into place--like the painting and verifying the shelving design. This weekend is hopefully one of the last two big pushes to get the main structures in place. From there Calum will work on getting the table ordered, chairs, and the final furnishings.

“I guess a lot changes in a year,” Calum answers.

“I guess it does. Now c’mon lover boy, you’ve got a bench to install.”

It’s easy to get lost in the pop of the staple gun, in the measuring and re-measuring. Calum finds himself waiting for the click of each piece slotting in together; it’s a satisfying sound. It doesn’t take too long with Vance’s help to get the skeleton of the bench installed. Though it does take a little bit of finesse to get the paneling up over the skeleton. By the time the sun starts to dip just a hair down in the sky, but not quite touching the horizon, the bench is fully nearly assembled. The top isn’t bolted in yet and won’t be until the cushion is fashioned to the top, so the lid is resting on the structure for the time being.

“Give it a test,” Vance suggests. “Make sure it’s up there sturdy.”

Calum’s weight seems to make no difference to the unit. There’s no creaks, no sagging. With a bit more courage, Calum swings his legs up and stretches out over the item. His feet hang off just a little, but that’s little to be concerned about. Given the space of the shed in total square feet, there was no way to make the bench as tall as him. But it’s solid beneath them.

“It’s good,” Calum states, pushing up from the bench.

“You’ll need these for tomorrow,” Vance calls out, pulling out a bag of metal hardware from his belt. Calum catches it with ease and notices the black hinges and screws assembled into the bag. Tomorrow Tamara comes by to help get the bench upholstered, though Calum suspects she’s always going to want to get Calum to finish buying the furnishings tomorrow too. Vance is taking the day to spend with his wife for their anniversary so it’s nice to be able to switch off to other aspects in the meantime.

“Have fun tomorrow.” The guys laugh just a little at Calum’s statement. Even though Vance called Calum out about Calum’s own behavior, Vance was just as guilty. Every chirp of Vance’s phone made him pause to see if it was his wife. Albeit, Calum suspects there’s more going on at home over the last few weeks. Vance was talking more and more now about wanting to be a dad. It’s not his place to put out information that wasn’t ready, but Calum holds the suspicion close to his chest.

Vance flips them off but his own laughter bubbles. “Your minds are absolutely in the fucking gutter, man.

“Might be, but we already know exactly what’s going to happen tonight,” Parker pipes in from the opened door of the shed.

“And you can’t even get your dick wet, so I don’t want to hear it,” Vance huffs.

Parker was behind Calum in age by about a year and a half, but the two of them shared more in common than initially suspected. Parker’s highschool sweetheart hadn’t called it off before leaving for college. It left Parker behind, his family unable to afford the costs. Parker had taken courses with the community college before moving to vocational school to learn welding and HVAC. According to Parker, he’d gone for a trade so that he could have money saved up for a wedding when his love returned. Yet, Parker was left heartbroken instead. Parker’s partner returned for spring break of his sophomore year and called it off, admitting to emotional cheating. Not necessarily out of a desire to hurt Parker but out of loneliness, being on campus by himself and having a hard time in the first semester making friends because he was so homesick. It happened slowly--just as a friendship, someone to confide in about loneliness, hangout on the weekends and show him around the strange new town. But it was becoming clearer more and more as time went that there was someone else to Parker. Calum, over a few beers, had gotten the story in the initial days of renovations.

That was five years ago, but Parker hadn’t found anyone else. Not for the lack of trying. Parker always seemed to have a string of dates, stories to tell about who he was seeing, but they rotated out nearly weekly. Each weekend meeting for the renovations started with a hot gossip hour--Parker’s latest string of dates, Vance’s home life about his wife and two dogs, Tamara occasionally joining with stories of her dating life, Logan chimed in with updates about his new partner too, and Calum always carried up the rear in their circle. But Parker is the one that Calum worries about sometimes--the way he laughs at the jokes the other cracks but it sounds a little bit like it’s being forced.

“Hey, at least he’s trying,” Calum interjects between the laughter.

Parker is a decent guy, but possibly still too scorned from his first love to really let anyone in. Calum can’t say he doesn't get it. It’s a shitty box to be in, to know that you have so much love to give but someone hurting you so deeply that it makes you want to hide that love away. Whether or not the pain was caused intentionally never really undoes the fact that it cuts so deeply.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve got the stories to back up his efforts,” Vance agrees easily. “Soon, he’ll settle down with a good guy. I know he will. But I think we’re at a good stopping point for today, yeah?”

The lot agrees. Calum takes survey of the progress--Logan and Paul have been working on the shelves while Calum and Vance focused on the bench. Only the foundations and arches of the unit exist based on the work done today. But it did take a little trial and error to get the arches to match. It’s clear though the shape it’s taking on. Once all the shelves are in and attached, they’ll paint it. Thankfully the paneling for the bench is a dark brown and matches the color for the rest of the furniture so there’s little to do in terms of staining the unit.

The wood and tools are all moved inside. Though Calum’s positive there’s no rain in the forecast, he knows that could change on a dime. Rather than trying to replace expensive equipment, he houses it inside of the shed now that the roof is fixed. The guys give their goodbyes as Calum turns the key on the bolt to lock the doors. Everyone on the project has a key should any one of them get here before the others, but Calum’s most often the first one there and the last one to leave.

“Thanks for that,” Parker states. Calum looks to his left, a little startled that Parker was still around. “For sticking up to Vance like that. I know he doesn’t mean any harm with those jokes, but they do get a little old. So I just wanted to say I appreciate you saying something.”

“Of course, man. Anytime,” Calum returns. “I get it. You know that.”

Parker’s nod is soft. “Yeah, I do. But still, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow for a couple hours at least. I don’t think we’ve got much left to do now.”

“No, it is shaping up nicely. I still appreciate your help with all this. Even though this is pretty far from HVAC.”

Parker laughs. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not exactly the ports on an AC unit, but I’ve got a few more skills than that too. Have a great night.”

“You too,” Calum calls out as Parker heads back for the doors.

Calum’s not sure why he expects that you’re still working on the socks. But all he finds instead is the empty spot that you once had a station up at. There’s not even indentations in the grace to show where you stood.

“Done already?”

Calum spins to see you walking out from where the new shed stands. “I was wondering where you’d gone,” he laughs, though his heart is still thundering in his chest.

“Joy asked for a spare hand.” Looking down, Calum can see the patch on your knees from the grass. Maybe not quite a full on stain, but it’s clear where you’d been working with the dirt too with the dark brown spots.

“You want to borrow something of mine and I do need to do laundry once we get back from drinks, I can throw everything in at once.”

“A shirt at the least. I think I have some spare pants in your room and I do have an overnight bag too.”

Calum nods, reaching out for your hand. He tries to remember if you do. He knows you took most of the stuff out a couple weeks ago, but he can’t recall if you came back with anything more. You could’ve and the time’s just slipped from his memory. But the trek back instead passes in an exchange about the work done--there’s a pause at the laundry on the first floor for Calum to take in the sight of the socks still contained away to allow the dye to set and settle into the fibers.

“They look good,” Calum compliments with a squeeze to your hand.

“Thanks, tomorrow’s the true test to see how the colors did.”

“I’m sure they’ll turn out well.” The two of you continue on up to Calum’s room. The squeak of your shoes as you two climb the stairs. Though the elevators are a faster way up, you head for the stairs and Calum follows behind. But it is a relief to hit the residential hallways. The work from earlier and Calum’s earlier work out are catching up with the burn of the stairs. The echo of slightly labored breathing softens as the two of you push closer and closer to his room.

“We’re never taking those stairs again,” Calum huffs, pushing his door open for you to enter through.

“You might not, but I think I’ll take them again.” Your own retort is stuttered as your breath comes and goes with big inhales and exhales.

“Yeah, right,” Calum laughs, shuffling past you as you paused at his drawers. On your side of the bed, resting on the floor, is the bag you mentioned earlier. It’s a silent shuffle in the room, the opening and closing of drawers, the zipper being opened to your bag.

“Do you want to shower first?” Calum offers. He’s still contemplating what to wear but given your ease to pull his yellow button down out from the closet and your fresh jeans from the drawer, you seem to have him beat. Though time’s not really an issue, Calum isn’t fond of being late when not necessary.

“Do you want help and we can shower together? You know, saving water and what not?” you laugh, slipping behind him.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re suggesting something there,” he teases.

“Do you trust me?” It’s a soft question.

“I do.” It’s an easy answer to an easy question.

“Then trust it’s nothing more than that. I just wanted to be close to you is all.”

That--that’s the kind of confession that makes Calum’s toes curl. “Then please help before we are half an hour late because I can’t decide.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder, though Calum’s sure he’s covered in sawdust and sweat--the conway studio’s T-shirt he’d gotten from Michael as a gift when Michael worked there for an artist on their debut album is a little unforgiving in some areas with the sweatstains that show up. “Of course. Where’s your casual meter? How do you normally meet the boys?”

“It never matters that much, if I’m honest,” Calum returns. Your arms wind around his midsection and Calum’s hold on the hangers slackens so that he can trace over the skin of your forearm with the tips of his fingers.

Your hum vibrates your shoulder but you tap his stomach before pulling away. Calum watches you shuffle back over to his drawers. You browse through the drawer only for a moment or two before unearthing a t-shirt, white with red trim at the neck and sleeves. His taste tester t-shirt. “We can start here,” you offer.

It doesn’t sound like a full on question, but there’s just enough lilt in the tone that Calum reassures you with a nod. He pushes his shirts off to one side of the closet before focusing on his bottoms. There’s some comfort when you’re next to him, watching over his shoulder at the selections. It’s less about the clothes and more about the fact that Calum wants you to know he needs you, cares about having you there for even the little things. Passing on his black jeans, Calum settles for some black trousers. You pick a black belt with a big silver Western buckle to top it off.

“Looks good to me,” Calum affirms.

“Well, let’s giddy up cowboy.” It falls with a teasing laugh, but Calum wouldn’t take it any other way.

The water is warm, hitting nearly like mist over Calum’s shoulder until he gets just enough water to get the pressure right. Once the shower roars, he lets you into the stream first. You only take a moment to get your face wet before you’re moving for his shampoo.

“Is there something in my hair?” he asks. There wasn’t any checking in the mirror before getting into the shower, which might’ve been his first mistake.

“Yeah, there’s some dust.”

“I can do it,” Calum comments, reaching out for the bottle, but you tuck it behind your back. This shower though it comfortably fits the two of you is not the best place to attempt to out muscle someone. Calum soaks his hair and turns as you direct him. The friction of your fingertips over Calum’s scalp is firm but not overbearing. It’s enough to make his eyes flutter close as you work. The kind of tenderness and care that makes his innards melt. So lost in the sensation, Calum nearly misses your directive for him to rinse the shampoo. Your work is swift to comb the conditioner through.

Calum goes to rinse it when you’re done, but you catch him by his elbow. “Not so fast,” you laugh. “Let it sit for another minute. Scooch to where I am.”

“I’ve never let my conditioner sit this long before,” Calum returns, but lets you stand in front of the stream from the shower head.

“And you’ll thank me later when you see the difference another minute or two makes,” you laugh. Calum can only watch. The water dripping down over your skin traces every line, every divot. Calum is no artist but he’d carve you into stone like the water is doing--highlight tautness of your muscles as you flex them, carrying over the curve of your butt. You are art work in a way that Calum thinks he understands finally the need to capture it in something so permanent. He knows he’d like to take his time to get every detail right. His memory is fallible. It’ll fail him eventually, but if he carved you into marble he’d always be able to remember the scars, the mole; every cell would hold to eternity in the rock.

“You can rinse now,” you direct after letting the water wash away the soap from your legs after your final scrub down of them.

Calum rubs his styling pomade over his palms--post shower and dressed, the only final touches are his hair. The extra time with the conditioner did soften it a little bit more than he’s used to this being. But that was information he was willing to give out easily. Though as he slips his fingers through his hair to hold the work of the blow dryer down, he is impressed. You watch from behind, fastening the button on your jeans into place.

“You don’t have to admit it, but your face says it all,” you laugh.

“Shut up. You don’t get to be right all the time,” Calum huffs. He wants to keep it together, be able to deliver the sarcasm with a straight face, but he ultimately cracks. His smile lifts his cheeks and he giggles when you shake your head at the antic.

“I’m only right some of the time,” you answer.

“Some, all, it’s all the same difference. Is Teagan okay by the way? You mentioned yesterday being worried about her.”

“I hope so. I really hope so. I don’t--I don’t want to assume anything right now, so it might be just a one off thing.”

“Well, I’m here for you and her. When you’re ready to say more just let me know. If there’s anything I can do in the meantime, just let me know too.” It’s clear the way you waltz around what happened that you don’t really want to say too much about it. Though it does make a small batch of worry stir in Calum’s stomach, he’s not going to force you to discuss something you’re not ready to discuss. He hopes it’s nothing. Hopes that maybe this is extra fret for ultimately nothing. But in the event that’s it’s more, he knows he’ll do whatever he needs to help you out.

“Thanks, love. I appreciate it.” Your arms slip under his and you smooth a small fly away. “Ready?”

“Born ready.”

Calum’s quick to direct you to the elevators on the way down to his car. He can still feel the slight quake in his thighs from the effort earlier when he squats down to get into the driver seat. It doesn’t help that just a couple days ago it was leg day in his gym routine. Yet, each time he forgets how long the recovery is from the torturous routine. The radio turns out immediately from the last time he was in the car, but Calum lowers the volume just a smidge.

“Is there anything I should know before meeting your friends? Any subjects off limits?” you ask after a few minutes of being on the road.

“You already know that Michael’s a producer. Luke’s got his hand in music, solo work. Ashton’s got jobs on jobs. Between his work to start a wellness app, he’s got a candle company. He’s working with Luke I think on some instrumental music. But they’re a cool group. Micheal’s married. Luke’s engaged. Ashton’s newly single so that might be a little bit of a tough spot, but if I’m honest, Violet wasn’t good for him so none of the guys are that torn up about her. We’re there for Ashton of course.”

“So a politician, a producer, a singer, and a hippie walk into a bar,” you start and Calum snorts. “And one of them says to the bartender, I need a drink that’ll help me through the day I’ve just had, with no major side effects and if I saw purple elephant at the end of the cup I wouldn’t be that made either, can you guess who ordered?”

“It was a group order,” Calum returns.

“Correct.”

“And I wouldn’t say Ashton’s a hippie. He’d gotten into school on some scholarships, dude’s practically a whizz, but definitely tends to lean more spiritual and philosophical than not.”

“I’ll give him a fair shake, promise. It’s just--wellness app? Do you know the focus of it?”

Calum hadn’t gotten all the specifics. Ashton mentioned it during one of their last hangouts and by the time that it really sunk in what Ashton was doing, the conversation gravitated to something else--there were jokes, teases, and before Calum could digest in his slight alcoholic haze the idea, the topic was long lost.

“We’ll find out more today I’m pretty sure though. He can go a mile a minute if you let him.”

“I’m excited to meet them then. See what kind of mischief you get up to.” Though Calum wouldn’t call it mischief himself, he’s excited too.

____________________________________

The thing about first impressions is that you’ll never know if you’re landing them well. There are no do overs. Only ever grace and more grace. But as you follow the half step behind Calum into the bar, you’re hoping you won’t need too much grace. It’s not packed for a Saturday, not yet anyway. Though you think that it might be too early to make such judgment at only 8 in the evening. The night is still young and you’re sure that as the hours crept by more and more people would crop up.

“Calum!”

You hear the voice before you spot two men waving with grins on their face. They sit next to each other at the table for what appears to be situated for six. One has blond hair that faintly curls at the top. The other man has a shaggier cut with pink dyed ends underneath a beanie. Calum laughs as he greets them, hugs and pats on the back. They reach out for you too, unphased by your addition to the outing. The man with the beanie introduces himself as Michael and faintly curly haired blond introduces himself as Luke.

Calum doubles down on such introductions, clearly missing the quiet exchanges but no one corrects him before you two settle down opposite of Michael and Luke. Calum pulls out your chair and you cut your eyes up with a soft smile. “Don’t,” Calum commands with a laugh. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Are you telling me he’s not pulling your chair out all the time? I raised you better than this,” Michael jokes.

“I am a gentleman,” Calum counters, “at all times.”

Luke joins in on the ragging with a tsk falling into the air from the suck of his teeth. “Then tell me why I don’t believe you, son. Just doesn’t seem right over here.”

The banter falls between them easily. You know it’s the years, all the time they spent together. And just as quickly as it starts, it stops even though Calum squawks to your left that he is the picture perfect partner to you. “Yeah, but we’ve learned not to trust you.” Michael turns to you at the end of the sentence. “So, let’s hear your thoughts. On a scale of zero to ten where is Calum falling on being a gentleman? Pretend he isn’t here. Which I know is hard since he’s so loud right now,” Michael cuts in over Calum’s muttered huffs.

You ponder the question, even as Calum slips his hand into yours, sliding a menu left behind closer to you, though one’s right in front of you. “Eight and a half. But he’s closing in on the 9.”

“I’d ask when I haven’t been a gentleman, but I fear the answer,” he snorts.

“I have to give you room to grow. Don’t want you to get too comfortable,” you tease.

Michael’s laughter echoes, even in the thump of the bass overhead. You hear his crackle. “I like you already. I’ve heard through the grapevine though that you’re starting a new job Monday?”

“Would the grapevine be about 6’2?” you ask. “But yes, Monday is my first day.”

“Are you nervous at all?” Luke questions.

You shrug, playing at the corner of the menu Calum slid your way. “A job’s a job. The people seem nice so far, so not terribly nervous. I’m a bit more used to first days at new jobs though,” you answer. From what you gathered, there’s a strong likelihood that they don’t share a background like yours. You could be wrong of course. But given what they’re doing now, you’re not sure what kind of background they could have.

“Sorry I’m late,” a scruffier voice calls out. “Sup, Cal.” They laugh and you look up over your shoulder to a man with almost shoulder length hair. There’s a slight wave to the warm brown strands. He smiles at you big and bright, the action making the sunglasses bounce just a little on his face. “I’m Ashton,” he greets, holding out a hand.

You shake it in return, offering your name. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same, same. Again, apologies for my tardiness. Not the kind of first impression I want to give.”

But grace, but grace, but grace. “Consider the tardiness excused. Better late than never.”

His laughter is soft as he nods. “Right, right on.”

“I was about another ten minutes from putting together a search party,” Michael relays to Ashton as he settles to your right.

“Nah, you can put the dogs back and let them free in the backyard. Though I don’t think South would dare get his paws dirty.”

“You have dogs?” you ask Michael.

He nods. “Two. South and Moose.” Before you can even ask to see pictures, he’s pulling out his phone. There on the table, the screen lights up your face as you swipe through the gallery Michael pulled up. “South has the golden coat--very much a diva.”

“Last time I petsit him, he acted like he didn’t even know me,” Calum huffs. “Until it was time for him to go and then he didn’t want to go.”

“A diva,” Michael concludes.

“They’re precious,” you coo, handing the device back after two more swipes.

“Do you have any pets by chance?” Luke tacks on.

“No, but I’m open to the idea. Just wasn’t feasible for a while.” There’s a nod of understanding but it leads down a tangent about Luke and his dog Petunia. It’s nice for the conversation to flow naturally. By the time you order your first round of drinks and some appetizers for the table, you learn about Luke’s older brothers, Ashton’s younger siblings, the way Michael, Luke, and Calum found each other in middle school thanks to band class. Luke’s mother used to teach Ashton as he is older than the rest of the group, resting right in the same age bracket as you. But even still, he’d been reached out by Michael in a string of bizarre fated events to guest drum for a gig they’d landed.

Though the band didn’t live long, given Calum’s trip off to football camp in Brazil and an unfortunately timed injury to Ashton’s wrist, they still kept close. It floors you for a minute to learn that in addition to school Ashton had taken a job at a KFC. He’d been doing it to bring in extra cash for his family and thankfully through the gigs, he’d managed to worm his way into the music world. He didn’t let the job go fully until he was met with a do or die moment. To say Ashton did is an understatement, but there’s something still modest in the well worn leather jacket and faded t-shirt. You’re sure if you saw the brand’s name etched into either one of the items, it still might give you a heart attack, but something in the ensemble lets you know that Ashton is not overly frivolous. The items stay in rotation until they’re unable to be saved.

“I’ll be right back,” Calum announces, pushing in a little closer to you. His lips press gingerly to your cheek before he stands. “No one scare them off while I’m gone.”

“Oh, we’ll behave,” Ashton giggled from behind his bottle. For a man who was newly single according to Calum, he was keeping his wits about him. He asked you questions, cracked jokes with Michael and Luke. Now without the sunglasses on his face, you spot the bright eyes to match his bright smile.

“Calum tells us you paint,” Luke offers up before sucking the ranch off his fingers. “Working on anything new?”

“Oh, I’m almost finished with this painting for him. So, nothing new really. I should’ve been done ages ago, but something about it doesn’t feel finished just yet. We’ll see if it ever jumps out at me.”

“I’m sure it will soon,” Luke smiles.

“Would you ever consider doing art full time?” Michael questions. He goes in for another sip of his cocktail.

“I much prefer it as a hobby, if I’m honest. I think I could see myself maybe taking it more seriously in the future, but I don’t know if it’s my next career move or not.”

“So you enjoy the restaurant life?” Ashton asks. “Or is that just where you prefer to stay in as your career?”

“A little bit of both, I guess,” you contemplate. “The industry is deadly and I don’t want to be a linecook forever, but I think for right now, I prefer to say that this industry is where I make my money. When I leave work, I leave it--none of it comes back home with me.”

“Except for Calum,” Luke snorts.

“I mean it’s not smart to shit where you eat, but so far it’s yet to blow up in my face so I’m hoping it never does. And technically, Calum’s not been to my place yet, so work has never actually come home with me. Can’t say the same for him.”

The boys cackle at your correction. “Fair,” Luke snickers. “I’m just happy to see him doing well again after everything that happened.”

The air feels sucked out of the room. Ashton and Michael’s smiles fall like bricks from their faces, clattering to the table beneath you all. You’re not aware of anything before, but now that it’s out there it sits on the table within arm’s reach like the wings and fries in front of you. Yet you don’t know if you should touch it. Don’t know if you should follow up on Luke’s line of conversation or pocket it for later.

You reach for a fry instead, dipping into your side bowl of ketchup. “You sure know how to drop a bomb Luke. How’s the music going though?”

You’re curious. What had happened to Calum before? As far as you were aware, he’d not been dating anymore, not seriously before you. Well, not that you knew of while you worked in the kitchen of course. The almost two years had been pretty quiet on the gossip train about Calum until you two got involved. But there’s plenty of time prior to that that you couldn’t account for.

“So, you-you don’t know?” Michael questions. It cuts right under the question you asked to Luke.

“No, no I don’t know.” It’s a simple sentence. Because you don’t. And you’re too tired to panic about what you don’t know. The worry of Teagan and Charlie outweighs whatever information you haven’t been given from Calum.

“It’s a good thing,” Michael clarifies. “There’s been a really good change in Calum because of you. It’s not my place to tell you. But I do want you to know it isn’t bad.”

Luke sets his bottle down and pushes it with the tips of his fingers a couple more inches from his reach. “I’m sorry. Definitely should’ve been more careful about that kind of stuff. But it is good, like Michael says.”

Ashton scoots the bottle Luke pushed away closer to him. “Yeah, buddy, let me just hold onto that for you.”

It’s not fun to know that Calum’s withheld information. But you know that people will always play certain things close to their chest. You kept Teagan and Charlie close for so long. You kept your family drama close. Though it is a jolt, a shock to your system, you think it’s only fair that Calum has the things he wants to keep close too. Everyone has their demons. Perhaps the signs were always there. But there is always a reason.

“So, everyone here is in music somehow. Who wants to go first about their current project? And please one at a time, or I will have to break out the talking stick, or rather talking bottle,” you tease.

“Talking bottle?” Michael laughs.

“Well, it’s a talking stick originally. Whomever has the stick speaks. Everyone else stays quiet and then it goes around person to person and back and forth between people if need be.” Your empty bottle of beer stares back at you and you lift a few inches off from the table. “But when in a bar, you improvise.”

“Are you saying we talk over each other?” Luke laughs with a bit of a squeal to his voice at the same time Ashton states, “I don’t really think we need to go that far.”

“If the boot fits,” you laugh. The fries have gone cold due to the time you’ve all spent talking, less focused on the actual drinks and food. But you reach for another couple as the boys bicker for a moment. They’re more like brothers than they are friends, as you watch them, reminding you of the way Teagan and Charlie interact with each other. It’s a playful banter, a quip always at the ready with them.

“You okay?”

You turn to the question, though you don’t need to. Calum’s scooted in a little closer to you. You can feel his warmth seeping into your back through his shirt on your body. “I’m okay. I like your friends.”

Calum’s lips are soft on your cheek. “Good. I think they like you too.”

“Try love them,” Michael corrects and no sooner than he makes the statement, he’s sucked back into Ashton’s claims that a band, you didn’t catch the name, is overrated. Ashton quickly reasserts he doesn’t mean it negatively.

“They’re just too derivative of a derivative and ultimately aren’t producing anything cutting,” Ashton further explains.

“We’re not talking about fucking algebra,” Michael quips. “We’re so far from the origins of the soundscapes for most genres. It’s all going to sound derivative, because it is. But it’s not about new, or shiny. It’s about saying it in a way that no one else has.”

It’s like Luke’s early faux pas didn’t even happen. Ashton and Michael verbally circle each other all the while Luke watches like one does a tennis match--Ashton then Michael. Michael then Ashton--back and forth for all it to end in a deuce. You wonder if either will ever get the two points to win. But the waitress comes by again and the collection take stalk of the table. There’s a few bottles scattered and you help her collect those, and order up on more drinks--some water, some sodas, a few more cocktails and alcoholic drinks thrown into the mix.

“Would you ever take commissions? Even on the side?” Luke ponders. “Like one off projects and such?”

“Possibily,” you answer with a shrug. The majority of your work went to to a couple local places--the local children’s hospital enjoyed having your work on display as the children loved it. You’d gifted Teagan and Charlie small paintings after they begged for them. “Again, don’t want to make it my career, but you know if someone wanted to pay me to do something for them, I’d entertain the thought.”

“An original painting could do wonders at the local charity circuit,” Ashton pipes in. The comment isn’t for you and you peer over your shoulder to Calum.

He stares wide eyed over his first beer that he’s yet to finish. “It could. But I-if it’s not your thing, you don’t have to do it.”

“Do what?” you question. There’s been no conversation about anything for charity in your presence.

“In December, I have-I have a charity banquet to attend. There’s stuff that people auction off to raise money for the connected charities. I mentioned the the guys that it’d be nice to auction off something more meaningful. But I wasn’t sure if it was even appropriate to ask you about it. You’d only have two months and some change to finish it. There’s a website that goes up in the last week of November, a week and a half before the event so people can see the options.”

“Which charities?” You’d heard of the event, watched clips of the auction with more curiosity than true interest to watch rich people flaunt their philanthropy.

“I think this year is focusing on women’s rights, especially the efforts on pushing law enforcement to investigate those missing. The deadline to submit proposals is in two weeks though. Which is like, not great planning on my end I know.”

“What do you normally auction off?”

“Volunteer time.”

“How comfortable are you with volunteer time?” You’d at least think about it. It might be more than you could handle, but you’d chew the thought over. Especially since you did still have questions about whatever Luke alluded to earlier.

“I like it; I don’t mind volunteering. It’s a nice change of pace honestly. Just--I think others should see your talents too.”

The blush that creeps up on his cheeks nearly melts you. Though your gut initially wants to dismiss it as the flush of alcohol, you know the truth. When Calum casts his gaze down and picks at his nails, you know that he’s a little shy in the confession. You take his hand gingerly on top of the table and the action is enough for him to look up. “I’ll think about it and get back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

At the very end when the check hits the table, all four boys reach it, cards and cash in hand. Ashton ends up footing the bill but the rest of the boys hand over cash or tap at their screens to ensure Ashton’s paid for their portions. “How much do I owe Calum?” you ask, noticing the bill’s being split four ways instead of five.

He shakes his head. “I got you, baby. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

“More than sure.”

“I’ll pay next time.” It’s not fully a suggestion, but you still offer it softly.

Calum takes a squeeze at your hand after slipping his phone into his pocket. “Okay.” It’s easy, simple. He smiles at you and the group pushes up from the table. Michael, Luke, and Ashton all give you hugs as you leave.

“You’ll come next time too, right?” Luke asks. “We bring all the partners. Be a nice time, I think.”

“I’d be happy to see you all again,” you agree. The agreement leads to another round of hugs, the group spilling out into the outdoors. The night is darker, a little cooler than you first left it. Calum’s hold around your hand tightens for only a moment and you squeeze in return at the action.

You know there’s always a better time, a better place. The parking lot of this bar definitely does not feel like the right time. But you’re not sure when it will be. “Luke mentioned something when you stepped away to the restroom. And-and I’d like to ask you about it.”

The tension thickens. Calum’s shoulders become rigid under the t-shirt. “It doesn’t sound like a good thing.”

Not a shut down, only a phish for more information. One you’re happy to supply. “It is good in a way. The group seems to be really happy that you’re in a good relationship. But the way Luke said it, it made me think there’s definitely something, or someone before.”

“I don’t want anyone else if that’s what you’re wondering. That doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I’m-I’m not worried about that. I’m not really worried about anything. I just--whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened before, I’d like to know.”

You think that’s going to be the end of the conversation. You wouldn’t fault it at all. Perhaps, you’d been all too blinded by Calum choosing you that you hadn’t fully wondered what was going on in his past. You didn’t think the stories of Calum’s childhood could be a smoke screen. They were real. They were all a part of what made Calum Calum. But Luke’s comment cracks open the possibility that you’d been blinded. As hungry as you were to have Calum to yourself the reality of it all is that he’s not to be consumed.

“I just--there’s stuff I haven’t asked you, you know? I want the bad stuff too. So I know how to be there for you. So I know how to love you.” The words fall, buzzing on your lips and tongue. You’d want to pick them up after they’ve fallen, but you know it's wasted energy. They’re out there now. You can’t do anything but watch Calum’s back. The tension has dropped. He doesn’t look ready to run.

“Part of it feels ridiculous,” Calum admits. He tugs your hand, closing the gap between the two of you. “There’s so much worse that’s happening to other people. And my hurt just starts to feel small.”

“It’s not a competition of pain. Your hurt isn’t smaller than someone else’s.” You’re slotted against Calum’s chest. There’s no brim of a hat, no glasses to hide him away. There’s just the fear--plain as day on his face. “If I ever made this feel like a competition, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you didn’t make it feel like a competition. I think,” he pauses with a sigh. “It’s totally different. I feel like I want to love again. With you. It wasn’t always like that.”

Your fingertips ache. You want to cup his jaw, ask him to explain to you from the top what it was like before. You don’t, thinking a camera lens could be pointed at you right now. Perhaps there would always be and now it’s less about them and more about Calum. With caution, you trace at his jaw, trailing up until your palm rests against his full cheek. “I’m glad it’s better now.”

Calum’s eyes shut, lashes nearly brushing the top of his cheeks. Like babies root to touch, Calum turns into your hold, lips pressing to your palm with a kiss. “But it was bad. And you should know.”

“Only when you’re ready,” you whisper. You’re glad there’s no breeze, lest your words have gotten swept up in it.

“Can I tell you on the drive?”

Your answer is only a nod. You want to do more, kiss him. Let him know you’re there. You think if it could be done, you’d crawl into his chest, whisper to his heart that you don’t have plans on breaking it. But this is not a fairytale. You know strife always comes. The only solace one can have is that they don’t cause too much of it.

It’s quiet at first, as Calum pulls out of the parking lot and onto the streets. You watch the signs for the highway, watch Calum take the entrance ramp, spending up so that he can merge. You’re not headed back to the palace. You’re actually going in the opposite direction. You don’t know what could be out there, what Calum has up his sleeve. But you don’t question it.

“Her name is Nora,” Calum starts.

You know of a Nora-- a princess fit to inherit within the next three years. Her particular people believed in a matriarch. Though Queens took husbands, they almost always never turned over power. “Like Princess Nora or the girl next door to the palace Nora?”

“The princess,” Calum answers, but he does grin for a brief moment taking a look at your face.

There are no girls next door--you know that. But somehow the truth still unsettles. You don’t remember murmurs about Nora from the kitchen. The kitchen staff passed time in gossip. You knew more about the royal family you worked for and others merely because the gossip seemingly made the seconds fly by. You’d never cared for it before and didn’t care for it when you worked there. You let the others do the talking.

“We dated back in college for two and half years.”

That’s well before you would’ve even been considering working for the palace. No wonder it hadn’t come up around you. “I’m guessing it wasn’t amicable.”

Calum shrugs. “I don’t know if amicable is remotely close. But it didn’t end badly. Just rough. When we broke up, I spent a year wallowing. I wanted to pretend I was okay, but she was my first love in a way. I’d dated before in high school, but they’d only lasted a few months. Not nearly enough time to mean anything in comparison.”

“I think your training in Brazil ruined you,” you tease, watching through the front windshield as the dark asphalt and street lights whizz around you.

“I know, I know. Not a competition. But the crushes in high school were just that--crushes. We dated, held hands, kissed, but Nora was my first serious relationship. I’d been looking at rings.”

Rings-- the word bites at your veins. Calum doesn’t say it with ease, his hands clutching the wheel so hard his knuckles are paling. They’d been deep into the relationship--enough so that marriage was potentially on the line. Your fingers twitch to soothe his, but you restrain yourself given his work at the wheel.

“Sounds like you never made the purchase?” you probe, hoping it’s as gentle as it can be. You are curious. You want Calum to know that you are listening too.

“Never had the opportunity, thankfully so, I guess. Nora graduated in December and I graduated in May. She’d taken some summer classes to help get ahead and done some work in high school to get a head start. Nora asked me at the start of winter break, right after she graduated, if I intended on marrying her. I was honest. I told her that I would like to, after we both had a couple years out from school. There would be a lot of logistics involved.”

“Politcs,” you point out. “She’s a part of a matriarch. You’re in a patriarchal system.” The quip about you being lower class, how much easier it is to date someone with no political ties, burns at your tongue. But you know Calum. It won’t go well at all; he’ll beg you to stop the self deprecation, tell you that he loves you for you. It’s all things you know.

Calum winces at the phrasing. “I mean that’s what it was. But at the time, I didn’t see it like that. I was idealistic about it, toxically optimistically probably. Not that I’m not the same now, but I hope not nearly as much.”

He risks a glance, like he poised a question. You only shrug at first, but then add on, "Optimistic, yes. Toxic, no. You know when you admit you’re wrong.”

“Improvement then, I guess, from then. Nora didn’t want to turn over her right to rule. I didn’t want to turn over my right to rule. And even if I told her she wouldn’t be, she didn’t see it that way. I thought she was being nitpicky. No one would care at the end of the day because her politics would still stand. I wouldn’t interfere with her work. But ultimately, it was--it was crumbling. The second I answered that we could rule separately but still be together and she looked at me with confusion--it was over. Rock meet glass house.”

You can imagine it--the strong brow on Nora furrowing as Calum spoke. The way she might’ve shaken her head and spoke firmly, black hair spilling over her shoulder as it always did in her press speeches. Nora is a force--fierce with seemingly little fear about the perception from others. Where Calum played a careful game, Nora played the explosive kind. She’s smart, by no means did her passion outshine her intelligence, but she was always speaking out first about things. She was one of the people rallying others. It’s easy to see how with Nora it became all or nothing

Calum continues on, signaling as he speaks to take an exit. “I tried to date, but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t want to be dating if I’m honest. I’d told myself that I’d just be single. I’d take on the throne and settle into that- give it five, seven, ten years before I married. It really wouldn’t matter. Luke was trying to set me up on dates. But they never went anywhere. Didn’t even want sex if I’m honest. I refused it a couple times and both girls and guys thought I was crazy. Sometimes, I don’t know. Sometimes I did it anyway because it was a distraction. Nothing really numbed the pain though. There was just this constant ache I had. I’d envisioned myself a dad--playing sports in the back garden, or in ballet recitals for daddy and daughter dance classes. I’d always pictured myself on the throne, working in the Cabinet. Those weren’t things I’d want to give up, even for Nora. That’s what made it scary. She had her way of thinking. Her people rule the way they do and that’s fine. But I always knew I was going to be King. I knew even if I didn’t always want it that I wouldn’t give up on the responsibility.”

You can hear what’s between those words, what still causes Calum pain. “But it meant giving up Nora, right? If you were always going to take your throne and she was always going to take hers, then the only thing left is what happened.” It doesn’t shock you to hear how much Calum dreamed of his future. You don’t worry that he still wants it—those things could all be worked out eventually. But you know that Calum’s so caught up on making things work for the best possible outcome that he doesn’t always remember that life is not always about the best.

“Yeah,” Calum sighs. It’s heavy and comes deep from within his chest, “but I wanted it all. You know. I wanted her and I wanted to follow through on my duties. I wanted it fucking all and at the time, it felt like I’d lost everything. We knew after that conversation it wouldn’t be compatible. Nora and I’s relationship required sacrifices that we were too young and too driven to make. Nora deserves where she’s at. She deserves to rule. And I don’t think she could’ve been happy any other way.”

“Do you think you could’ve been happy any other way? As little as I actually know about her--and I reserve the right to absolutely be wrong about it--it was your relationship too.”

The roads are narrowing. You watch now as the dark asphalt lightens, there’s a few more bumps along the way. You round the bend and the ocean opens up in front of you. You know the beach is closed but it doesn’t seem to stop Calum as he pulls to a stop in the parking lot. The lights stuff off from the car, leaving you surrounded in the thick mass of the night. The sun’s long gone. The lights are off in the truck too. The engine knocks just a little as the vehicle settles.

“I might’ve been, but if I’m honest I didn’t spend 4 years in college and 4 years under my father’s immediate wings for nothing. I’d been putting time into my own aspirations and I don’t think long term that relationship would’ve been good for me,” Calum answers as he turns to you. The seatbelt clanks against the plastic interior. “I hope the beach is okay.”

“The beach is fine.” You undo your seatbelt as well, listening to the way it winds back up into place. “Making the right choices sometimes isn’t easy,” you admit. Like the right choice to change jobs. Like the right choice to stay for Teagan and Charlie. Like the right choice for Calum to let Nora go.

“Yeah,” Calum agrees. “Sometimes it’s not.”

You find Calum’s hand, threading your fingers through his. “I hope your choices next time are easier.”

“They’ve gotten easier,” he confesses. “Talking to you was easy. You always treated me like a person.”

“Because you are one.” It’s a simple answer, but you know it to be true. Calum’s just a person. Though he had politics about him, though he was in a world foreign to you at all times and even overwhelming, he was just a person like you. “You’re human like the rest of us.”

“Doesn’t always feel like it.”

You don’t want to imagine the pressure on Calum’s shoulder, a pressure so unsustainable. But the wheel must spin. The cruelty of it all is that someone has to win and someone has to lose.

“What’s the relationship like now with Nora? Is it still tense?”

“Not as much as before. It’s professional at this point, as much as it can be.”

“Two and a half years is a long time though. Makes sense.”

“We tried to make it work. Six months we kept trying to keep pushing and find a solution. But we only sort of grew to resent each other. We were always fighting. Nora called it off, ultimately. She was the one that saw we were crashing and burning. I didn’t want to admit it even if I noticed it too. So to say it was amicable, not quite. It was mutual though.”

You know Calum even in the dark. You know the squint of his eyes, the way his cheeks meld to your hold. You know the catch of his breath when you brush your fingers over the veins on his neck. His veins thump under your touch and then you drag the touch up to his jaw. “Thank you for telling me. That wasn’t easy for you, I can see.”

“I don’t particularly like thinking about it,” Calum admits. His throat seizes. You feel the small quake under your fingers. “I didn’t talk about it. Not even with the boys for a long time.”

“If there’s anyone that understands, it’s me. There’s nasty things in life sometimes. Stuff that we don’t want to talk about, don’t want to deal with. Thing’s we’d prefer to swallow down and never pull back up. I get it,” you assure.

Something warm hits your fingers. It’s only a few drops--tears you assume. Pushing up, you find his lips, a kiss soft and sweet. Calum’s quick to grapple you, encase you in his arms and tug. You’re pulled as far as you can over the console. And you let yourself go. It’s awkward, your back hurts just a little. But Calum exhales into your mouth, shaky as he breathes.

“Scoot the seat all back. You’re going to break my back,” you tease after the hug lasts longer than you anticipate.

“That’s now how I imagined doing it,” Calum teases, his breath ghosting over your lips. He reaches down to pull the lever and push the driver seat back.

Settled onto Calum’s lap, you pull him back into your chest. His fingers are buried--under the shirt--pressing into your flesh like his digits can burrow deeper into your, pass the muscle and fat, into the hollows of blood and organs. You don’t stop him, just press a kiss to his forehead as you cradle his head. His body tremors and there’s the occasional sniffle. The tears are hot on your thumbs, but you wipe them away, slow and steady.

“It’s okay, Calum. You can let it all out now,” you encourage. You know you can’t fix anything. You can’t change the past. But you let him release it. The thing about carrying things that are buried is that they tend to come back when you don’t want them too--like wild animals fed, the things that get buried only ever come back.

Your stroke along his neck, over his shoulders. Your words are soft. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. You’re safe to let it out.”

The tremors cease after a long stretch of time, 10 or so minutes,--Calum’s crying reduced now to just the sniffles, just the remnant of tears that trail down his cheeks. With one deep inhale, Calum brings his face out of your hands and rests his head down on your shoulder. His lips brush at your neck, in what are nearly kisses. Your knees ache, you’re sure that when you finally sit your toes are going to tingle due to the lack of blood for the time being. But this is all temporary, not something you need to worry about when you can still hear the shuddery exhales of Calum.

“Haven’t had someone in a long time tell me I was safe,” he whispers against your skin. His voice is thick with the tears and emotion he’s split. His arms constrict again around your back, arms locked as if attempting to cage you in. You know better. You know it’s for comfort.

“Well you are; you’re safe with me.”

“Thank you.” The phrase is followed by a kiss this time to your neck. He follows the line to your throat with more gratitude on his tongue. He paints your skin with the phrase. You wonder when you shower again if the words will show up as tattoos on your throat. His forehead is firm in your sternum but you don’t mind the pressure when he falls back into the shelter of your body.

“You’re welcome,” you return to Calum.

His voice rumbles through your chest, you catch something that sounds like smell but you can’t fully place it. You thread your fingers around the back of his neck and squeeze. It’s not enough pressure to cause pain but it coaxes his head back. “I said you smell good,” he laughs.

“Thank you,” you laugh.

The dark doesn’t make it easy, but you imagine that his cheeks might be flushed, that there might be a little bit of pink to them. There’s some light due to the tall streetlights in the parking lot, but you two are far enough at the edge of the beacon of one and the end of the parking lot so it leaves the truck in the glow of a light and not fully lit. His eyes glisten though as he watches you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you huff, pressing at his shoulders.

“Look at you like what?”

“Like you can’t help but love me.”

“I do love you.”

It’s wrong to say what’s pressing at your teeth, do you love me enough for sacrifice. You know it given what Calum had just confessed. Maybe the two of you were still too young and too stubborn for the kind of love that required sacrifice. Perhaps it’s the kind of love that you had to mature into with each other. Calum wouldn’t have much to sacrifice, save for a few comments, a few sneers. You’d always have something to sacrifice.

“What’s going on? You can talk to me,” Calum coaxes, hands moving from your hips to your cheeks, thumbs swiping right under your eyes. There are no tears.

“It’s not a fair question,” you return. “It’s not the right time to ask it.”

“Will you ask it when it’s the right time?” Calum questions. It falls out quietly. You can hear it land into your lap, soft and fragile like the first snow. For a moment, you hope that this winter gives a fresh and deep dusting. The summer was warm and thick. You want winter to be cold.

“If the right time comes up.”

“No, no not if, when. When it’s the right time to ask, you’ll ask, right?”

It’s a promise that will make you a liar. You know it. “Do you want to make me a liar?”

“Just this once,” Calum answers.

“What if it’s never a fair question?” What if it’s just insecurity that you’re letting get the best of you?

“This,” Calum returns, a hand waving between the two of your bodies. “This is not a glass house we’re building. It doesn’t always have to be a fair question. Just as long as it can be made into an honest conversation.”

A conversation--a much more fair objective. You bring your forehead to his--the beer’s a faint ghost on his breath. All you can smell is Calum--the pomade in his hair, the cologne he sprayed on his throat and wrist that smells like expensive leather with a hint of sandalwood and something sweet like vanilla. You trace the veins in his neck, a steady thumping of his heart under your gentle press.

“I’m not sure of many things in my life,” you start. “I never had the chance to live with certainty. I always keep that voice in the back of my head fed, that tells me you’ll grow bored. You’ll want someone with less baggage. You’ll need something more suited for the life you have. Because you’re a fucking Prince. I’m a fucking cook. It’s all I ever had--the cooking and a little bit of art to keep me going. But I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I like you. I love you too. But I wonder how far this can go. How far do you want to take it, you know? I don’t need announcements on social media or anything like that. I just--I keep the voice in the back of my head fed because what if all this leaves me.”

Calum’s lips are soft. His mouth sealing around yours in a kiss. His hands are warm on your face. The tears are hot on your cheek--yours this time. What if you lose it all? What if it all goes away? You cannot consume him. But you wish you could.

“We never know what life’s going to bring, baby.” The silver bracelet Calum slipped on dazzles just a little in the glint of the faint light coming in through the car window. “I know I want to be with you. I know I want to wake up next to you. I want to take you on dates, even if it’s just picnics in the park. I want to show you off to my friends. I want to have a relationship with Teagan and Charlie too. I want to take you all out, have them crash some bumper cars, feed them too much fucking candy and make your parents hate me just a little because I always drop their two youngest off on a sugar high. I want to watch you paint and talk about our days together. I want,” he pauses. You watch his eyes flicker from your face to the space around the car. He’s searching. You don’t know for what though you do hope it’s the words.

You squeeze his face. “You want what?” You just want to hear the words: that Calum wants you. You know it’s true. You just need to hear it.

He continues on. “I just want you,” Calum laughs, squeezing at your hips. “I want to adopt a dog with you. I miss my boy, Duke, so fucking much. He’s a hole in my heart but I know that I still have love to give. I know it’s not always going to be easy with me. I know it’s scary. But I don’t want these things with anyone else, baby. If I had the opportunity to beg life for anything, I’d beg for you; that you get to stay with me so that you can teach me things, so I can teach you things. You’ll have to stop feeding that voice. It’s a hungry bastard, but starve it.” His arms are trembling. The emotion rocks his voice.

“Starve it,” he whispers. “I want you to starve that voice so that you can enjoy this too, so that you don’t keep waiting for the bad and start to enjoy the good thing in front of you. We’ll never know what life’s going to bring. I certainly didn’t think life would bring me you. And yet, it did. I’m so happy it did.”

It’s a rush, the surge in the centimeters between the two of you to seal Calum’s mouth in a kiss. I just want you. It’s terrifying to want. Here, especially with Calum. Wanting things didn’t mean you needed them. Wanting things didn’t mean you’d get them either. But you are lying if you say you don’t want Calun. You’re lying if you say you don’t want him to want you. And you’ve always known it. But knowing how far he was with Nora, a part of you just needs reassurance.

Reassurance comes when Calum kisses back. It comes when he pants into your skin how much he waits for calls. It comes when he squeezes at your hips, rocks you over his pelvis. Reassurance comes when hands are deftly teasing skin under shirts. When you don’t waste time with either of you fully undressing, and you watch the fog creep up on the windows, you feel reassured. Reassurance comes when the gratitude Calum painted you in earlier turns into desire, when he tattoos into your skin I love you over and over with his lips and tongue.

You need that reassurance like you need the graze of his teeth over your collar bone. Need the curl of his fingers into your flesh. You need the shuddered moans of your steady rhythm as your pelvis rocks up and down his. You need him. You crave him. You want him. You want Calum in every sense of phrase--you want to tell Calum about your day. You want to hear about his day. You want the dog too. You want Diana and Melvin to be pissed at the sight of you and Calum because they know there’s about to be too much sugar involved. You want to paint for Calum, want him to ask you about each color and each stroke.

“I think you might be the death of me,” you whisper against his jaw. The tension in your stomach tightens as Calum bucks up against your clothed pelvis. You gasp at the feeling. You know the stretch of him, how well he treats you on his cock and tongue. His truck may not be the best place for it, but the thought crosses your mind to beg for it. That is until Calum responds to your statement.

“No,” Calum groans, “No, I want you to live for me.” His hands slide up your back. The tug pulls you in with ease--your chest pressed into his. “Can you do that for me? Can you live for me?”

I want you to live for me. Another gasp leaves you. Body teetering on the edge of release but the shock pulls you far enough from the edge. You don’t want a glass house with Calum either. You want something real. Perhaps, you want something to live for too--needed it without really knowing you needed that kind of direction.

You know you can’t live for Calum long-term. You’ll need something else eventually. But Calum’s the best start. You nod before Calum presses you down onto his bulge again. “I can.”

“Good,” he grins. “Now, c’mere.”

The rumble in his voice makes your stomach liquid. Your skin buzzes as you kiss him again. Your orgasm rockets through you as Calum’s tongue pants your mouth. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, body quaking with the fire of your desire consuming you. “That’s it, fuck, baby,” Calum whispers against your mouth, his voice tight.

Calum won’t be far behind you. You let your hand graze over his nipple, up to his throat. The hold is featherlight. But it’s enough for his eyes to flutter for a moment. You grin. “Make a mess for me,” you command, pressing harder into Calum.

They say fire only needs oxygen--it takes one gulp and then bursts into flames, an inferno of a single spark. Calum only needs the command, the light press of your fingers at the sides of his throat before his body goes rigid. His gasp falls choked before you pull yourself in close, swiping your tongue over his parted lips. The ghost of his breath, the huff of air as he comes down from his orgasm fans over your face. You revel in it, grinning as you listen to his raggedy breathing.

Calum laughs, head falling into the rest. You curl into his chest though there’s dampness from your own orgasms and Calum’s creeping in through the denim. “All that’s missing now is the handprint on the window,” he teases. Calum’s fingers are gentle over your back, tracing the length of your spine.

You reach out to touch the driver side window. “Done.” The scent of leather swells your nose, long after you’ve slipped back into the passenger seat. Calum’s cologne is signed onto the hairs in your nose. The dampness of your jeans turns into a coolness as it starts to dry. Calum’s hand is warm on your knee. I want you to live for me. Insecurity is a useless emotion, yet it still reared it’s ugly head. You were glad to hear Calum’s reassurance. But his demand that you live for him; that you starve the voice in your mind that keeps waiting for the bad, is dizzying. When your entire world has been set in hiding, never being heard or seen, it’s unsettling to have someone draw you out. Calum wants to draw you. He wants you to live in a life that you’d been content with. You hope the spotlight doesn’t burn you.

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imarvelatthestars · 3 months

Text

IV - Tome'tayl

masterlist

Series Pairing: f!reader x Tai, Commander Appo, Captain Vaughn, Sergeant Fox, & Sterling [no cl*necest!]

Chapter Pairing: f!reader x Commander Appo (+ a hint of Vaughn, Tai, & Fox)

Content: brief sexual content including making out/petting (is that a thing people say? idk), consent checks, & voyeurism; referenced minor character death, discussions on jealousy and polyamory, o66 and Umbara references. I am once again continuing my "Aurea is space Aotearoa" agenda

tome'tayl [n., to·mey·teyl] - memory

The memories bleed together when he dreams. Hazy recollections of training on Kamino transform into the searing pain of the first blaster bolt to his shin bleeds into the chaos of death at the Temple. Flurries of Commander Tano’s montrals and her radiant green sabers as she blocks an attack that should have killed him. Snippets of General Skywalker issuing orders on a distant moon under Seppie control. Krell and Umbara and the regrets that never stopped haunting him.

Good soldiers.

That first night on Coruscant when everything went to shit. When he was still a shiny, so young and stupid.

Follow orders.

Death. Always death. It follows him everywhere.

I’m sorry, sir.

The choice to leave, to find his vod and take him somewhere where the longnecks and the Seppies and the Empire can never hurt him again. The plummeting of his stomach when the shuttle dropped into the atmosphere, and he thought he was going to die.

It’s time for you to leave.

You.

Your flat.

Hope.

Could-be’s. Maybe’s. What-if’s.

Shame. Guilt. Grief. And all that death.

Appo blinks up at the ceiling, unsure when his dream had turned into waking. He feels his heart beating fast and hard beneath his skin, and it’s forceful enough to hurt. An unfathomable period of time passes in a single instant, and he finally rubs the meat of his palm into his eyes when he realizes that he won’t be able to sleep any longer.

His body moves on autopilot and takes him into the bathroom to splash water on his face. It’s there that he finds some peace of mind, tucked into the tiny space between the opposing wall and the sink, a temporary reprieve from the room he shares with his vode.

The dreams have been getting worse the past week. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t sure why, but he doesn’t want to think about what that understanding means. It’s a wound still too tender to touch, which is why it’s so unfortunate that his date with you is just a few days away. How the hell is he supposed to focus on you, on planning something intimate and romantic and just right when his brain is more interested in dredging up the past and shaming him for it? How is he supposed to touch you when his dreams keep reminding him that he’s more bloodstained than you will ever know?

In an attempt to connect with each brother on a deeper level, you’ve somehow managed to allow Vaughn to talk you into watching his favorite holo-soap. It’s got some weird title like “Shereshoy Street” or something, and focuses mainly on dramatized renditions of diasporic Mando life, strangely managing to straddle the line between painfully boring and wildly intriguing. But it’s not so bad when it means you get to spend your evenings curled up into Vaughn’s side with his arm around you.

Tai will sometimes join in, though he keeps himself seated far away. You’ve been working on him bit by bit each day, offering your company and a smile in the hopes that you’ll finally chisel through his protective shell, and while it is slow going, he does seem a bit more relaxed.

Sterling, on the other hand, is always eager to be close. With you and his vod seated at one end of the sofa, he places himself on the other end so he can trace his fingers over your legs. He doesn’t mind that you haven’t shaved recently, nor does he seem to care that the winter weather has left your skin cracked and dry. He touches you with such gentle reverence that you can’t help falling in love with him all over again each night.

“Hey babe,” you whisper. Vaughn leans down a bit to hear you better, though his attention remains fixed on the holo-screen. “Can we watch one of my movies tomorrow night?”

“Mhm.” His reply is a bit absent. Understandable considering the show seems to be ramping up for its next scene. But his focus wavers then as he suddenly processes your request and his head tilts down so he can watch you instead. “You’re bored?”

He’s not exactly upset nor entirely surprised, but you think he’s a little disappointed.

“No, no, no, I’m not bored-“

“I know it’s not really your thing, but…” He pauses. Vaughn’s face then warms as he breaks into a smile. “Hm. Need some help focusing, love?”

You know exactly what he means. You pretend not to because admitting otherwise might make you perish on the spot.

The placement of his hand in the wrinkle of your waist shifts as he does, drifting to a spot closer to the front of your stomach as he draws you both a little more upright. His hands, like the rest of his brothers, are broad and warm, firm and strong, and they always steal your breath away. This moment is no exception. His thumb rubs up over your ribs to the lower swell of your breast, not quite touching you there but certainly promising to if you allow him.

He kisses your cheekbone, your jaw, brushes his nose against your skin, and he smiles all the while. “This alright?”

No matter how much they may be pretending otherwise, you know his brothers are watching. You can feel the patterns Sterling’s drawing on your ankle grow sharp and jerky, hopefully not out of jealousy, though you can’t find it in you to care if he is or not. There’s something very alluring about the idea of him and Tai watching while Vaughn explores you. Does that make you filthy? Degenerate?

One look into Vaughn’s endless ember eyes already has you melting.

If wanting to have your cake and eat it too makes you filthy and degenerate, then you’ll gladly accept the title.

Your affirmative nod is notably delayed, but the end result is the same – Vaughn’s entire hand cups your breast, his thumb strokes just below your nipple, and then he descends upon you to swallow your stuttered inhalations. Several moments pass in a haze as your hearing goes fuzzy and your stomach drops. He tastes like supper, smells like patchouli and musk.

“Oh,” you sigh, and your gentle, charming, too-smug Vaughn chuckles low in his throat.

“You’re still distracted. Let me help you.” And as he dives in for more, he stops himself and quickly lifts his head. Following the line of his vision leads you to Sterling’s penetrating gaze, to Tai’s downturned face and unreadable expression. “Do, uh, d’you want us to go?”

The sudden stillness of war-worn hands on thighs and the audible swallowing of saliva is overwhelming, concerning, until it isn’t. Until Sterling answers “no” and Tai, albeit shyly, shakes his head. Until a tentative query is posed to you and your permission is granted, and Vaughn captures your lips once more in a steady, burning kiss that sears your skin like a brand.

This is all so new, this maneuvering of fingers on skin and rearranging of limbs to better suit the viewing pleasure of your new audience. It feels forbidden to try, to chase, to yearn for more, but you can hardly stop yourself once the adrenaline hits. You arch into the touch of fingertips on your breast and allow your head to fall back on the shoulder behind you.

The prickling sensation of unfiltered voyeurism pimples your skin. Do they like to watch? Do they wish they were the ones touching you now? Kriffing hell, do they even realize just how much you wish they’d both come over and share in your reckless debauchery?

Vaughn’s breath tickles your ear. “So soft,” he husks. “Where else, love? Where else can I touch you?”

Not even your stolen moments with Fox have led to anything beyond passionate kisses and the framing of your thighs around his hips. His mouth has never lingered past your collarbones and his hands have never strayed beyond your hips. The same is mostly true for Vaughn, the second most eager of the batch, although he’s been more adventurous since your date. The intimacy of his hands on your chest is so delicious. You want more. You know he wants more, too.

“Anywhere.”

The holo is still playing in the background, but no one’s paying any attention. You seem to be the show for the evening. Fuck.

“You’re sure?”

Your head lolls to the side as you fix him with a stern, desperate look. “Vaughn, baby, if you don’t keep touching me, I think I’ll die.”

Three variations upon the same laugh echo in the room, one of which is rumbling under your back. It’s a tad higher pitched than that of his brothers. It’s nice. He’s nice. His hands on your body are even nicer.

The two legs that have been curled around your own start to move until one of them drapes off the edge of the cushion, which allows for your legs to fall apart just a bit more. Easy access, you think, jokingly, until there’s the weight of something new slipping down your stomach, so, so slowly, lower and lower until it hits your waistband, and suddenly it’s not a joke anymore.

“Here?” Vaughn asks. He sounds torn between trying to be sexy and worrying over your consent. You love him more for that than you love him for almost anything else.

“Yeah,” you nod, eyelashes fluttering.

The very tips of his fingers start to tug at your clothes, searching for new skin, and your heart leaps into your throat because this is really happening, he’s really going to touch you, right here and now with his brothers watching, and you want it, and maybe you shouldn’t. And maybe you’re a little nervous. Maybe you’re finally starting to feel the weight of your own insecurities as they batter your brain like a hailstorm. What if you look weird from this angle? What if you smell? What if that bit of hair on your stomach is a dealbreaker? What if this is the night that makes each of them realize this arrangement was just a big mistake, especially Tai? Oh kark, what if it’s too much for Tai?

And then a floorboard in the hall creaks. A flicker of movement in the darkness catches your eye. Vaughn’s palm soothes over your belly button as Appo’s figure comes into focus in the faint light of the holo-screen. He’s mid-step, mid-eye rub, mid-thought, but he’s frozen like a tauntaun in the headlights, fixated on you and the hand under your clothes.

“Ah, a-ah,” is the strangled beginnings of his name that keeps catching on your tongue. It almost sounds like the start of a sneeze.

Sterling reacts first. He startles out of his seat with enough force to jostle your legs. Then Vaughn stiffens beneath you, and not in any remotely sexy way, either. The quick removal of his limbs leaves your skin feeling cold and achy. Tai doesn’t react nearly so physically, though there is a clear uncertainty in the way he holds himself now as he observes each brother.

“S-Sir!”

Hand in the cookie jar. Vaughn couldn’t sound more guilty if he tried, and you’re not even sure he could. It’s not like you were doing anything wrong when there was consent all around. Yet Appo’s presence has always been that of a commander first and a brother second. If anything, you feel like you’ve been caught doing something naughty as much as the boys do, like you’re just some bunk bunny getting randy in the barracks and the commanding officer just walked in on you. You hate how apt the metaphor is.

Nobody speaks for a long while. Then, finally,

“If you’re gonna make a mess, do it in the bed, will you?”

Appo lingers for a moment, his eyes bleary as he watches you for a heartbeat or two. You think you see something behind the exhaustion, but whatever it is, it’s lost on you when he turns to leave. If you weren’t doing anything wrong, then why do you feel sick to your stomach with guilt?

Dating never used to be this hard during the war. He and the boys would go to 79’s and drink, dance, chat up natties, and return to the barracks a load or two lighter and high on endorphins. Even going out with Benshar wasn’t this hard, but then, he wasn’t nearly as attached to Benshar as he is to you. Because Benshar was a fun string of nights meant to help him left off some steam and screw his head on straight, to distract himself from his memories and his desires and the constant, tantalizing agony of knowing that you were forever beyond his reach.

Now he finally has you and he doesn’t know what to do with you. You’re more than a night of bad decisions, lust, and booze. He can’t kark this up. He is, after all, the commander. The men will look to him for an example to follow and he can’t let them down, or you.

So Appo thinks. He spends the whole day thinking. Some of his customers attempt conversation but are quickly shut down when he refuses to respond beyond a grunt of understanding or disagreement. He drives down every Maker forsaken road in the damn city and he tries very hard to think of the perfect place to take you.

The old shop on the corner of 5th and Main reminds him that you’re fond of holo-novels and good ambience. The nature reserve on the city’s outskirts reminds him that you stop and listen to the birdsong whenever you hear it, no matter where you are. A Weequay pedestrian and her Twi’lek partner walking hand-in-hand on the sidewalk, laughing loud enough to cut through transparisteel, remind him that you like to show your love through meaningful gestures and tenderness, and the too-occasional witty barb. Most of all, Appo knows that you’re proud of being Aurean, which strikes him the strongest when he happens to drop off a small tourist group near the Pā City Culture and History Museum – the PaCC, as the locals have affectionately dubbed it.

As they clamber up the steps toward the museum’s entrance, a holo-banner catches his attention. There’s a newer Naboo exhibit on display and a few new items added to the main Aurean displays as well. The thought transforms into an idea in the back of his mind during the drive home.

You’re bantering with Sterling in the kitchen. With your nose wrinkled up mid-sentence and your eyes sparkling mischievously, dressed in your most casual and comfortable clothes, and looking entirely average and unremarkable, Appo thinks you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. It’s far from the first time he’s ever thought so, and he knows it’s far from the last, but it hits him particularly hard now.

But your expression drops when you see him, and that hurts more than any blaster shot ever could. To see you tuck yourself away in his presence, even to see the way his vod’ika goes tense simply because he’s home, it fucking hurts, and it’s only because he had the bad luck to walk in on something private and he let his pride get the better of him. He needs to fix this.

His coat is shrugged off and tossed over one arm. “Hey.”

One look at him through the curtain of your lashes is enough to make his breath hitch. All the appropriate words and formal apologies his brain had started to conjure suddenly vanish, and he’s left without a single thought. Shit.

“Hi,” you answer rather meekly.

He does the first thing that makes sense. He kisses you.

Well, he almost does. Somewhere along the journey, his critical thinking skills kick back in, and he realizes that he’s acting very strange, so he jerks his face to the side and lands the kiss upon your cheek instead. It’s more appropriate for an apology, he tells himself. It’s not at all because he’s so overwhelmed by his feelings for you that he can hardly decide what to do with them or himself.

“Tomorrow. When you’re done with work, get yourself dressed. I’ll pick you up.” He doesn’t intend for it to sound like an order, but he fears that’s exactly the end result. Best to soften the approach a bit. “Okay?”

You nod, all wide-eyed and confused and so, so pretty. “Okay.”

This is not the perfect resolution he had hoped for, but it’s better than nothing at all and it can be improved upon tomorrow afternoon. Appo nods and allows himself a smile, however slight it is.

To Sterling, he nods again. “Vod.” This is his apology, his offer of normalcy.

Sterling returns the gesture. “Vod.”

“You look like you’re gonna throw up.”

The force with which your head spins in Tai’s direction is almost comical. His humor is greatly appreciated after a solid week of its absence, but it comes at such a bad time. Because the fact of the matter is that you really do feel sick.

You’ve been primping and preening every aspect of your ensemble for the last 15 minutes, and it had taken you at least triple that to even decide on an outfit. You want things to be perfect and you’re worried they won’t be. The mirror definitely isn’t doing you any favors.

“You try going on a date with a big, intimidating commander without getting all nervous about it.”

Tai’s entire face crinkles. “Rather not, thanks.”

He’s seated on your bed with his injured leg extended as he rubs his fingers into the meat of his thigh. Several more moments pass between you. You fuss over your clothes a bit more, over your face and your accessories, and Tai shifts between watching and not-watching. It’s not hard to miss just how deeply he’s thinking, though.

“Thank you.”

The reflection of his eyes flits about until you see it focus upon you. “For what? Didn’t do anything.”

“Maybe. Maybe I just enjoy your company, Tai.”

Each brother has a grip on you in their own unique way, each connection varies just enough, but you think that the connection binding you to Tai is the one that makes you ache the most. He hasn’t shared much about the events that led to his injuries. You’ve never asked. Still, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that something went horribly wrong. How else does one end up with a leg full of shrapnel and a lifetime of nerve damage?

It's his pain that makes you ache. The pain that keeps his body from performing on the same level as his brothers, or even with any natborn of a roughly equivalent age. The pain that makes his fingers shake when he works on his carvings. The pain that you can’t see any physical traces of, but that you know haunts him down to the sinew. The kind of pain that makes him so quiet and isolated in a house so full of love and affection.

There’s a bit of that pain now, lurking in the creases of his face, welling under his lash lines, though he makes a good effort to hide it. He ducks his head to one side, and it ends up leaving his profile perfectly framed in your mirror. A strong, straight nose below a pair of stern, angular brows. His chin is softly rounded, like his lips, and his neck slopes gently into a smooth set of shoulders. And from this angle, the sunlight sneaks through the window and hits the gathered mountain of hair knotted atop his head, all dark and curly and beautiful.

Does he even know?

Your heart takes you to his side, settling you upon the mattress close enough to touch but not so close that he feels stifled by your presence. Or at least you hope not.

“This is okay with you, right? Our agreement?”

His throat bobs up and down, his expression suddenly hesitant. “Course,” he grunts.

“Tai.”

He fixes you with a look that either makes you want to burst into your most dazzling smile or scream in pure frustration. “Now’s hardly the time to discuss it.” He gestures to you with a nod of his chin and a vague movement of his hand. “You have a date.”

“You can’t honestly expect me to go enjoy myself when you won’t even tell me if you’re okay with it or not.”

“I never said I didn’t-“

“Yeah, but I know you. And you’ve been distant.” Your fingers close over his knuckles. “And then with last night… I’ve just been worried. I want you to be happy.”

Understanding alights in the depths of his dark umber eyes, and the hand under yours suddenly turns onto its back so his palm can press against yours. It’s the closest the two of you have been in a week.

“Ni utreekov.” It’s whispered so softly that even if you understood its meaning, you still would have struggled to hear him properly.“Bal ni kar’tayli darasuum gar. A ni chaaba.”

Whatever it means, you can’t help thinking it’s a confession. Why else would he speak to you in a language he knows you can’t interpret?

“Tai,” you start, suddenly overwhelmed with the onslaught of wonderings and worries racing through your mind. This is truly the wrong time and place for such a conversation, he’s right. Appo will be home any minute and it would be rude to keep him waiting, and even worse to leave Tai behind without any closure. “You know I don’t know what that means.”

He nods. “I know.” With your hand still in his, he brings both up, up, up to the crest of his lips where he plants a kiss to the center of your palm. Electricity immediately surges through your every limb, crackles in every pore, finally bursting into each chamber of your heart with enough force to stun you. “I’ll tell you one day.”

“‘One day’?”

“Soon,” he corrects, and this time when he smiles, it’s as real as can be. “I am happy, sweetheart,” and the pet name is like another wave of electricity in your veins. It’s the first time he’s used such a word for you and already you love it. “Don’t worry about a washed-up old veteran like me, hm?”

There he is. That’s the Tai you know. A bit self-deprecating, perhaps, but good-natured and playful at heart.

“You know I’m older than you.”

Somewhere outside, a speeder horn beeps as it rolls into the parking space below your window. Appo.

“Yes,” he chuckles, “I know. Now get going before that di’kut brother of mine comes looking for you.”

A quick glance over in the mirror affirms that you look presentable. To Tai, you flash a smile and wave of farewell.

“See you tonight!” And though you manage to bite it back, there’s an instinct deep within you that longs to part instead with a more sentimental “love you!”

Now is not the time to say such things, of course. It’s far too soon. Yet the words still find themselves laced in the final look you share, in the fluttering of your lashes and the quirk of your smile. Someday soon you think you’ll tell him. When the time is right.

You make quick work of your shoes before all but flying out the front door and down the stairs to the bottom floor. Your heart is beating out its own song as it carves itself into your ribcage. You’re excited, you’re nervous, you’re damn near giddy. Where will he take you? What will you end up doing?

But all that frantic, eager energy fails to prepare you for the first glimpse you get of your date, your boyfriend. Seeing him nearly knocks the breath out of you. Braced against the hood of the speeder, arms folded over his chest and legs crossed at the ankles, he’s a kriffing work of art.

He wears the same dark trousers he always wears to work, the same boots and belt. His hair is the same as it always is, cropped just short enough that it doesn’t fully curl the way it should. Only his shirt is different – a black tee in exchange for his usual dark indigo – and yet he looks more gorgeous in this moment than he has in the past two years. Maybe that’s because the sleeves are cropped around the widest part of his biceps. Or because the color looks good on him. Or because he’s looking at you from beneath his lashes, somehow confident and unsure all at once, and it prompts a full nervous system reboot.

You’re so distracted by how damn good he looks that it takes you another few seconds to realize that you’re staring, and he’s staring back. His attention is so focused that you can practically feel it on your body, lingering along your throat, your wrist, the parted curve of your mouth.

“I’m not late, am I?”

Appo’s smile flickers into existence as he shakes his head. “I’m early.” He pushes himself off the speeder and opens the passenger door for you. “You ready?”

“Yes,” you reply, way too fast and far too ardently. “All ready.”

Is it normal to be this excited? Concerning, maybe? All your nerves have suddenly decided that this date is going to go swimmingly and there’s nothing to fret about, and have now redirected you to fixate upon the smaller details: a charm hanging from the dash, some Mandalorian symbol you don’t understand the symbolism of, then the small block arrow carved into the center of the steering wheel, the way the muscles of his arm flex when Appo starts the engine.

That all pales in comparison to the details that strike you when he starts to shift the speeder into reverse. It’s such a normal thing to do, so ordinary. You’ve seen plenty of folks do it the way he does, not just his brothers, so it shouldn’t strike you in the sternum the way it does, like lightning angrily lancing through your bones. And yet the way he turns to look over his shoulder, the way he braces his hand against your headrest and leans his body ever so slightly toward yours is so intoxicating that you’re almost convinced you’re going to burst into flames. He’s not doing it to elevate your heartrate, but that’s the effect it has regardless.

It comes and goes so quickly, but the memory is seared into your eyelids. Who knew that backing out of a parking space could get you going so easily?

From that point on, the drive is quiet and uneventful. You hit a bit of light traffic as you near the center of the city and with both the radio off and neither of you speaking, it leaves a wide expanse for your thoughts to run rampant in. That leads to wonderings. And wonderings lead to questions. And the constant red glare of brake lights prompts you to try posing one such question.

“Can I ask you something?”

Appo nods.

“The other night, with Vaughn… We didn’t mean to upset you.” Well, that wasn’t how you wanted to ask, now was it? “Um, did we?”

He, however, doesn’t seem to mind the query. “I wasn’t upset.”

Huh. Interesting. “Then what? You seemed so, I dunno, not happy, and then yesterday-“

“This is new for me,” he says, and the way your name comes out at the end is surprisingly pleasant. He seems to want to say more but is struggling to put it into words.

But you think you know what it is. “I understand. This isn’t exactly a normal arrangement, is it?” Understatement of the kriffing year. “I’m still getting used to it. Having so many partners is nice, really, but it’s weird too. I can’t imagine how it is for you.”

The look he gives you is a silent request to elaborate.

“I don’t know how I’d feel if I was the one watching you kiss somebody else. Even if I knew that you still, still cared for me, I think I’d still be jealous.”

You’re suddenly reminded of your behavior at the bar a week ago and the memory is so awful that you outwardly cringe, your entire body folding in on itself as you attempt to repel the barraging thoughts. You know exactly how you’d react if the roles were reversed because you’ve already lived it. The cocktail of your suppressed emotions, Benshar’s cheery disposition, and too much liquor might have led to the consensus of a happy relationship with five amazing men, but the road there was paved with regret and shame.

That particular recollection, however, leads you down another train of thought. “You stayed with me that night, when I was drunk.”

Another traffic light starts to come into view and the speeder begins to slow.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Appo takes the opportunity the light has given him to look you in the eyes and it’s startling just how serious he is about it. “Any time you get wasted, you tell me. I’ll stay with you.”

There’s something more to this, isn’t there? Something you don’t know about. Why else would be so adamant about something so trivial? You’ve never had a partner make such a big deal of keeping you company during your drunk spells. Hell, you’ve not had a friend make such a big deal of it either. Not for a lack of caring, you don’t think, but it just never seemed important enough.

“Can I ask why?”

The steering wheel emits a low creak from the pressure of his hands tightening around the leather. Shit, what in the hell happened to make him react like that? You think at first he’s going to lapse into silence again when he doesn’t immediately respond, that perhaps the reasoning behind the gesture is rooted in a terrible enough memory that words are failing him once more and you’ve just ruined the whole date by asking.

“There was a trooper holed up in his cot one night, drunk off his ass from his first shore leave on Coruscant. He was a shiny, like me. Couldn’t have seen more than a month or two of action.” His voice wavers here as he readjusts his entire body, his hold on the wheel, his position in the seat. “I woke up the next morning and found him. He choked on his own vomit while we were sleeping.”

Oh. That’s the saddest, most awful thing you think you’ve ever heard. To wake up and find the dead body of a friend, a sibling, a fellow soldier in the bed beside you would be the kind of nightmare that would probably keep you from ever sleeping again. You can’t even imagine how it’s affected Appo.

“I don’t allow anyone to sleep alone when they’re drunk,” he continues. “So, you need me? You tell me. Deal?”

There’s nothing you can say to fix this. There’s no bringing back that naïve trooper just like there’s no bringing back any number of the GAR’s dead. There’s just what Appo’s life is now, here on Aurea with you and his batch, and that has to be enough. That’s all you can give.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Deal?” He fixes you with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. I promise.”

This confirmation soothes the harsh lines of his shoulders, gently unwrinkling them so they come down from around his ears. “Thank you,” and you think he sounds relieved.

The PaCC is a favorite of Corellian tourists and local school children. You visited several times in your youth, once every few years when a new subject would be introduced at the start of a semester and the museum had a relevant exhibit. You don’t know this place like you know the back of your own hand, but you know it well enough, and you’re surprised that Appo’s chosen to take you here for your date.

Surprised, but not disappointed. It’s a wonderful museum that centers its research and curation upon Aurean culture and history, though its had some intriguing temporary additions during its tenure. The newest one is a Naboo exhibit – “Ancient Art and Sculpture from the Planet of Queens” reads the caption at the bottom of your pamphlet, which does admittedly pique your interest.

Naboo has always been known for its investment in the arts – theatre, music, architecture, and fashion most popularly – but it skyrocketed into the hearts and minds of the entire galaxy with the coronation of Queen Amidala. That was long before the Empire came into power, though, outdating even the war and the Separatist Alliance if you remember right. Recalling the memory of her tenure is as easy as recalling the memory of her death. Even Aurea had mourned for her as a sign of respect for all she had done to aid her people and the Republic.

A holo of the latest queen, a young girl called Apailana, greets you at the entrance of the exhibit. Her face, slightly matured in the few years since her election, is still that of a child’s, painted white and colored with the same markings Amidala was famous for wearing during her reign. She wears an elaborate Naboo dress that shimmers and shines, and appears far too bulky to be comfortable, while her hair has been done up into the most elaborate headdress you’ve ever seen.

“It is my honor, as both the queen of Naboo and the grandchild of Aurean immigrants, to welcome you to this exhibit showcasing the ancient art and culture of my planet.” Her voice is tinted with hints of an Aurean accent, though it sounds more Coruscanti than anything else. “My hope is that this exhibit can stand as a bridge between our two worlds in times of uncertainty.”

“She’s so young.”

Appo had been silent for so long you’d almost forgotten he was there. His brow is all furrowed now as he watches the holo repeat itself.

“Just a kid ruling that entire planet.”

What’s going on inside that head of his?

“You okay?” You decide to try slipping your arm around his and while it does take him by surprise, he doesn’t fight it or attempt to withdraw. He allows it, and that makes you happy.

He inclines his head and his casual “yeah” is convincing enough to quell your worries, but neither does he look away from the child projected before him. He sees something in her that you can’t comprehend, and you only wish he would share it with you.

Even after living with an entire batch of them for two years, you still know next to nothing about the clones or their lives before the war. You know that they were, of course, cloned from a single template, a Mandalorian bounty hunter. You know they age faster than most other humans, even if the specifics are hazy at best. You know that there was a lot of good and bad propaganda surrounding them during the fighting, and you know that the majority of clones consider themselves to be brothers, a massive extended family of identical faces and voices.

But you don’t know what it was like for them growing up. You don’t know what things they learned, what dreams they had as children. You don’t fully know why the Empire abandoned them to the streets and gutters of the galaxy.

A bit of prompting urges him further into the exhibit. Here there are dozens and dozens of pieces the likes of which you’ve never seen before. Pale white stone has been chiseled into slices of time to show stoic philosophers deep in thought, youthful dancers and musicians as they frolic in a field, the frozen image of a waterfall and the palace adorning its crest, and even a pair of lovers mid-embrace. The man in the lovers’ statue reminds you of Sterling with his head of curls and strong shoulders.

Draped on the walls surrounding the statues are countless tapestries and painted canvases. The tapestries are rich in color and texture, most often sporting shades of green and blue or gold and red, both combinations symbolic of Naboo and the monarchy. Several sport the royal crest. In dazzling opposition, the canvases portray the intricate details of still life in Theed, the underwater Gungan cities, at the great lake and its many mountains, even former royals and senators from ages long past.

One particular canvas catches your eye, a profile of an ancient queen properly dressed and painted as befits her station. She’s older than most queens are, likely in her twenties, but her eyes are distant and melancholy. The painting itself is shrouded in swathes of gray and blue. A lone sentinel watching over her people, noble and strong and wise, but sad all the same.

“I have to admit,” says Appo as he observes the painting, “I’ve never been inside a museum before.”

While it initially surprises you, it makes a lot of sense. After all, when would a soldier ever have need of a museum?

“Really? D’you like it?”

“I’m not sure. The things here are beautiful, but the place itself is… sterile. Cold. Is that normal?”

In all your years, you’ve never heard such a thing. Museums have never felt alien to you in the way they must for him. They’ve always been a part of your subconscious, part of your schooling, part of your heritage as a citizen of Pā City.

Frowning, you step away from the painting to fully face your companion. “I’d never thought of it like that before.” You make a quick scan of the room in an attempt to pick out things that might be troubling him. “These places are always strict about you touching the exhibits, but that’s more because people are stupid and inconsiderate than them trying to keep you from enjoying everything. And I guess it’s quiet because people are too busy thinking. Or maybe they feel as awkward as you do.”

Appo hums thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

“You wanna head to a different exhibit?” The offer clearly appeals to him. “This one’s a little stuffy anyways, huh?”

The neighboring exhibit is a dedication to the history of Corellian ships, one you’re familiar with from a previous visit with your level 10 history class, and this is the one that brings Appo to life. It’s funny how often you forget what his military work entailed. He may not have been a pilot or a mechanic back then, but he’s at home with transports and machinery and weapons. Here among the miniatures of freighters and cargo ships, your soldier finds his place.

Following the line of his extended arm leads you to a red and white ship shaped like a holo remote bred with the aesthetic of a Coruscanti diner and a few small ion cannons. “That’s a YCAQT. Droid cargo. Dealt with my fair share of ‘em when I was a shiny.”

That’s very interesting. You never would have pictured tiny ships like that getting lost in the hubbub of a Separatist assault. “I thought they mostly transported protocol droids and gonks and stuff?”

“They do. But when you’re a shiny, you get sent to do the odd jobs and menial work. Like scanning old YCAQTs for battle droids and redirecting interstellar traffic.”

From what you remember learning as a student (and based on the summary plaque posted beneath the model ship), YCAQTs are mostly short-range transports. “Sooo… that means you were near Corellia, then?”

He shrugs. “A couple times, probably. Why?”

The urge to kiss him hits you hard and fast, strange though your reasoning is. “Nothing, I just thought maybe you’d been by Aurea at some point. Maybe the galaxy brought us together once and we didn’t even know it.”

Such notions aren’t usually a part of Appo’s worldview. That’s more the speed of any of his other brothers, particularly Fox or Vaughn, and he confirms as much with the not-so-subtle rolling of his eyes.

“It’s a nice thought. But not realistic.”

“Ugh, I’m trying to be romantic, Appo,” you groan as you whack the back of his arm. “Don’t be such a grouch.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

But the offense isn’t serious, and you wave him off almost instantly. You don’t want him thinking you’re actually upset. “You're forgiven.” Always.

The two of you never make it to the actual Aurean artifacts and displays. With Appo still adjusting to museum etiquette and ambience, and most of the exhibits being already familiar to you, you decide it would be best to move to the exterior gardens and enjoy some sunshine.

While the actual outside weather is chilly, the gardens are situated in a large greenhouse and are resultingly warm no matter the time of year. Native and non-native plants grow here, lilacs and pink begonias and yellow kōwhai blossoms and silver ferns. The canopied trees are so massive that they rival the museum itself in height. A wooden figure has been carved and placed above the main entrance, a kaitiaki, a guardian from ancient Aurean folklore, meant to protect the land it inhabits and its people.

The fingers interlaced with yours suddenly constrict. “Which ones do you like best?”

There are so many beautiful things here to choose from, how can you possibly narrow them down?

He taps his boot against a sign naming one of the nearest flowering plants. “This one?” It’s a vibrant purple fuchsia.

“Kōtukutuku,” you read for him. Just like you have yet to learn Mando’a, the boys have yet to learn more than a few words in the traditional language of these islands. “They make a good jam, y’know.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had flower jam,” he replies with a sour expression. “What about this one? Uh, poor… poor-uh...?”

Your kiss finds his cheek. “Pōroporo.” This flower is a much softer shade of purple with petals that form a five-point star around the yellow center.

Appo turns on you in that moment between your kiss and your words. He suddenly seems so massive, and you feel so small, tilting your head back so you can look up at him and wonder at the beautiful work of art you’ve found in the exhibit of your life.

“What’re you thinking inside that head of yours?”

Heaven forbids he ever finds out. Not that any of it is bad, but it’s sappy and romantic and everything he’s not.

“Nothing.” Just that you’re beautiful and I’m so glad I know you.

“You.” Kiss. “Look.” Kiss. “Beautiful.” Another, final kiss, this one the sloppiest of them all, but it’s to be expected when the person doing all the kissing is distracted with making dinner.

“Thanks, hun.”

“What color is that, lavender?”

A quick double check of your blouse confirms that yes, it is of the lavender persuasion. “Uh huh. Very nice.”

Fox beams happily, skillet in one hand and spatula in the other. He somehow manages to pull off looking sexy and adorable all at once. “Did he cream his pants when he saw ya?”

“Ugh, Fox!”

“‘cause I’m pretty sure I just did.”

Appo, ever your knight in shining plastoid, comes to your rescue then by delivering a swift smack to the back of his brother’s head. “Or’dinii. You’re disgusting.”

He’s never phased by anything his commander says or does, though, and he’s clearly not about to start now. “I’m just sayin’!”

“Don’t talk about your dick when you’re cooking.”

“Or,” you interject, “don’t talk about your dick period. There’s a thought.” As if you haven’t already thought about it. But no one needs to know that. Inspired by this, you turn to Appo with a finger poised in the air. “Hey, we could muzzle him! Just like Sterling said. Imagine how quiet the flat’ll be.”

It’s rare to see Appo commit to a full bought of laughter when he’s usually so serious, so the sudden bark of belly laughter that permeates the kitchen is initially assigned to Fox instead. It’s only when you see his head tilted back and his cheeks fully dimpled, eyes squeezed shut, that you realize it’s your stoic commander who’s so tickled by your quip. You want to say it all over again just so he’ll keep smiling.

Fox is less impressed. “I wouldn’t be laughin’ at me,” he warns with a perilous flick of the spatula in your face. “Not when I’m the one cookin’ your food, mesh’la.” Your tongue flicks out for far longer than necessary to get your point across, which is really just a terrible mistake in disguise. “Try that again and see where it gets you. That tongue’ll get you into all kinds of trouble.”

Maybe there’s a little hint of victory waving its flag when Appo physically steers you away from the conversation. Victory because you made him laugh, and smile, made him touch you and protect you and squirrel you away all for himself. This victory doesn’t end in a celebratory kiss – he hasn’t made that move yet, so you’ll wait for him until that point – but it does end with the smug and knowing looking of a man who’s well aware that you want his attention.

In the nights following your date. Fox has already started gearing up for his turn out with you, teasing you with morsels of information about what may or may not happen the day of. Appo’s formerly closed off approach to you has softened considerably and you find yourself thinking of him more and more often as a result. He took a great risk in opening himself up to you. He did it for you. You want to show him that you appreciate it.

“Appo?” You say it as softly as you can manage at the threshold of the room he shares with his brothers. It’s not so late that everyone’s already asleep, but it’s certainly late enough to prompt a few raised eyebrows, and at least two of those will be his.

The door opens a few moments later to reveal the man himself, already dressed in his sleep shirt and boxers. The beginnings of scruff have already started to prickle along his jawline. You think you catch a glimpse of the others in their beds, but they’re being far too quiet and still for you to really see them. Probably trying to listen in on you.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh. No, nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to ask you...” Kark, now that the moment’s here, you’re suddenly shy about asking. What if he thinks you’re being stupid? What if it unintentionally offends him? “Um...”

His movement into the hallway forces you to backtrack a few steps. He swiftly closes the door behind him, and it cuts the anxiety nearly in half. It’s much easier to ask without an audience.

“What is it?” he asks in that low, rumbly timbre you’re so fond of. His eyes are all soft and imploring, and kriffing karking fucking hell, he’s so beautiful that the love surge washing over you as a result nearly drowns you.

You need me? You tell me. The offer was given in the event of potential intoxication, you know that. That doesn’t mean, however, that you don’t still need him.

“Will you stay the night with me?”

A frown tugs at his lips. “I didn’t see you drink.”

And you shake your head. “I didn’t. I, uh, I wanted to be with you.”

The alternative implications of your request don’t hit you until after he reacts to it with the skyrocketed arch of his eyebrows and the startled widening of his eyes.

“Y-You mean-”

“No! Not like that!”

“Not that I don’t want to, but-”

“I mean, me neither.”

And he relaxes, and you clap a hand over your mouth, and he laughs, and so do you.

“I liked knowing you were there with me. And I started thinking about what you told me, why you stayed, and I thought maybe you’d like to stay with someone without worrying if they’ll be alright or not.”

The breath rushes out of him in an instant and his eyes, somehow, go even softer, and you love him love him love him. “Cyare,” he sighs, reaching for you in the dim, distant light emanating from your room. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You lean into his touch with a smile. “Lay down with me and I’ll tell you.”

“I’ve done things,” he says later, tucked into your blankets with an arm under your shoulder and your hand upon his chest. He says it to the deep and empty dark. “In the past. Things I’m not proud of.”

“Why?” His silence is answer enough, and something tells you that if you could see him now, you’d see a sadness that runs deep in his own brother’s eyes, a self-directed sorrow that does not allow for mercy or kindness or anything gentle and lovely. “Because you were a soldier?”

When he nods, you nuzzle your nose into his collarbone. “The past is the past, Appo. You’re here now, and I want you because of the man I know you are, not because of what you’ve done. Okay?”

The mattress coils squeak and shift when he kisses you in your bed. He doesn’t take, doesn’t search for more than what you give him. He simply kisses you and allows you to bestow what you deem him worthy of. You give him your entire heart, even if he doesn’t know it.

“Stay with me tomorrow night.”

“You planning on drinking?”

“No.”

His smile is audible. “Good.” And for once, everything is right in the galaxy.

#commander appo x reader #commander appo x you #appo x reader #appo x you #commander appo #tcw #clone trooper x reader #clone trooper x you #star wars #x reader #labyrinth of my mind #JESUS this ended up being a mammoth of a chapter #what do you want from me?? i had a lot to say #please enjoy my 8.3k words of clone content thank you and goodnight

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theresa-of-liechtenstein · 5 months

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ok concert thoughts

we had photography done during the warm-up which was. interesting. at least me locking eyes and mind-melding with my conductor will be preserved in perpetuity. if we don’t have the copy room we will always have this 🤍

for some reason felt oddly calm in the lead-up to our set? my honors professor was more jittery than i was, though she managed to pull out a bit of the mendelssohn concerto in the green room lol

also my honors professor genuinely thought i’ve done the mendelssohn? lmao no

my honors professor insisted on walking out with me too which was just. 🥹

we started at least six minutes late 😭😭😭 like at around four minutes i broke my personal rule of not moving around too much on stage and looked backward into the wings just to see what was going on with our conductor bc like. girly what

it wasn’t her, they just hadn’t finished seating everyone (some class had assigned concert attendance so there were a lot of students compared to last year)

also our conductor didn’t say she’d be walking out between the firsts and seconds so when we were standing there i got jumpscared when she put a hand lightly on my shoulder and said ‘behind you’ GIRL. HELP

and then we didn’t even start playing right away, she gave the LONGEST background to our first piece that i have ever heard (to be completely fair, there was the class that had assigned attendance, so it was most likely for their benefit. but i thought we’d only have a shorter performance bc our pieces filled half an hour. turns out she was just giving oral program notes)

people clapped between movements. lol

i. definitely feel like i played better in the rehearsals and warm ups than in the performance. but that’s okay, that just means i have something to work on for next time

which is not an opinion shared by my favorite honors professor, who told me i was a very good and considerate leader (and that means a lot considering she’s been playing violin for far longer than i have been alive) because i prepared to play after rests at a time considerate of the players and i was moving in a way that effectively communicated the mood of the passage: not too little, but not too much either.

speaking of, i was able to introduce her to my family (and my best friend from junior high, who made it to the concert) and we were kind of in a hallway with a corner

lo and behold, who should scurry by but. my conductor. who stopped and looked us all over and asked me, ‘this is your family?’ no ma’am just some filipinos i found on the street. also im pretty sure she thought my friend (also filipino) was my sister. it’s not the first time but lol

(it’s ok my conductor is the one white woman i’ve met who cared about the people power revolution, she can have a pass)

and of course she told my family i was doing a fantastic job, etc, and such and so, and my professor was also jumping in and saying ‘i knew you could do it’ and i almost. drowned in syrup. i don’t even remember everything they said bc my brain was on autopilot at that point. my mom doesn’t even remember either bc it was in english and she didn’t catch it 😭

anyway tonight good. orchestra good. music good. i’ve never been so happy in my life.

#em jumped up busker

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carousellights · 1 year

Text

The Boy With The Headset | Part 8

Synopsis: The world was always so loud. Moving so fast without any care for the people who might get left behind.

All the commotion of college seems to put Y/n’s life on autopilot. Her only safe haven being the almost absolute quiet of her dorm room.

Jisung can’t seem to handle the constant sounds of life preferring to drown himself in music instead.

The boy with the headphones who sits next to Y/n seems to blend their noises into a perfect melody.

Word count: 1.9k

Pairing: music major! han x student! reader

Genre: friends to lovers, fluff, angst, slow burn, mutual pining

Masterlist

Previous / Next

Standing outside of the door Y/n takes a few breaths and raises her hand. As she knocks she hears a loud sigh and yells, “Bin I told you to put your keys in your bag.” The door opens and her eyes find a shirtless Chan standing in shock. He blinks and then starts laughing, “I’m sorry I thought, uh, you probably heard what I thought.” He opens the door wider and motions her in. “You can sit down I’m gonna, uh” he laughs a little as he continues, “gonna put on a shirt.”

As he walks down the hall Y/n looks over at the sofa and sits on the edge. The house is quiet except for the small segments of music trickling in. After a few moments, she feels the couch dip. Looking over she sees Chan this time with a black shirt covering him. “Is Jisung here?” She wills herself not to glance at his door hoping he’s standing there. Chan looks over at the clock, “He went back to the studio. He forgot his headphones.”

The disappointment is clear on her face. Chan starts giggling again, making her look over, “You have a crush on Ji?” She nods her head and they fall into each other while laughing. “Why don’t you just confess to him?” She shakes her head and glares at him, “Why do you think I haven’t confessed yet?” He looks deep into her eyes, “He doesn’t talk to any of us like he talks to you.” Y/n scoffs and rolls her eyes then replies, “I’ve seen him try to kiss you guys before.” Chan rolls his eyes yet nods his head, “I told him people would get the wrong impression.”

A small beat of silence passes before Y/n speaks up, “You know I thought he was gonna confess yesterday.” Chan rests his head on a part of the couch and slumps down. She continues, “He asked me to hang out. He even said it wasn’t to study.” He gasps and nods at her to continue. “He ordered for me and got me flowers. Yet nothing.” Chan clicks his tongue and shakes his head finally responding, “I can’t believe he missed the opportunity.” He turns his attention back to her, “I think you should just confess. He’s too much of a wimp.”

Chan leans over and points at Y/n’s phone, “I mean he’s one text away for you.” Turning her eyes to the phone she questions, “For me?” Her eyes meet his as he begins to explain, “He’s really bad at answering text but, with you, he’s always checking.”

Opening the door the last thing Jisung expected was to see Y/n sitting on the couch with one of his roommates. Chan's eyes flick upwards towards him and Y/n turns her head. Her eyes widen and she stands up, “Jisung you’re back.” He nods as his brain is busy trying to figure out what’s going on. Chan tilts his head towards Jisung’s door and mouths something. It clicks, “Did you wanna go to my room?” Y/n nods and follows him as he heads for his door.

As they sit down Jisung looks at the blue light surrounding her again. He slips off his headphones and pats the bed next to him, willing her to lay down with him. “So why are you inside my dorm?” Y/n grabs the remote and turns on the tv searching for something to put on before replying, “I just wanted to see you.” As she brings her focus back to the tv he looks at her and wonders how he got so lucky.

After picking a show Y/n makes herself comfortable and Jisung grabs his laptop and pulls up a song he has been working on. He can feel Y/n lean over before she talks, “You know I think you could hire Hyunjin to draw some cover art for you.” When he turns to look at her he has a hurt look across his face. Y/n begins to explain, “I mean you two are very good artists. I think he could capture what your songs feel like on paper.” Jisung shakes his head and then opens a small folder on his computer, “I draw too, it may not be at his level but I got it.” She nods her head.

Just as Jisung is about to plug in his headphones he hears her speak again “The choreography that they did for your songs is crazy. You guys are so talented.” Closing his laptop he glares at her and starts speaking, “I can dance too.” Before she can help it a small laugh escapes her. “My best friend is Minho. He’s taught me a lot. He even wanted me on the dance crew.” This time a big laugh erupts in the room as Y/n nods her head, “Sure just like how the vocal crew wants you too.” Standing up he flails his arms around, “I can’t help it that I’m so good at everything and everyone wants a piece of me.” Y/n starts grabbing at his shirt trying to pull him to sit down again. “I’m sure everyone wants you” He finally sits down and starts paying attention to the show.

Y/n adjust the blankets around them and Jisung rests his head on her lap. While looking up at her watching the show Jisung slightly tugs on her shirt to get her attention, “I’m good at it all right?” She looks down and tilts her head a little confused, he clarifies, “I’m good at singing, dancing, and rapping right?” She nods and starts playing with his hair, “you’re the best Jisung.” His eyes fall back on the screen but his head is racing with thoughts of what she just said.

The room fades to black as the episode ends. Looking over at the clock Jisung notices that it’s already late. “Hey, Y/n it’s already 10:40 how about I walk you home.” She continues playing with his hair and with a quick glance down he can tell she doesn’t want to leave. “Come on, you'll see me again soon. I know it’s hard to part with someone so great.” He laughs as he gets up and adjusts the blankets so they’re no longer draped over her. She shifts off the bed and follows him out.

With every step, Jisung is reminded of Y/n’s hand in his. He could swear that the only thing keeping his head in reality is the cold breeze. He can feel her hand shake as they walk up the stairs, “we’re almost there then you can warm up.” He reassures her and she pulls his arm closer, “you’re really warm.” As they reach the door he grabs the key from her and unlocks it himself, not wanting her to feel the cold metal.

As she steps into her apartment the cold wind begins to mix with the warm air she’s letting out. She leans on the door as he talks, “I have to go to the studio tomorrow evening if you wanna join?” His voice gets higher at the end and he clears his throat to cover it. She sighs and sways slightly moving the door. “I have some work to do tomorrow.” Looking in his eyes for a moment she speaks again, “but I’ll still walk you there I need to get out of the house anyway.”

As he stands by her door again he listens to the sounds of her rustling before opening the door. “Good morning.” She smiles and he grabs her hand as they begin walking. “What are you gonna do at the studio?” While turning his head to her slightly he replies with a smile, “I was going to show you my dancing skills, but I guess since you can’t stay I’ll look over their work and take some notes of changes to make to the music.” She lets out a quick laugh and begins to walk faster and let go of his hand. “Wait wait Y/n” he takes a few running steps and walks next to her again “my hand gets cold without you.” She takes her hand in hers again. He squeezes her hand three times before they pass the next building.

They stop in front of the door to the dance building turning to fully face each other, “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer.” He shakes his head and quickly says “don’t feel sorry I’ll still see you soon. After I’m done here I can stop by yeah?” She nods and waves goodbye as she turns away.

Taking a deep breath he opens the door to the studio and is greeted by loud noises from each side of the room. Suddenly Hyunjin looks over and walks up to Jisung with no expression and tense air. Jisung can feel the blood rushing to his face as Hyunjin begins talking, “Y/n didn’t hug you.” It comes out as a statement so he doesn’t answer. Hyunjin continues, “if you hurt her there will be repercussions. So don’t break her heart, ok?” Hyunjin gives a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes

Jisung stares at the taller man for a while before it clicks. He must think him and Y/n are dating. Jisung’s words reach his mouth as soon as he realizes, “no no me and Y/n aren’t together. Also I would never hurt her ever.” Hyunjin turns and walks away back to his partners who are already stretching. Every once in a while he’ll look over at Jisung with a death glare.

“Hey Jisung where’s your pretty friend?” He looks over to Felix and raises his eyebrows before answering, “you mean Y/n?” He nods and Jisung can feel a small pit in his stomach. “She had some work to do.” Felix nods. Jisung turns and finds Changbin, “do you think Y/n is pretty?” He laughs but as he sees Jisung’s face remain serious he gives a reply, “of course she’s pretty.” The pit grows bigger as he overhears Felix gushing over her again. “I used to see her a lot when I worked at the coffee shop. I memorized her order and everything but then she stopped showing up.” The rustling of the clothes as they stretched became defining. Felix continues, “Minho you think Y/n is cute it’s not just me right?” Jisung glares at his friend but he doesn’t seem to notice. Suddenly Minho nods and then claps, “is everyone ready for the first run.”

They move and the music is too loud. Their breathing is heavy. The sweat that flies off them lingers in the air and Jisung feels like throwing up. Each squeak of their shoe makes him take a step back. He swears he can hear the sweat come out of their pores. His clothes seem to restrict his vest from getting the air he needs. He unzips his jacket but no use. All his clothes feel too tight. Everything is too much: there’s too much noise, too many people, too much sweat, too much light.

Turning towards the door he rushes out. When did the sun set? It was getting dark and he had to hurry. Rushing through the dried leaves on the floor he covers his ears. His lungs start to burn from the cold. The foggy breath that lingers in front of him makes him feel like he’s not going fast enough; he can’t shake the feeling that he’s running out of time. As the apartment comes into view he speeds up. Rushing up the stairs he stops by her door. Would she even want to see him right now? While he tries to catch his breath his body works faster than his brain and he knocks. After a few seconds Y/n opens the door. Her words don’t quite make it to his ears, “are you ok?”

Taglist 🏷️ @autumn-lv @burningchaosdeer @hipsdofangirl @shakalakaboomboo @myprwttyhan (send an ask to be added/removed)

#skz fluff #skz angst #skz series #skz x reader #han jisung fics #han jisung x reader #han x reader #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader

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furiousgoldfish · 2 years

Note

what counts as disassociation? i can make my eyes unfocus, zone out really easily, n stuff but I've never had an out of body experience or felt like I was not seeing through my own eyes.

Okay so there's normal type of dissociation, and traumatic type. Normal type is something we all do, like zoning out while you're doing an activity you don't need to constantly be focused on, doing something on 'autopilot' like driving or walking and not realizing when you're already there, forgetting how much time has passed because you were not paying attention to reality, unfocused eyes, like what you're describing. There's nothing wrong with it, and it's not connected to trauma, it's just what humans do so they could be able to use their brain for different stuff while they don't need to actively focus on what's going on.

Traumatic dissociation will usually happen during trauma, but you will still dissociate thru your life afterwards, whenever triggered or stumbling on some information that may trigger you, or just because you're so used to doing it, your brain defaults to it to deal with everything. People experiencing traumatic dissociation have described it as feeling non-present, hazy, unsure what's going on, floating, feeling detached from their body or from the reality. One very common type is looking at your own hands, and feeling as if they're not yours, and looking into the mirror, and feeling that it's not yourself you're seeing in your reflection.

Traumatic dissociation is also connected to feelings of being numb, feeling nothing, feeling like a 'zombie', and generally feeling very detached from your feelings and like you're far away from your identity and who you are as a person. It also can feel like you're losing control over your life and every interaction you have is only 'preforming', you lose the ability to connect and to be honest and vulnerable, all you manage to do is act while you're very aware that something is not right inside of you.

Feeling like you're out of your body, like you're watching yourself do things from the outside, feeling like you're dead or a ghost and nothing around you is real, having trouble recognizing people or remembering who they are, feeling like nobody except you is real, or only you are not real, or completely losing your presence and your memory of what happened, these are extreme types of traumatic dissociation, these can be very distressing, disorienting, make your life very difficult to live, and make you afraid that you might be going crazy, or that something is wrong with you. It can also be extremely difficult to come back and be once again present in your body once you're stuck in these types of dissociating experiences.

Of course one of the far extremes in dissociation is having a dissociative disorder, in which your presence will switch out and another presence (alter) will take over and have experiences you will not control, or not even remember, based on which type of disorder you struggle with.

Dissociation itself is not dangerous, and even extreme types, distressing as they are, will not cause actual damage to your brain or body (though trauma that caused them will), it's all done in order to protect your consciousness from traumatic events, memories, any reality that threatens your survival if you were aware of it.

The parts of your life where you spent a lot of time trauma-dissociating will later feel very blurred and extremely difficult to remember, while you're dissociating, your brain is focused on survival, and doesn't have the priority to correctly catalogue the events into long term memory.

Traumatized people will often dissociate when distressed, triggered, believe they're in danger, or are in active danger, in order to minimize the effect of this experience on their brain. In these cases being unpresent and hazy and disconnected from their sensations and feelings is what's going to save us from feeling the full extent of what is happening to us, and will make it a bit easier on us to live with it.

Often while processing my traumatic experiences, I will trust my brain to dissociate when it gets too much and my body can't handle it anymore, it's kind of safe off-switch for trauma that is impossible to safely be processed or realized within the system. It's reassuring to know there are measures within our bodies that make sure we don't succumb to the trauma even when the trauma is enough to end us.

#furiousgoldfish #dissociation #dissociative disorders #trauma symptoms #ask #defence from trauma #some of this stuff is also called derealization #like when you believe nothing is real or you are not real #i possibly mixed it up because i get both at the same time

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foreverrandomwritings · 1 year

Note

Okay wait I’ve gotta know about our baby girl too. Some sad and maybe happy

★ - sad headcanon, ✿ - Sex headcanon, ☮ - friendship headcanon

Oof hurting our baby girl for the sad one is gonna be rough. You made up for it with the sex and friendship though😘 I’m also wearing my Bob and Phoenix crewneck for this.

Warnings:

Talks of death at the beginning.

Super fluffy in the middle.

🚨!!!18+ at the end!!!🚨

★ Sad Headcanon

~The worst day of her life was when her grandmother died.

~She and her 2 younger brothers had been raised by their grandparents when their mother and father both passed away in a car accident.

~So losing yet another member of her family was gut wrenching.

~She had her first ever true panic attack that day.

~Luckily Bradley was there to calm her down as she had gotten the news during their time stationed together.

~When she went back home for the funeral she was on autopilot for most of it.

~She had to take the reins on planning everything as her grandfather was much to weak and heartbroken to do it.

~The middle brother was unable to help due to the fact he was in prison once again for something she didn’t care much about.

~Her youngest brother had just had a set of twins with his wife so he wasn’t able to help much either.

~Everything was hazy for her up until she got the cremains from the crematorium.

~She cried in the car with her grandmother sat in an urn next to her.

~She has a ring, necklace, bracelet set with some of the ashes in them.

~Bob asked her about them once and she bittersweetly told him about her grandmother.

~All of the amazing memories she had of her as she was growing up.

☮ Friendship Headcanon

~Growing up she didn’t have that many friends other than the ones that were on her soccer team from middle school to senior year of high school.

~They no longer talk however as when she went off for the Navy they all lost touch.

~However the Navy has brought her 2 of the bestest friends in the world.

~Bradley and Robert.

~It will be war picking who will be her best man out of the two when she gets married.

~Bradley was there for her when her grandmother died.

~That honestly meant the world to her. She will never be able to thank him enough.

~Bobby boy even though freshly her back seater has become her 2nd pea in a pod.

~They do pretty much everything together.

~Grocery shopping, running, working out, dinner, brunch, breakfast, road trips, visiting family, living, shopping, you name it they probably do it together.

~The first time Bobby boy gave her a rock she was Uber confused but put it in the center console of her car anyways.

~Now she has quite a few of them.

~Sometimes if she finds a cool rock she’ll pick it up and give it to him.

✿ Sex Headcanon

~Okayyyyyy this one is 🥵🥵

~She normally likes to be the dominant one during sex.

~She fucks dumb. You could be the smartest person alive and by the time she’s done with you you’re brain is blank.

~Likes to tie you up and do orgasm denial or orgasm overstimulation.

~Will use a Bluetooth vibrator on you while out at the Hard Deck or grocery shopping or something.

~Red, yellow, green for how you’re feeling.

~Loves to eat you out. Will be like a women starved. Completely unhinged feral.

~Will growl when you pull her hair or scratch her back.

~Gets a little peeved if you leave a hickey that’ll be on display when she’s at work.

~However she’ll leave bite marks on your thighs.

~Knows every little spot that makes you tick.

~Will finger you at any given opportunity.

~Loves to fuck you with her strap on.

~When she lets you be the more dominant one she will melt into a puddle.

~Becomes a moaning and whimpering mess.

~Loves having her nipples played with.

~Lick them, suck them, roll them, pinch them anything and she’s a complete mess.

~Her aftercare will be top notch.

~She’ll gently clean you up with a warm rag.

~Will ask you how you’re doing.

~Will make sure you use the bathroom afterwards.

~Gets you a glass of water or something to up your electrolytes if it was an especially rigorous session.

~I can’t think straight when I think of baby girl and sex. My brain is literal fuzz.

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @angelbabyange @theeleggymeggy

Headcanon Ask Game

#headcanon ask game #phoenix x reader #phoenix headcanon #natahsa trace headcanon #top gun maverick headcanon #natasha phoenix trace #natasha trace #phoenix x rooster #phoenix x bob #fluff #sadness #smut #natasha trace smut #phoenix smut

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l3m0ncyan · 2 years

Text

New at Life | Chapter 3

Steven Grant/Marc Spector x latina!teen!reader

Took me long cause I was trying to figure out how to start it

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

————————————————————

Y/N's first week at the museum's gift shop was busy and overwhelming. Since she was the new employee, she had to take on most of the tasks while other employees slacked off or were absent. Plus she wanted didn’t want to embarrass Steven, especially with the way he elevitated her.

Her tasks included restocking shelves, organizing the mess left by customers, and wiping down the front desk, for some reason. After she’d finish, she would try to sit down to relieve her aching body but would be stopped once Donna came back with a new list of instructions. And of course, Y/N would be up on her feet before Donna could finish her sentence.

As the days went on and Y/N's energy drained, Steven grew concerned for her. It was her first job, and she was being worked relentlessly. He attempted to help with some tasks, but she insisted on doing everything herself, leaving him to watch as she hurried around the gift shop.

One day, Donna handed Y/N a sticker gun and told her to mark all the snow globes on clearance. Once she was done, she had to stack them on a designated shelf. Y/N immediately nodded and started applying the stickers, not minding that it was July and nowhere near December.

Seeing Y/N's relentless pace, Steven approached her and joked, “You don’t have to push yourself so hard, don’t want you to combust,”. However, Y/N was too focused to notice. Eventually, she finished marking all the snow globes, feeling relieved. But then she realized she still had to put them on the shelf, which made her groan in frustration.

Steven offered to help, saying it would be faster. This time, Y/N welcomed his assistance. As they both worked to put the snow globes on the shelf, Steven broke the silence, “Anything on your mind?”.

Y/N had a lot on her mind. She was stressed, tired, and on the verge of tears. Steven's worried expression reminded her of her siblings telling her to take a break after a study session, which only made her feel more homesick. She didn't want to break down and prove her parents right about her.

She was considered an adult now, and adults shouldn’t cry to people, especially to their own neighbors who they’ve only met for about a week.

But instead of sharing her true feelings, she simply replied, "I'm fine, thanks for the help, by the way." She grabbed the empty box and went to the register to assist a waiting customer.

After they left, Steven approached her again, “Alright, just take things at your own pace, you don’t have to prove Donna anything,”.

He took a box that he was tasked to take to the stock room and went on his way. Y/N was left with the flood of customers coming in, and Donna passing by to boss her around more.

After two hours, her body felt so tense that it might be considered sculpture in the museum. With her brain constantly firing actions and thoughts, her body felt like it was on autopilot. Luckily, it was finally time for Y/N and Steven's lunch break, granting them 30 minutes of rest, which was much needed, especially for Y/N.

—— Y/N eagerly waited for her granola bar to drop from the vending machine, watching as it descended into the slot. She grabbed a chair, leaned back, and heard her bones crack. Getting back up, she took a sip of water and a bite of her granola. She twisted her feet and neck to find some relief when Steven joined her at the table, holding his lunch.

"I did tell you to slow down," he said, sounding like he was giving her a lecture.

Y/N let out a tired sigh and replied, "I know, but I got things done fast though, didn’t I?”

Steven nodded and began eating his sandwich. Y/N finished her granola bar quickly but was still hungry and didn't have any change for another snack. She regretted not packing her own lunch.

Noticing her playing with the water bottle, Steven looked down and offered her half of his sandwich, “I’m sure that protein bar and water won’t fill you,”.

Y/N looked at his offer and shook her head, “I can’t that’s your lunch,”

“I will be fine, you however won’t and you still have a long way before the end of the day.” he insisted.

She hesitated but eventually accepted the sandwich, thanking him quietly before taking a bite. It was delicious, maybe it was her growling stomach talking or maybe Steven was an amazing sandwich maker, but she didn’t care.

Once she finished, she looked up to see Steven's surprised expression. He didn’t expect her to be so hungry, but he smiled nonetheless. Y/N wiped her mouth and felt a tinge of embarrassment.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to down all that in just seconds,” she said.

Steven waved it off, “It wasn’t that, it just looks like you haven’t eaten.”

Y/N looked away, knowing he was about to worry him, “Well I was kinda in a rush this morning, so I didn’t have a chance to eat breakfast,”

Steven's eyes widened in shock. She was working herself to death with her body running with no food. “How are you still standing?” he said rather loudly, “You have to put yourself first, a job won’t be as important as your wellbeing,”

Y/N shrank in her seat, feeling like she was being lectured by a parent. He went on about the importance of eating breakfast, even bringing up an Egyptian story. She learned in the past few days about his love with Egyptian facts and stories. It was probably why he didn’t try to resign.

"I'll give you my phone number in case you forget to eat or need someone to pack your lunch," he offered, pulling out his phone. He realized he should have given her his number earlier.

Comparing their phones, it was clear who was the younger one. Steven had a simple gray flip phone, while Y/N had a touchscreen phone adorned with stickers of her favorite shows and movies. After exchanging numbers, Y/N saved Steven's contact as "Neighbor Steven."

"It was nice negotiating with you," Y/N quipped before putting her phone away. Steven looked at her with a mix of confusion and amusement. With only ten minutes left of their break, Y/N excused herself to use the restroom.

After coming out of the stall, she walked to the sink, washed and dried her hands, and looked at herself in the mirror. Steven had been right—she looked like she had only slept for an hour. As she attempted to fix her hair, she noticed the lights above flickering and heard a buzzing sound. It reminded her of the elevator lights. Maybe there was an electrical issue in London. She shrugged it off, not wanting to dwell on it.

She walked out of the restroom and headed to the gift shop where Steven was was already starting on his assignments. “You freshened up?” He asked, as he took out blue hippo plushies from a box. She nodded and only promised that she won’t overwork herself.

———— Nearly a month had passed, leaving only a few days until the end of July. During this time, Steven and Y/N have gotten closer to where everyone at the museum were convinced that they were actually cousins. Really it felt like they were siblings.

As a result, Y/N often acted like a younger sister to Steven.

Steven was peacefully asleep when his phone rang, causing him to jolt awake. He reached for his phone on the nightstand and checked the caller ID, unsurprisingly finding it was Y/N.

"Why are you calling so early?" he groggily asked, his voice tired. However, he was immediately met with Y/N's loud voice on the other end of the line, which instantly woke him up.

"It's about time you answered! Are you ready?" she exclaimed.

Confused, Steven furrowed his brow and asked, "Wait, what time is—"

Before he could finish his sentence, he heard Spanish cursing coming from the other end of the line. "Ay chingado, Steven, did you just wake up?" Y/N questioned.

Taking Stevens silence as a yes, she continued, “Dude, we’re going be late for work!”.

Wide-eyed, Steven checked the time and realized they had only ten minutes before the bus departed. Realizing he missed his alarm, he quickly got up, but his ankle was held back by the chain still attached to his ankle cuff. Sighing, he worked his way out of the cuff and got ready. He tended to his goldfish before heading out of his apartment to meet Y/N, who stood there with her arms crossed.

“About time you came out! Let's go!" she urged.

They stepped into the elevator, and Y/N leaned back against the wall as the doors closed. "Good thing I called you. Was your alarm clock broken or something?" she asked.

Steven shrugged, “I’m not sure. That usually doesn’t happen,”

“Yeah, guess I’ll have to record my voice as your new alarm,” she teased.

"Please, no," he chuckled in response.

When they reached the ground floor, they quickly exited the apartment building and made their way to the bus stop. They arrived just in time to catch the bus before the doors closed, but it was already packed, leaving them standing amidst a crowd of people. Standing on a crowded bus had become a common occurrence for them.

Y/N and Steven managed to make it to the museum entrance just in time, weaving through the crowd. Y/N glanced at Steven, asking if their dear boss will be a ‘female dog’ for todays shift. Despite trying to get used to Donna’s personality, she found it hard to like her. The more she had to deal with her, the more reasons she found to dislike her. . Inside the museum, they joined the bustling crowd. Seeing a little girl stuffing a candy wrapper into a pyramid model, Steven told Y/N to go on without him. She nodded and watched as Steven approached the girl.

Steven seemed to enjoy sharing ancient Egyptian facts with others, especially children. Y/N couldn’t help but think of how he would a great teacher if he wasn’t stuck playing gift shopist. He didn't seem like the type to play favorites or get angry at someone for not understanding something.

Y/N made her way to the locker room to store her bag and lunch. Her coworkers greeted her with a "good morning" or simply ignored her, which was fine by her. Returning to the gift shop, she logged into the register and tidied up any items that had been knocked over. Then she went to the rope barrier and unclasped it, allowing visitors to enter.

Although she still worked hard, Y/N stopped going the extra mile like she did during her first week. The main reason was because she would end up exhausted by the end of the day. Steven had even lectured her about taking care of her health, scaring her a bit with his intensity. She knew he meant well, but he could be terrifying at times.

Fortunately, Y/N had gotten used to the museum layout, making it easier for her to find and finish tasks in different places. Most of her shifts were with Steven, as Donna still believed they were cousins. Not out of empathy, but because Donna needed someone to blame if Y/N made a mistake. Which was nearly difficult to do since Y/N was very aware of her actions and surroundings to make any clumsy mistakes.

As Y/N restocked a shelf, she overheard Steven and Donna approaching. Donna was scolding Steven, as usual, about not being a tour guide.

"Don't know how many times I have to tell you this. You're not the bloody tour guide, Stevie," Donna chastised him while he put on his name tag.

"Steven, actually. I am Steven," he corrected her, tapping his name tag. It seemed like Donna never cared enough to remember his name correctly.

After Donna finished berating him, she assigned him a task and walked away. Y/N couldn't help but glare at Donna's retreating figure and muttered, "Guess she didn't make it to third base with her date last night." She expected a smile or a chuckle from Steven, but he looked tired and defeated, most likely from being unheard by the managers.

Y/N pouted and sighed, trying to lift his spirits. "Hey, don't listen to her. Honestly, I think you'd make a better tour guide than those show-offs," she gestured towards the other tour guides who were already busy with their duties. Her words seemed to brighten Steven's mood slightly. His eyes lit up, and he straightened his posture, offering her a grateful smile.

"I've told them many times before, but they just ignore it," he said, frustration in his voice.

“You just gotta keep trying,” she offers a smile which Steven returns. As if on cue, one of the tour guides walk up to them. Looking towards Steven.

"You just gotta keep trying," Y/N encouraged, returning his smile. Just then, one of the tour guides approached them, making a beeline for Steven. The woman was dressed in a black dress and had long curly hair. Y/N had seen her leading tours before, mostly for adults, and they had exchanged a few greetings.

There seemed to be more than a casual acquaintance between her and Steven, judging by the way she smiled at him. "How's the sugar trading going?" she asked, starting the conversation in a quirky manner. However, Steven took her words quite literally and started rambling about how figs and dates would be more historically accurate snacks than what the museum provided. Y/N cringed internally, watching him struggle to maintain the conversation. Deciding to give them some privacy, she moved to a nearby shelf and continued stocking items. She still kept a distance where she can still hear the conversation however.

The woman swiftly changed the topic, "Are we still on for 7pm tomorrow?"

Steven looked puzzled, "7pm tomorrow?"

She tilted her head, amused by his confusion but continued smiling, "Best steak in town?"

Y/N furrowed her brows, when did this happen? Steven was usually too shy to speak to anyone, especially attractive women. She sensed the awkwardness in the air and feared Steven would ruin his chance if it continued. Acting quickly, Y/N moved closer to Steven, pretending to wipe down the desk with a cloth. Before the woman could scoff, Y/N discreetly kicked Steven's leg, urging him to respond and not drive her away.

"Oh, uh, right, yeah," he nodded to the woman in front of him. She smiled and walked back to her tour group. Steven watched her walk away, amazed that someone like her would be interested in going out with him. Still, he doesn’t remember when he asked her out. His thoughts were interrupted when Y/N elbowed his arm.

"Damn, look who's got a hot date. Guess I won't be seeing much of you in the future, cousin," she teased.

"Oh, hush now. You didn't think I could do it?" he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“I mean you were only staring at her while she waited for you to confirm your date. So I had my doubts," Y/N playfully shrugged. Steven crinkled his face into a smile and lightly pushed Y/N, causing her to giggle. Their lighthearted moment was interrupted when Donna walked in with a surprised expression. Y/N groaned, not wanting to deal with her.

"Stevie, you absolute rascal," Donna chimed in, having overheard their conversation. She always seemed to be eavesdropping on her employees' lives and being a judge. Unlike Y/N, who joked about Steven's dating skills, Donna belittled him. Steven simply would nod and let her walk all over him, as usual.

“Oh, speaking of which, have you guys seen the video of that one guy dressed up as Spider-Man riding the motorcycle?” Y/N laughs awkwardly as she tries to change the subject.

Ignoring her, Donna begins judging their date plan, critiquing the way Steven is a vegan and is going to eat at a steakhouse, because how could a sane person choose to go to an all meat restaurant when their vegan? It’s preposterous. Finally Steven had enough and gave Donna a witty answer, “I don’t know, Donna. Salad? Bread?”.

His witty retort caught Donna and even Y/N off guard. Donna remained silent for a moment before scowling and walking away. Steven huffed and continued working, sensing Y/N's gaze on him.

"Dang, and here I thought I was going to be the first one to blow," Y/N smirked, placing a hand on her hip and leaning on the counter.

"I wouldn't necessarily call it that. I just gave her a response," Steven shrugged with a hint of attitude, prompting Y/N to laugh.

"I'll have to keep that in mind, though. Wouldn't want to catch you on one of your bad days and end up fighting,” Y/N playfully positioned herself in a fighting stance, fists raised as if ready to throw punches at Steven.

Steven shook his head and gently lowered her hands. "Oh, put those tiny fists down. You've got nothing to worry about."

Y/N smirked, "I'll take that as a sign to keep annoying you then."

During their lunch breaks, Steven and Y/N enjoyed sitting together, while having casual conversations about their day or discussing the latest news of villains causing trouble in New York. It was their special time together, unless Y/N entered the break room with some juicy gossip, which Steven secretly enjoyed despite telling her that it wasn't their business.

As Steven sat at the table with his sandwich, already immersed in his meal, he heard the door to the break room open. Soon, Y/N walked in, her familiar smile lighting up her face. He knew that smile meant she had some interesting information to share, which would entertain them both.

"So, guess what I found out on my way to the break room," Y/N pulled out a chair and sat down. Steven, with a mouthful of food, simply nodded, gesturing for her to continue.

Leaning forward, Y/N lowered her voice, "Remember Ava from customer service?"

Steven nodded again, signaling her to proceed. Y/N went on to reveal how their coworker who was crying to her ex-boyfriend about wanting him back, rejected her because she had been cheating on him with his best friend from another department. Steven's jaw dropped, and Y/N confirmed it by nodding, her arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair.

"You're lying," Steven said in disbelief.

"I saw them kissing in the stock room with my own eyes," Y/N shrugged casually. Steven was still a bit shocked by the revelation but accepted the information. "I hope her ex doesn't find out soon, or we might witness a scene right here at the museum."

"I actually hope he does find out. It would definitely make my week," Y/N added with a mischievous smile.

Steven nodded in agreement and then remembered the second sandwich he had packed. He slid it across the table to Y/N, who looked at it and suddenly recalled something.

"Oh yeah," she said, standing up and heading to the fridge. She retrieved two Tupperware containers and heated them in the microwave. Returning to the table, she placed one container in front of Steven and kept the other for herself. Steven glanced down at the closed container, then looked back at Y/N.

"I did some grocery shopping and wanted to make you lunch too," Y/N explained, opening her container to reveal a pair of quesadillas and orange rice. Steven opened his container and found the same dish inside. "Thank you, Y/N, but you didn't have to do this for me," he said, grateful for her gesture.

"You always pack me lunch, and you've been so helpful since I started working here. Consider it a thank you," she replied, taking a bite of the sandwich Steven had made for her before moving on to the food she had packed for him. Steven followed suit, and the two of them enjoyed their meal in comfortable silence.

For Steven, it still felt odd to share his lunch break with someone. He used to eat alone and hardly spoke to anyone in the break room. Whenever he tried to strike up a conversation, most people would simply nod or make an excuse to leave, sometimes both. He thought the same situation would happen with Y/N, where she would stick by him for a week or two before finding her own group of friends. However, to his pleasant surprise, she had stuck by his side and engaged in genuine conversation.

"When do your classes start?" Steven asked, taking a sip from his water bottle while waiting for Y/N's response.

Y/N paused for a moment to think. "I think they start this Tuesday," she finally replied.

Steven nodded in understanding. "Have you gotten all your school supplies?"

Y/N paused again, pursing her lips to the side. "I was able to get some, but I still have a few things to get," she admitted.

"Well, if you're missing anything, I might have some extra supplies I can give you," Steven offered, humming thoughtfully.

Y/N's face lit up. "That would honestly mean a lot to me," she said, feeling the weight of her student debt pressing on her.

——

"I think I'm about done here. Are you ready to go?" Y/N turned to Steven, who was locking up the register.

"Same here," he replied, finishing up his tasks. They gathered their belongings from the locker room and headed out.

As they passed JB, the museum's security man, he spotted them and turned in his chair, a smile on his face. "Heard you're going on a date, Steven," he said, teasingly.

Steven ignored him and simply wished JB a good night, already feeling tired from his shift.

"With this miracle, maybe young Y/N can get herself a first date too," JB continued, practically giggling at his own joke. Y/N forced a laugh and responded, "Fuck you too."

She let out a frustrated huff as they walked out of the museum and down the steps. "All he does is watch videos and watch people pass by. He has no room to talk. It's so annoying," she vented.

"At least you now know how your teasing makes me feel," Steven joked.

"My intentions are pure, from one friend to another," Y/N said, placing her hands over her heart in a humorous gesture.

The bus arrived just in time as they reached the bus stop. The small crowd of people poured in, and since it was late, there were a few empty seats available. Steven and Y/N sat down, stretching their limbs and holding their belongings close to their chests.

"So what are you wearing for your date?" Y/N asked curiously.

Steven shrugged, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Honestly, not sure. Plus, it's been a while since I've been on a date, so I don't even know what's appropriate to wear."

Y/N pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Well, personally, I think it's nice when a guy dresses up a bit more than usual," she said, scanning Steven up and down, making him feel slightly self-conscious. "You could definitely use an upgrade."

Steven glanced down at his jacket and button-up shirt. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"No offense, but they kind of give off a janitor vibe," Y/N replied, a mischievous glint in her eye. Steven looked at her with a half-lidded gaze, not sure if she was being serious. "Oh, how funny," he said sarcastically.

Y/N nudged him lightly with her elbow. "I'm just messing with you. But seriously, I'm going to help you pick out your outfit."

Despite her teasing, it was evident that Y/N cared about Steven as a friend. She often stood up for him, defending him against anyone who spoke ill of him. Whenever she confronted someone, Steven would intervene, pulling her away before things escalated. Later, he would lecture her about not needing her to fight his battles, though he secretly appreciated her support. It always ended with laughter, thanks to the witty comments Y/N made.

Still, Donna was the one person she couldn’t talk back to, for some reason.

——

In the elevator, Steven suddenly remembered his offer to give Y/N the college supplies. "Oh, right. You still want those supplies I mentioned earlier?" he asked, turning to Y/N and catching her off guard.

Y/N blinked for a moment, then replied, "Oh yeah, but if you want we can do it tomorrow."

"Let's be honest, we'll both forget about it by the time we get to our apartments."

Y/N nodded, admitting her forgetfulness. "True. Alright, I guess we'll head to your place first."

As the elevator doors opened, they stepped out and made their way to Steven's door. Y/N waited patiently as he fumbled with the keys to unlock it. Finally, they entered his apartment. Steven placed his satchel on a table and hung his jacket next to it.

"It won't take long, you can hang out with Gus in the meantime," he said, gesturing towards his pet goldfish. He then walked over to a table where a stack of books and other materials were piled up.

Y/N's eyes roamed around the apartment, taking in the decor and the various items scattered about. A large bookshelf filled with books caught her attention as she entered. To the left, there was a table with piles of papers, and to the right, a bulletin board with Egyptian pictures. Rugs were scattered across the floor, and stacks of books and papers added to the organized chaos. As she stepped further in, she heard the creaking of the floorboards beneath her feet. Guess it wasn’t just her studio.

Towards the far right side of the apartment, she noticed the kitchen area. An old-style stove stood against the wall, and above it was a large vent with a light at the bottom, an unusual design choice that piqued her curiosity. She then glanced to her left and saw a table stacked with boxes, but what intrigued her were the bags of sand. Puzzled, she shrugged it off and continued towards the center of the apartment.

There, she spotted a fish tank surrounded by books, serving as makeshift support for the tank. Inside, there was a chubby goldfish with only one fin. "You must be Gus, huh?" she murmured, offering a smile to the aquatic resident.

Moving on, her gaze fell upon a small one-seat sofa facing a modest television. It sat atop a table overflowing with books. As she turned to her right, she noticed Steven's bed. Curiosity got the better of her, and she approached for a closer look. To her surprise, she discovered cuffs tied to the bed frame, with sand meticulously spread around it. "That's what the bags of sand were for," she uttered aloud, her voice laced with intrigue.

Just then, Steven walked in, carrying a stack of lined paper, folders, and pencils. “Alright, I have all the things you might need…”, his words trailed off as he caught sight of Y/N staring at his bed. His heart sank, this gave off so many red flags. His thoughts ran more wild as her silence made it worse.

"So, uh, cuffs, huh?" Y/N stood there in shock, her eyes fixed on the restraints attached to the bed. She then turned to Steven, a mix of curiosity and amusement on her face. "Okay, I don't know if this is for murderous or kinky purposes, but strangely enough, I'm not freaked out."

Steven's eyebrows shot up, surprised by her response. "Really?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

She nodded affirmatively. "Yup."

"Well, that's good to hear because both of your assumptions were way off," he said, placing the items he was carrying onto a nearby table. "What other reason could there be?"

Y/N crossed her arms, contemplating for a moment. He walked toward the bed, picking up one of the cuffs. "Well, I sleepwalk," he admitted. "And sometimes it causes me to leave my apartment unknowingly. So I use these," he gestured to the cuff in his hand, "to prevent myself from wandering off."

Y/N took a few seconds to process the information, and then a look of understanding appeared on her face. "Oh, that makes sense," she exclaimed, relieved. "I'm glad it's that and not something more concerning."

Steven let out a small chuckle. "Of course, you surely didn't think I was a–”

"A psychopath with a weird fetish?" she finished his sentence, a playful smile on her lips.

He paused for a moment, then nodded. "Uhm, in short, yes."

Y/N shook her head. "Nah, I know how to spot someone like that from a mile away. And you, sir, have no 'killing spree' bone in you."

"I see. I'm surprised you didn't freak out and run out the door," he remarked, trying to lighten the mood.

A mischievous glint sparkled in Y/N's eyes. "Oh, if I were freaked out, I would have pulled out my pepper spray and extendable pole on you," she teased. Steven looked at her in shock, not quite sure what she meant by "extendable pole."

Sensing his confusion, she rummaged through her purse and retrieved a small silver canister with a pin attached to it. Steven furrowed his eyebrows, his curiosity piqued.

"How does that work?" Steven asked.

Y/N grinned mischievously. "You'll see, step back."

Steven obeyed, taking a few steps away from her. Y/N carefully positioned the cylinder so it wouldn't cause any damage. With a swift motion, she pulled the pin, and in an instant, the cylinder transformed into a six-foot pole. Steven jumped back in surprise.

Y/N laughed at his reaction and retracted the pole back into its compact form. "See, now I don't have to worry about being mugged," she said with a satisfied smile.

Steven nodded, still a bit startled. Then he remembered the supplies he had promised Y/N. "Oh yeah, here are the supplies I promised you." Y/N looked at the stack of items and was amazed. "Oh wowm when you said it was a few things, I didn’t think that much," she exclaimed, letting out a small laugh.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Steven walked Y/N to the door. As she opened it, she turned back to him, gratitude in her eyes. "Hey, thanks for the stuff. I really appreciate it. I owe you."

Steven waved her off. "You don't owe me anything, but if you want, you can make me more of that dish you made for lunch."

Y/N's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yeah! I'll make you more tomorrow," she promised, already looking forward to it. She walked across the hallway to her own door. "Anyways, good night, man. I'll help you with your outfit tomorrow," she called out, unlocking her door and disappearing inside.

———

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows as Y/N slipped on her shoes and made her way to Steven's apartment. She knocked on the door, expecting a prompt response. Silence greeted her. She knocked again, a growing sense of unease creeping up within her. Still, there was no answer. She knocked a few more times, each attempt met with an eerie silence that sent a chill down her spine.

Did he sleep through his alarm again? Y/N pondered, a twinge of worry tugging at her. She reached for her phone and dialed Steven's number, only to be met with the voicemail greeting. She kept trying to calling him, but it was the same automated voice of Steven.

Frustration mounting, Y/N's concern turned into alarm. She started to pound on the door, her fists connecting with the solid wood. "Hey, Steven! Wake up!" Her voice echoed through the hallway as she relentlessly banged on the door. She was probably waking up the neighbors, but she didn't care. Something wasn't right. This wasn't like him. Did he pass out? Did he leave without her? He would have told her before he left.

Anxiety slowly crept into her body as she wondered about Steven. "Where is he?" she muttered.

————————

So sorry for the late update! Honestly, I was going through writers block but I am back now. Hope you guys enjoy. I tried to have Steven and Y/N’s become closer in a week as you can see.

#hispanic reader #marc spector x teen!reader #moon knight #steven grant x teen!reader #marc spector #steven grant #steven grant x reader #platonic #marc spector x reader #latina reader

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