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wintaerbaer · 4 months

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things we don’t say: part 5 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slow burn, angst, fluff, eventual smut

word count: 12.1k

chapter warnings: jeon jungkook, seventeen is here because i needed fill-ins (also they’re not singers but their music still canonically exists in-universe so good luck figuring that one out), a wedding!, tae is WHIPPED, the infamous butt debate, jealousy (plural), jimin has terrible timing, alcohol consumption ft. a drinking game, a mega cliffhanger i’m so sorry

a/n: while not required, i highly recommend reading the prequel drabble if you haven’t yet as it has some heavy relevance to this part and the next! special thanks to @btsborahaee and @jeonwiixard for beta-ing this chapter and letting me gush and brainstorm in their inboxes on the regular <3 also, shout outs to @animeniacss and @taegularities for sprinting with me all the time (and a forehead kiss to rid for coming up with the idea for the bathroom scene, mwah)!

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

"After today, I never want to see a ribbon ever again."

Jimin fumbles his fingers over the thin string, throwing his hands up in a huff when the slippery material resists his efforts to tie it. With Hoseok and Sunny's wedding only two weeks away, you'd offered to help out with some of the prep work, and Taehyung suggested hosting a mini prep party at your apartment as part of his efforts to make new memories since you'd moved back. True to his word, he’s been at your place nearly every day the past few weeks, cooking dinner with you and rewatching your favorite shows from high school.

You have to admit it’s been pleasantly domestic.

"It's not that bad," you say, finishing off your own ribbon around one of the tiny boxes of chocolate which will be distributed to each of the two-hundred-plus guests as a wedding favor.

"No, I'm serious. I don't even want to tie my shoes anymore. I'm a Crocs guy now."

"I've heard girls love sport mode," Taehyung quietly teases. "Is that right, Y/N?"

The flirtatiousness of his tone startles you, and your eyes snap up to meet his where he sits across from you at the dining room table. He's smiling one of those mischievous grins that makes your stomach churn, belly lurching when he stuns you with a wink before turning back to his own tiny box.

What the fu—

"If any of you show up to my wedding in Crocs, I'm kicking you out," Sunny grumbles.

Hoseok smacks his lips as he ties off a ribbon. "Does that also go for—"

"You as well, yes."

Your group settles into a momentary silence at her declaration—not a sound besides the ripple of ribbon and paper. At least until—

“I got laid wearing Crocs once.”

The entire table groans in unison, and you toss a bit of balled up wrapping paper at Jungkook's chest that bounces pathetically to the floor as Jimin boos. “No one cares about your sexcapades, Kook.”

“What, it was impressive!” he argues. “Just be thankful I'm not bringing any of them to the wedding.”

“I almost wish you were,” Hoseok grumbles. “You'd better not be picking up anyone inappropriate that night. Sisters, cousins, aunts—”

“That was one time!”

“—and anyone else even remotely close to family are off limits.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, pouting to himself, before he says, “Moms?”

The table boos again, more bits of wrapping paper flying his way.

“I'm kidding! Kidding!”

“Actually, Y/N,” Sunny murmurs, leaning towards you. “I hate to bring it up, but are you planning on bringing anyone else in Jace’s place?” Her expression is one of compassionate regret, with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, but the question still hits you low in your chest, knocking the wind out of you.

“I feel terrible asking,” she continues, “but one of my friends from high school originally declined a plus-one, and now she’s asking if there’s any way we can squeeze in this guy she met two weeks ago, and normally I’d tell her no, there’s no way I can change the head count two weeks out and who is this guy anyway, but then I figured that we do technically have an extra spot so we could fit him in, but I’d definitely give you the option to bring someone else first if you wa—“

“It’s fine,” you say, trying to ignore the way everyone else around the table is now looking on in sympathy. “I have no one else to bring. Let her guy come.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” It feels like you’re dying inside, but you try to look unbothered, especially since you can feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay,” Sunny quietly agrees, just as Hoseok suddenly jumps in at her side.

“You know, Tae isn’t bringing anyone to the wedding either,” he says, looking between the two of you. “Why don’t you just go together?”

“I’m also going alo—“ There’s a thump under the table and Jungkook immediately shuts his mouth.

You glance at Taehyung, who’s looking back at you with a dip in his eyebrows and parted lips. It was probably a given that you would spend time at the wedding hanging out already, but wouldn’t going together mean something else entirely? A promise of dancing and proximity and a label the two of you have never shared?

Perhaps that’s the reason why he’s staring at you with a touch of discomfort. Your own skin prickles at the thought, and so you scratch away the itch at your chin and deflect.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to.” Then you stand from the table sharply, hitting your limits with this conversation. “I’ll be right back.”

You head for the bathroom, not even needing to do anything in there, but sure that you can busy yourself for a few minutes to get your emotions under control away from your friends. But as you’re about to swing the door shut behind you, a large hand reaches out to stop it with a thud, and Taehyung quickly slips in before closing the door himself.

“Tae, what are you—“

“Come with me.”

You’re practically chest-to-chest, and if not for the fact that you’ve stopped breathing with his question, you’d probably be pressed up against him in the tight space.

“What?”

He licks his lips, pulls in air through his nose like he’s bracing himself.

“Come to the wedding with me.”

The room is heavy with silence as his request fully sinks in, the air between you thick and hot as you try to get some of it into your lungs. It’s hard, though, to develop a coherent thought with him standing so close—his scent engulfing you and dark, searching eyes fixated on your expression.

“I don’t kno—“ you begin, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Why not? Like Hobi said, neither of us is bringing anyone already.” His fingers brush yours—an apology for mentioning it again. “So why not go together and…not be as alone.”

You shift on your feet. “But you do know that you don’t have to do this. I’m fine without a plus one. There’s no shame in it for me.”

“Y/N,” he huffs. “You know that I like being around you, right?” He nudges gently against the underside of your chin, making you look at him directly. “I wouldn’t have stuck around this long if I didn’t.”

You’re still skeptical—nervous about the implications of what this would look like, especially when you just got out of a relationship. To you, it feels very much like teasing a boundary. But Taehyung is all nerves in front of you, gaze darting up-and-down your face and a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth telling you that he’s chewing on his lip.

And of course, because it’s him, you cave.

“Okay.”

He beams and, not for the first time, you feel your chest lighten at the sight of his boxy smile. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, smiling back.

“Okay.” Almost impossibly, his grin gets even wider, and you can see the wheels begin to turn in his head. “Do you have a dress picked out yet? What color is it? I can match you.”

It takes you aback. You wouldn’t have even thought about that. “Emerald green.”

“Emerald green,” he repeats, something registering behind his eyes, and he licks his lips again. “Okay. Great.”

He shifts like he's getting ready to leave, but you catch his fingers to reel him back. And you hate to put it out there, hate to even bring it up, but after everything you’ve been through, you need the clarity.

“And Tae,” you say, “this isn’t a date, right?”

He gives a slow blink, a wave of unknown emotion rippling from forehead to chin before he smiles gently at you, eyes softening at the corners. “Of course not.”

You nod. “Okay.” And a small part of you feels…disappointed?

But there's no time to dwell on it as he exits the bathroom, and you follow him out in spite of doing exactly zero bathroom things. You return to the dining room together, your friends clearly trying to look nonchalant as they diligently work on their party favors but being way too quiet to not have been trying to eavesdrop on your conversation.

“Sunny,” Taehyung says as you take your seats, looking positively brighter. “Just make sure we're sitting next to each other, yeah?”

She snorts. “As if you were anywhere else to begin with.”

Blue skies stretch endlessly in front of you, wind running through your hair and sunlight filtering in through the sunroof as you and Taehyung make the trip to the lakeside resort where Hoseok and Sunny are to be married. He's the absolute picture of relaxation in the driver's seat, wearing sunglasses and a mindless smile with his fingers wrapped delicately around the steering wheel like vines.

He'd opened the door for you when he picked you up, a seemingly spontaneous gesture that had left you both shy and blushing. But if the afternoon started with a touch of unusual awkwardness between you, the prospect of your “not a date” wedding date making itself known, it has since evaporated in the hot summer air. At this point, you’ve spent the past hour chatting, playing road trip games (Taehyung somehow destroying you in the alphabet game in spite of having to focus on driving), and burning through three boxes of Pepero.

“These are an addiction, I swear,” you say, crunching down on a chocolate-filled stick and clapping your hands in delight. Taehyung’s eyes leave the road for a second as he takes you in and grins.

“Was that the last of it?”

“Oh.” You peer into the box. Empty. “Yeah. Sorry. Did you want it?”

“No, it’s fine. You can have it.”

“I sure hope so since I already swallowed it.”

He laughs, whole face lighting up with it, and you feel something turn over behind your ribcage as if someone’s flipped your heart like a pancake. It makes you think that even though you were supposed to be making this trip with a different person, you’re glad it’s him instead.

My love only amounts to this.

The lyrics ring out through the car, and Taehyung leans forward suddenly, turning up the volume on the stereo.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s your favorite song!” he joyfully says. “I know you like to sing along.”

You stare at him blankly, taken aback because you don’t think you’ve ever mentioned this to him. When did he notice…?

“C’mon, sing with me. Play a song I know and one step. Hold my hands and put my feet in, two steps.”

His sweet baritone sounds out beside you, and you feel a grin break out across your face. You always forget what a joy it is to hear Taehyung sing.

“The person to know all my secrets is you,” you sing, joining along. “So I’m even more thankful.”

“Sometimes when you get tired, and I see you crying with your head down, I don't know what to do. What can I do?”

You’re both belting it out at the top of your lungs by the time it gets to the chorus, and you think the sun has somehow moved inside the car with how bright and warm you feel.

My love only amounts to this. But thank you for staying by my side, my baby.

Your car charges down the road, trailing laughter and joy in its wake, and your chest feels light for the first time in weeks.

Even if my love only amounts to this. I'll be your umbrella in the rain. I'll protect you on all your days.

Jimin, Maya, and Jungkook meet you in the hotel lobby—a marble behemoth with wrought iron staircases and sofas that definitely cost more than your rent—and you all line up to check in, gawking at the elaborate chandelier that hangs above your heads.

“How did they even afford this place?” Jimin wonders.

Maya sucks her teeth. “At this rate? I think they might have mob ties.”

“Feet pics,” Jungkook says simply.

Once everyone has obtained their key cards, you set off to find your rooms. You’re all on the same floor since a certain section was booked specifically for the wedding, but with you having a room with only a single queen-sized bed, you’re down the hall and away from the others who booked doubles.

While Jimin, Maya, and Jungkook break off to get acclimated in their own respective rooms, Taehyung follows you into yours with a touch of melancholy, your luggage slung over his shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re fine here alone?” he asks, setting your bag on the ground. “I can room with you if you’d like. I’m sure Kook wouldn’t mind.”

“There’s only one bed,” you point out, blushing.

Taehyung also goes slightly pink. “Well yeah, but the other week we just…or I can take the couch. Or we can ask Kook to swap rooms?”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I’m alone at the apartment all the time anyway.”

He nods, looking oddly shot down. “Alright. But if you change your mind, just ask.”

“Unlikely,” you tease with a wrinkle of your nose. “You snore.”

He gasps, feigning hurt. “I do not.”

He doesn’t. But you still tilt your head solemnly, pressing your lips together as if preparing to deliver bad news. “You do.”

“Shit,” he sighs before the two of you break down in giggles.

A few hours later, the five of you wind up at the resort’s restaurant for dinner, lamenting the exorbitant prices but enjoying an incredible meal. The night dwindles down as you settle in at the bar, figuring you can have a couple drinks before resting up for tomorrow’s big day. With a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, you have a perfect view of the lake outside and the glow of the sunset spreading out above the trees. It tints the room orange, seeping onto every surface, including Taehyung’s forearms resting atop the bar.

You trace his veins with your eyes, study the way they trail to his hands curled lightly around his low ball glass. Your friends are talking about plans for tomorrow, but you’re not paying much attention; you’re far more interested in trying to figure out when your best friend’s arms started looking like that.

“And don’t worry, Chim. If I have the chance to get lucky, I’ll make sure not to use our room,” Maya says, placing a hand over her heart in pledge. “No locking you out because I’m a good friend.”

But Jungkook has tensed up next to you, and in spite of the cute pout of his lips, the creasing of his forehead suggests that he’s genuinely upset. “Hook-up? You’re going to find a hook-up?”

Maya looks at him incredulously, drink paused halfway to her lips. “Possibly. Aren’t you?”

“I…” His teeth bite into his lip. “It’s a wedding.”

She barks out a devilish laugh. “So? When has that ever stopped you?” A spiteful glare is sent his way that even has you shrinking behind him in secondhand shame. “Since when do you have morals?”

Taehyung’s knee squeezes against yours under the bar—a warning, probably, but your brain momentarily becomes fixated on the weight of it, on how nice it feels to have his warmth pressed against you. It’s not until he taps a finger against your thigh, signaling with his eyes at the sullen man behind you, that you pass on the touch, giving Jungkook’s elbow a gentle nudge in support and encouragement. He takes a quick look at you with sad, vulnerable eyes, and you’re reminded of how flustered he’d been during your conversation a few weeks ago.

“I was actually thinking,” he begins, more serious than you’ve ever seen him, “that maybe we could go together since neither of us have dates.”

Maya snorts, setting her drink down firmly on the countertop. “Why, so you can ditch me halfway through for the first woman that flutters her eyelashes at you? No thanks.”

Jungkook physically recoils like he’s been slapped, the force sending him back so far that he practically winds up in your lap. “You really think I would do that?”

His voice is tiny, hurt dripping from every syllable, and it makes Maya finally look up, face dropping as she seems to realize the wounds she’s inflicted upon him.

Her brows draw together, and she opens her mouth to say something but is interrupted by the bartender popping up to ask if anyone needs a refill. By the time he leaves, the moment’s passed, and Jungkook briskly stands up, throwing some money down on the bar.

“I’m done. See you guys tomorrow.” And he strides out towards the hotel lobby.

You hop to your feet, shaking your head at Maya. “That was uncalled for.”

She looks guilty but says nothing, rubbing a finger along the rim of her glass, and you follow Jungkook out, calling his name as he approaches the elevators.

“Jungkook!”

He spins to face you with a frown, thumbs hooked in his pants pockets like he’s trying to look casual, but his eyes betray his discomfort. “What?”

“She didn’t mean that,” you say, slightly breathless from your jog across the lobby. “I know she didn’t.”

“Sure she did. That’s who she is. Always speaks her mind.” He shrugs, shirt rippling over his shoulders. “It’s fine. I don’t care.”

“Don’t you though?” you ask. “You’re not a bad guy, Kook. You deserve simple respect at least.”

“Maybe I don’t.” The elevator dings, and he steps inside, turning back to you with a final sad smile. “Night, Y/N.”

A sense of dread taps into the back of your skull, fear that your original inkling on this relationship was perhaps correct. Though you’ve since warmed up to the idea of Maya and Jungkook as a potential couple, it was this exact tension that you were worried about—their fire and gasoline dynamic harboring implications that could blow up your entire friend group.

Taehyung strolls up next to you as the doors roll shut, sighing as he comes to a stop. “He okay?”

“No, but don’t try telling him that.”

He purses his lips. “I had a quick talk with Maya. Reminded her that just because she’s had bad experiences with guys in the past doesn’t give her the right to take it out on him.”

“Good,” you say. “She probably needed to hear it.”

A nod as he assesses your figure and asks, “Are you coming back to the bar? I already covered your tab.”

“Oh, I’ll pay you back—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You can make it up to me a different time.”

You smirk at him, stepping closer. “How about I roll it into your Christmas present?”

“Deal.”

You let out a soft laugh, and he offers to walk you up, pressing the button to call the elevator back. The two of you chat about nothing in particular as you make your way to the third floor, commenting on the ridiculously patterned carpet in the halls and laughing about the strangely risqué photos that you noticed hanging in the rooms.

When you arrive at your door, you swipe your key card over the sensor, turning the light from red to green and wishing Taehyung goodnight, but he loops his fingers around your wrist to lightly tug you back.

“Y/N.” He curls his bottom lip over his teeth, head dipping towards the ground in a shy smile as he searches for his words. “I’m…really looking forward to tomorrow. It’s going to be fun.”

He’s adorable; he truly is. Seventeen years of affection, and he still finds ways to endear you to him even more, bits of gold from the lamps catching on the browns of his eyes as he stands before you.

“It is,” you say, tongue tied around your own apprehension. He hums and looks like he wants to say more—tangles his fingers in front of him and chews on his lip as he fidgets. But after a moment passes—you still stuck on his eyes—he jerks his chin down in a nod, says goodnight, and leaves you standing at your door in confusion, taking one look back as he swipes his own key card down the hall and disappears into his room.

You enter your own space with your mind whirling, not sure what the hell just happened but also sure that you’re not upset about it. And once you’ve gone through your bedtime routine and settled in for the night, you fall asleep thinking about brown eyes and shy smiles, welcoming the most restful sleep you’ve had in weeks.

You awake to the sound of Maya knocking on your door promptly at 9am with her suitcase in hand, casually making her way to your bed when you let her in and picking up the hotel menu from the side table while you stare at her. "What are you doing?" "We are going to order room service and watch some shitty TV, and then I am going to help you get you ready for your date." "It's not a date," you say on impulse, though you're internally tamping down the involuntary flutter that's tickling your stomach. "If it's anything, it's a guy taking pity on his unexpectedly-single friend." "Pity date then." She says it with a nonchalant wave of her hand and doesn't give you the chance to speak when you open your mouth to protest. "Y/N, please, just give me the chance to make his jaw drop. If there really is nothing there like you say there is, then what's the harm?" The harm, you think to yourself, is the tingling feeling that's been increasing in intensity when you've been around Taehyung recently, warmth flooding your body at just the thought of him. Your brain has been desperately explaining it away, chalking it up to years of familiarity and comfort being stoked by the emotional trauma which (you're quick to remind yourself) you're still working through. No, Y/N, I don’t have feelings for you. It's these thoughts that, in the end, have you acquiescing as Maya lets out a joyful squeal. At the very least, you make your friend happy and get some well-deserved girl bonding time. Really, what's the harm?

The idea has barely finished running through your mind when you’re already beginning to regret it and wondering what the hell you just got yourself into. Maya wheels her entire suitcase to the foot of your bed and pulls out no less than seven bags of make-up, a curling iron, hairspray, four different brushes, and a straightener.

“Are you doing the entire wedding party after this?” you ask incredulously. “Why did you bring so much?”

“Needed to be ready for anything,” she says, organizing her tools into neat rows. “When I’m done with you, every straight man and half the women will be falling at your feet.”

Your face heats, and you subconsciously rub at your arm. “That’s really not necessary.”

“Okay, then just one man.” She raises her arms, fingers arranged into a square through which she peers at you like she’s sizing you up for a photograph. “Hmm, where should we start?”

You and Maya make your way to the resort's event hall a little while before the ceremony is scheduled to begin. Seating doesn't seem to have opened yet as guests mill about the entryway, the buzz of conversation filling the space above your heads, and the two of you pause at the top of the stairs to see if you can spot your friends. "I think Kook's got a purple tie," she says, peering around. "And you know what he's wearing why?" you ask, but she ignores you. "Oh, look, there they are." Maya's goal may have been to get Taehyung's jaw to drop, but you're left stunned when you look over to where he's standing with Jimin and Jungkook, the now-familiar tingle rippling through your veins once again. His black suit is perfectly tailored, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist, emerald green tie wrapped around his neck to match the color of your dress as promised. He's slicked his hair back and away from his eyes so you're able to see how they nervously dart between Jimin and Jungkook, clearly not listening to whatever it is they're enthusiastically saying. Actually, once you look more closely, everything about his body language screams nerves for some reason, his hands moving back and forth to play with the hems of his jacket before smoothing the lapels over and over again. Maya waves, grabbing Jimin's attention, and you watch as he grins at the two of you before leaning in to say something to Taehyung, pointing at where you're standing. Maybe, you think, just maybe you appreciate Maya's plan from this morning after Taehyung glances up at you. His incessantly-moving fingers finally still—halfway through re-adjusting his tie—and his perfect Cupid's-bow-lips pop open, eyes wide as he soaks you in in your floor-length gown. Maya’s worked your hair into loose curls cascading over your shoulders and bare back, and while you convinced her to not go wild with the make-up, she strong-armed you into agreeing to a deep red lipstick that’s only accentuated by the green of your dress. A smug cough comes from your right (clearly Maya's pleased with her work) as you descend the stairs and approach the trio of men. Jimin and Jungkook greet you brightly while Taehyung still looks mildly concussed, continuing to stare at you with his mouth half-open. "Alright there, Tae?" you ask, reaching up to adjust and smooth out his tie, messy from where his hands had frozen on it.

The pads of your fingers are hot where they brush against the hard muscle of his chest, and you try not to read too deeply into the pounding of his heart. Taehyung makes a weird noise akin to what you'd imagine a drowning fish would sound like, and Jungkook gives him a sharp slap on the back, which seems to knock him out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. "Incredible!" he blurts, and you almost want to laugh at the reset-button-like effect Jungkook's smack seems to have on him. He clears his throat, composing himself further. "I, um—you, I mean. You look incredible." You thank him, ignoring the second wave of smugness that comes from Maya's direction, just as the event staff open the doors and begin ushering guests into the hall. Taehyung offers you his arm, and you gladly take it as he guides you to sit alongside your friends.

The wedding hall is as grandiose as the rest of the hotel, with columns ornamenting the sides of the room and a massive flower arch constituting the altar. You all talk as you wait for the ceremony to begin, admiring the decor (the bright bouquets of red, purple, and blue flowers pop against the stark white of the venue) and trying to see if you recognize any of the guests.

“Oh, there’s Sunny’s cousin Chan,” Maya says, peering out over the room. “Remember we met him at that party one time?”

“Didn’t the two of you drunkenly make-out?” you ask.

Jimin frowns. “I thought they hooked up.”

“No, Y/N is right.” She fixes her hair, oblivious to the way Jungkook is now staring at the man in question, hackles raised. “Wouldn’t say no to that happening again; he was good with his hands. Tae, are you alright? You’re looking at Y/N like she’s sprouted four more arms.”

You swivel your head around to see Taehyung next to you, entirely flushed red above the shoulders. He licks his lips as he meets your eyes, blinking furiously like he’s trying to clear his thoughts. “Sorry, I spaced out.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maya waves a dismissive hand, shuffling her attention to Jimin to ask if he knows about the music choices for the ceremony.

A throat clears on your right. “You do look nice. Really.” Taehyung looks utterly sheepish, his head tilted low as he softly pays you the compliment, and it reminds you of how shy he was last night as well. A butterfly takes flight in your chest, and now you’re the one blushing.

“Thank you. You cleaned up nicely, too,” you reply, and he blinks at you in a way that has you second guessing your words. “Not that you don’t always clean up nicely. And not that you don’t normally look very handsome. Because you do. Look very handsome, I mean. All the time.”

His bashfulness morphs into amusement, lips quirking up in an affectionate smile. “Oh, really?”

Your face heats up even more, mouth opening to respond with you don’t even know what, and you’re grateful when a hush falls over the room, the beginning notes of a wedding march signaling the ceremony’s start.

Hoseok appears first, looking dapper in a full tuxedo and grinning ear-to-ear. He walks down the aisle with long strides like he can’t possibly get to the end fast enough, bouncing on his toes as he settles into his spot.

The officiant is next, followed by Iseul and Seokmin, one of Hoseok’s childhood friends. Hana and Namjoon stroll in arm-in-arm after that, then Yumi and Jiho, and finally, everyone rises to their feet as Sunny appears at the entrance and begins her walk in, gaze finding only her groom.

Just as Sunny reaches the head of the aisle, a teary-eyed Hoseok taking her hands in his, another image, one which had once occupied your mind almost constantly but hadn't plagued you in weeks, takes hold: you and Jace in a similar setting, pledging forever to each other in front of your friends and family.

Maybe you had gotten ahead of yourself—the discovery of the ring box in his desk along with the natural longevity of your relationship sparking your imagination—but in the weeks leading up to your heartbreak, you had allowed your mind to plan—what kind of dress you'd wear, the colors you'd pick out, what you might say in your vows. It seems stupid now, dwelling on a future that's already evaporated into nothingness, but seeing the echoes of your dreams being played out in front of you, it’s like you can feel the sand physically slipping through your fingers.

Right as it starts to become too much, as you feel your chest tighten and heart ache, there's a brush of skin against the side of your hand, and glancing down, you see that Taehyung's reached over to quietly hook his pinky with yours. You turn to face him, but he keeps his eyes directed on the bride and groom, face neutral and unreadable, and you know he's giving you the chance to pull away, no questions asked.

But the gesture has warmth flooding through you, thawing the ice of your previous thoughts, and so you move to slip your hand under his, lacing your fingers and pressing your palms together tightly.

Taehyung looks at you then, a shy smile crinkling his eyes and twisting up the corners of his mouth, and you grin back, the previous ache in your chest replaced with a steady flutter as he begins to skim his thumb back and forth in a gentle caress.

You stay that way for the rest of the ceremony—watching your friends vow eternity to each other, Taehyung's hand tethered with yours.

Classical music drifts from the speakers at the back of the room as you find your seats for the reception. The ballroom is tremendous, with tall, arched ceilings, a gorgeous chandelier, and a wide dance floor that you’re sure will see a ton of action later. With the tables seating eight, you see that you’ve been placed in a grouping of you, Taehyung, Maya, Jimin, Jungkook, and three of Hoseok’s medical school friends, who introduce themselves as Wonwoo, Joshua, and Mingyu.

Thankfully, your group hits it off immediately. Wonwoo is rather reserved, more an observer of those around him than anything, but Taehyung and Jimin quickly strike up a conversation with Joshua about college after the latter mentions having gone to the same school as you, albeit never crossing paths. Maya and Mingyu, meanwhile, immediately fall into their own introductions, talking about how they know Hoseok and Mingyu’s studies to become a doctor.

“If you ever need a headshot or something, let me know,” Maya says, laying a hand on his arm. Across the table, Jungkook's head shoots up. “I do work as a photographer and would be happy to help.”

“Oh, really?” Mingyu makes no move to remove her hand; if anything, he shifts even closer. “What are your rates?”

“For you? Free of charge. Any friend of Hoseok is a friend of mine.” They're in their own little bubble now, Jungkook watching wide-eyed. “Besides, you'd be doing me a favor. With a face like that, you're a photographer's dream. Perfect model.”

Mingyu smirks. “A face like what?”

“Dangerously handsome.”

“HEY, WHAT DO YOU GUYS WANT TO SPECIALIZE IN?”

Jungkook practically screams it, and not only do Maya and Mingyu turn to look at him in bewilderment, but so does the rest of the table and a few guests in the neighboring seats.

Joshua clears his throat awkwardly, eying Jungkook like he might be rabid. “I’m trying for pediatrics.”

“Surgery,” Wonwoo says.

Maya turns towards her new companion. “What about you, Mingyu?”

He leans back in his chair. Gives a light tug on his tie. “I have a residency lined up in obstetrics and gynecology.”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me—”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung says, cutting him off as he slides his chair back from the table. “Why don’t you help me get a round of drinks?”

“But—“

“C’mon.” He says it gently, like he’s trying to coax a toddler, and rises to his feet, giving you a gentle tap on the shoulder as he goes. “Cosmo?”

“Yes, please,” you say, and he nods, dropping a quick wink your way as Jungkook joins him, grumbling under his breath.

Joshua watches them walk away in the direction of the bar. “Is he always this…”

“Annoying?” Maya scoffs.

“Transparent.” Wonwoo quietly smirks.

A gentle laugh sounds on your left as Jimin hears. “I don’t know that anyone has ever described Jungkook as subtle in his life.”

Maya frowns, Mingyu looking downright perplexed at her side. “I don’t think I quite understand what’s going on,” he begins, but Maya soothes him with another press of her hand to his arm.

“Don’t worry about him. It doesn’t matter,” she says. “Tell me more about your residency.”

The reception passes in a swirl of music and drinks and food—and oh goodness, the food. Plates heaped with calamari, crab legs, and tiny filets wrapped in bacon are placed at the table by wait staff as your group digs in. Even Jungkook is placated, no longer scowling at Maya and Mingyu.

"Ughhh, I am never eating this well again," Jimin groans, stretching back in his chair and giving an exaggerated rub to his belly.

"You'd best get ready to," Taehyung says from your other side. "This isn't even dinner."

"This isn't even dinner?!"

Dinner turns out to be just as delicious and lavish as the appetizers, and it's no surprise that once dancing starts, your friends opt to stay seated for a while longer talking and digesting. As the party climbs to a full swing, Mingyu asks Maya to dance, Jimin and Jungkook start a debate on whether the butt is one body part or two, and Taehyung excuses himself to the restroom.

“It’s one part that’s split!” Jimin loudly exclaims. “The top is connected!”

“Jimin, go home, stand in front of the mirror, and pull your right ass cheek up. See if your left cheek comes up with it, and then get back to me, you absolute clown.”

“Do they do this a lot?” Joshua asks, the two idiots arguing between you.

“At least once a month.” You take a sip of your drink as you look on, bored. “I’m pretty sure this one is a rerun from last Halloween.”

“It’s one,” Wonwoo says, amused.

A flash of green catches your eye, and you look up to see Taehyung standing by the side of the bar, speaking with a woman. She's about your age, you think, and pretty, wearing a low-cut dress that certainly accentuates her chest.

She and Taehyung are talking excitedly, and you can tell he's putting the charm on—eyes bright, signature boxy smile lighting up his face. Nausea simmers in the pit of your stomach, and you force your attention back towards Jimin and Jungkook, trying to focus on whatever nonsense they're debating now.

This isn't a “date-date,” you remind yourself. And Taehyung hasn't had a relationship in a year—not since he was so torn up after Luna. He deserves to meet someone.

You’re spaced out next to your friends, still only halfway listening to them jabber on about butt cheeks, when a slow song starts up over the speakers and, within seconds, a hand is being extended over your shoulder.

You look up to find Taehyung's eyes gazing steadily down at you, a small but confident smile playing on his lips.

"Dance with me?"

And in spite of the unease that had plagued you only moments ago, you don't hesitate to let him wrap up your small hand in his large one and lead you to the dance floor. His palm settles on your lower back to pull you in close, and maybe it’s the proximity or the intoxicating smell of his cologne that weakens your resolve, but you find the words spilling out.

"Did you get her number?"

Taehyung looks at you quizzically, brow furrowing in confusion. "Whose?"

"The woman at the bar."

His face relaxes as he realizes. "Oh, yeah. I did."

"Good." You manage a smile. Why does it feel so hard? "It really is…good you're getting back out there. Are you going to ask her on a date?"

He laughs, mischief in his eyes. "I don't think her fiancé would like that." And now it's your turn to look confused.

"Her fiancé?"

"I met the two of them through Hoseok a couple times so we've chatted. Nice people." He nods his head, and you look over to see the woman now dancing with a man not too far from you. "They just got engaged, and she knows I'm a photographer so she asked if I'd be interested in doing the wedding. I said I'd call her this week to talk about it."

"Oh." You can feel your face flush, but there's no doubting the relief that floods through you. And Taehyung surely notices, grinning down at you in amusement.

"Were you jealous?"

"No!" you say, but perhaps a little too quickly because Taehyung laughs, his fingers applying a gentle pressure to your back to pull you closer.

"I'm here with you," he murmurs matter-of-factly.

You shake your head at him. "It's fine, Tae. If someone catches your eye…like I said, it could be good—"

"I'm here with you," he repeats, more firmly this time. He releases your hand for a moment to tuck a stray curl behind your ear, and you have to look away. You spot Hoseok and Sunny swaying together in the middle of the dance floor, pressed closely together and smiling at each other like they're the only two people in the world. What it must be like to have someone look at you like that, you think, to hold you like you're something precious to be cherished. You had thought Jace made you feel that way, but now, watching your friends gaze at each other so delicately, so in love, you're no longer sure he even came close.

"What are you looking at?" Taehyung's voice rouses you out of your thoughts, and you suddenly notice his hand has drifted a little higher to where the back of your dress dips down low, exposing your bare skin.

Trying to pass off the shiver that involuntarily runs through you as a nod, you gesture at the newly married couple. "They're so good together."

Taehyung follows your line of sight, watching Hoseok lean down to murmur something in Sunny's ear that makes her giggle and press her face into his chest. "They are."

"Can you imagine loving someone like that?" Your voice is a bare whisper as if the words slipped out on their own accord, like a wish you didn't even realize you were making.

Taehyung's fingers splay at your spine, gently tugging you in until your hips are bumping his. Startled, your eyes snap back to him, breath catching in your chest. He's gazing at you intently, but as opposed to the intense fire that you've seen from him at times, there's only a deep warmth to his brown irises that you're not sure you've ever seen before. He looks at you with softness, with both a sense of familiarity and wonder that can only be attributed to your many years of companionship, and you see it all swimming behind his eyes—every day spent together seeking refuge from your families, every stupid childhood fight, every time you comforted each other through the bad days. And before you can deflect, can explain away the question as a rhetorical slip of the tongue, you hear his answer come out on a breath.

"Yes."

There’s a weight to it, the word landing from his lips like a stone into water, and you suddenly forget where you are. The world around you fades away: faces, music, and noise all receding into the background until it’s just him and you, you and him.

Just like it’s always been.

Taehyung's head dips towards you as if pulled by gravity, and your body responds in turn, hand sliding from his shoulder to the hair at the nape of his neck and eyes fluttering shut. Your breaths mingle together, his nose lightly brushing against yours, and you find yourself on the brink of keening forward, on the brink of diving headfirst into a place of no return, when—

"Hey, we're going to step outside for some air. Do you guys wanna—oh."

You spring apart. Jimin is staring at the two of you, eyes so wide you're worried they might fall out of his head. His hand is still half-raised, pointing in the direction of the doors behind him, and you use this to make your escape.

"Yeah sounds good I'll come outside definitely," you babble before speeding towards the exit. Glancing back over your shoulder, you see Jimin say something animatedly to Taehyung, but the latter shakes his head and mumbles something back, his face pink.

The night air is cool on your skin, and you could not be more grateful for it because what the fuck was that?

Were you really about to kiss your best friend? Or was he going to kiss you? Things had certainly been…different between you two recently, but this surely would have been an awful idea. If something went wrong or there was a misunderstanding, you'd likely never be able to come back from it.

He said he doesn't have feelings for you.

…But do you have feelings for him?

Maybe yes, his smile has always set your heart alight unlike anything else and yes, your brain seems to have been lingering recently on how damn handsome he is and yes, you'd do anything for him at the drop of a hat—follow him anywhere—but given your history, of course you would, right? He's your best friend.

And he deserves to be more than a rebound. Because that's what this must be—lingering heartbreak amplified by the emotions of a wedding. You may have even imagined Taehyung leaning towards you, a desperate fantasy of a mind just wanting to be loved.

That's it, you decide. Your brain must have finally snapped into a world of delusion.

You're so caught up in your thoughts that you don't hear Jungkook approach you, practically jumping out of your skin when he places a gentle hand on your arm.

"Y/N—shit—you okay?" He looks at you with his big doe eyes wide and apologetic.

"Yeah," you say, as your racing heart begins to calm. "You just startled me."

"Sorry, I tried to call you, but I don't think you heard. We're back over there if you want to join us." He nods his head in the direction of a patio area behind him, and you spot Namjoon, Joshua, and Wonwoo sitting around a table next to an elegant fountain, its ornamental lights illuminating the magnificent swan sitting atop it. They’re all laughing and, for some reason, the sight makes your chest tighten.

"Um, maybe in a little bit. I think I might just need a walk right now."

Jungkook studies you, biting ever so slightly into his bottom lip, and you think you see something in the way of understanding behind his eyes (you wonder if it has anything to do with the notable absence of Maya and Mingyu). "Do you want company?"

When you just give him a small smile and shake your head, he nods.

"Okay, well…you know where to find us." He moves to rejoin the others, but then turns back towards you, taking easy steps on his heels. "And just shout if you need a friend."

You meander around the outside of the hotel, following the stone path that paves its way around the perimeter. There's a certain kind of peace out here. Though the summer is nearing its close, you can still hear crickets chirping in the grass and spot the occasional firefly dangling in the air. You focus on the swishing of the cars out on the main road and try to let the sound clear your mind, but as you settle on a short brick wall overlooking the property's enormous lake, you realize it's no use.

Your eyes drift closed as you sink into the grief once again, let it slowly overtake you like quicksand until your lungs are crushed and burning. But more than anything, you’re simply exhausted—perpetually drained by the demons which have once again arrived to feast on your psyche.

At this point, you think most of your frustration lies with yourself. Maybe you’re being overdramatic, maybe you should be over it by now—if only you were stronger, more resilient. Not the miserable pushover you feel you’ve turned out to be. Harsh? Yes. Unfair? Perhaps. This does feel like the breaking point in your life’s long line of abandonments, digging up feelings you haven’t felt since you were a child.

But that being said, it also makes you feel like you should be used to it by now. Should be used to having to bounce back—what else can you expect from the world at this point, really? What a fool you were to even think that this time would be different.

The sound of quiet footsteps has you opening your eyes again, and you’re not sure whether the man in front of you is the first or last person you want to see right now.

Taehyung has his hands in his pockets, watching you with that calculated expression he always has on when he’s trying to gauge your mood. But all you can see in his face on your end is concern, not a hint of awkwardness or trepidation after what just transpired between the two of you in the ballroom.

So it really must have been all in your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “Kook said you seemed upset.”

“I’m fine.” You try to push out a smile, but he unsurprisingly sees right through it, closing the gap between you and gesturing at the spot to your right.

“Mind if I sit?”

You’re still not entirely in the mood for company but you can’t bring yourself to say no to him, so you give the tiniest of nods and Taehyung settles on the wall next to you.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, the buzz of the surrounding trees continuing its serenade. Taehyung doesn’t push, doesn’t say anything, only provides a steady presence. On particularly bad days when you were kids, you’d both wander down to the local playground and sit on the swings for a while. Sometimes you’d talk—either to rant and let it all out or make each other laugh to distract yourselves—but most nights, you’d just sit in the quiet and enjoy the feeling of not being alone.

It feels like that now, with Taehyung’s warmth radiating at your shoulder and the stars hanging above, but tonight, you’re compelled to speak.

“I’m really pathetic, huh?”

Taehyung’s eyes flash as he looks over at you, but he doesn’t interrupt, sensing you want to say more.

“I’m at my friends’ wedding, I’m supposed to be celebrating them and their love for each other, and instead I’m out here having a pity party.” You scoff. “It’s pathetic and selfish.”

“First of all, we are out here having a pity party,” Taehyung begins, and it draws a sudden laugh from you that you think sounds halfway deranged, but he only smiles.

"Secondly, you're not pathetic, and you're not selfish. You just went through a traumatic event, you know? You're allowed to have emotions."

"I know, but I just don't…want to," you sigh. "I just want it all to stop. I'm so tired of feeling weighed down especially on a day like this, but it's like it just doesn't end. The reminders don't end."

"You thought he'd be here," Taehyung says softly, and though his head nods slightly in understanding, his voice is tinged with sadness. "You miss him."

"I—that's not exactly it, no," you quickly say, not wanting him to think that you somehow regret being here with him. "Given what he did…like you’ve said, it's not forgivable, so it's not like I wish he was here. I mean, sure, are there some days where I reflexively think about him and stuff? Of course—we were together for four years—but I…still would prefer to never see him again."

Taehyung lets out a short sigh that you interpret as approval, but he stays quiet, giving you time to work out your thoughts.

"I think it's more the loss of security than anything. Seeing Hoseok and Sunny up at the alter…I couldn't help thinking that I was so, so close to that—to having that one person that I could commit to walking through life with. A partner, a friend, just someone to have day-in and day-out. Forever." You choke up, a fresh wave of tears lodging in your throat that you try to keep down. Taehyung is stiff next to you, staring down at his hands in his lap.

"And I want that, Tae. I want that so bad. But it's…so scary to start from scratch after feeling that close. I feel like I'm losing my mind. I'm just constantly overwhelmed and feel like I can't outrun it, and then I feel guilty on days like this because I shouldn't be letting it get to me, and—"

"Hey, hey, Y/N, shhhh." Taehyung finally jumps in as you begin to spiral, reaching out to take your hand in his. "You don't have to worry or feel guilty because you are going to have all of that. Okay? You will."

"You can't know that."

"I do." He slips his pinky around yours briefly before his hand comes up to cup your jaw, guiding your eyes to his. "I promise you. I don't know how far out it'll be, but one day we'll all be together again at a place like this, and it'll be your turn." He gets a faraway look in his eye, seemingly perceiving something that you're struggling to even grab a glimpse of right now. "It'll be everything you've ever dreamed of—intimate and outdoors, right? I know you always said growing up that you were going to get married at the Spring Day Gardens. If you still want it, it'll be yours."

You let his words draw you in, painting you a picture so beautiful you're afraid to even let your heart believe in it. But his baritone voice presses on.

"And it'll be perfect. Not a cloud in the sky—nothing but sunshine. And we'll all be there, and you'll have your favorite lily bouquet and your perfect dress…"

Something stops him, and he blinks at you, dropping his palm from your face and glancing away at the lights from the party before resuming his tale.

"And the guy…" He licks his lips, and you feel the hand that's still holding yours tighten ever so slightly. "He's going to love you so much. Properly love you. He's going to see you come down that aisle and weep because he's just going to know that he's the luckiest guy in the universe. And if he doesn't cry right away, I'll kick him in the shins up there until he does because in spite of what Jimin and Jungkook think, we all know that I'm actually your best man."

You let out a watery giggle, the tears flowing freely now, and Taehyung reaches up to swipe a few off your cheeks, letting out a chuckle of his own.

"I want to believe you," you say quietly. "And hopefully one day I will. I just…I need more time."

"Whatever you need, you know I'm here for you," he murmurs, and you nod.

You fall back into silence for a few moments, Taehyung dutifully continuing to hold your hand while you lightly sniffle and wipe at your cheeks.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to go back to the party like this—I think you ruined my make-up," you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"Maybe, but you're the prettiest raccoon I've ever seen."

You laugh in earnest now, your shoulders shaking with it, and Taehyung smiles at you before suddenly rising to his feet.

"Wait here," he says, and then he's jogging back up towards the venue.

The silence envelops you again as you continue to mull over Taehyung's vision. Your battered heart is hesitant to dream, all of your imaginings coming in with fuzzy edges and blurry details that you just can't seem to place. But you're sure Taehyung was definitely right about one thing—you can't imagine a situation where you get married without him standing by your side.

It's a handful of minutes later when the man himself finally reappears with a hand behind his back and a mischievous smile on his face. When you raise your eyebrows at him in question, he comes to a halt in front of you and presents a full fifth of your favorite whiskey.

"What do you say we get out of here?"

The dim hotel lights cast a soft glow about the room as you and Taehyung pass the bottle back and forth, the mood significantly more casual than the extravagant party you just ditched. The decor may be fancy—Hoseok and Sunny certainly didn’t skimp when it came to location—but the two of you are perfectly rumpled, stretched out on the expensive sheets: you having removed your make-up and changed into your pajamas and Taehyung propped up against the headboard with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his jacket and tie tossed over the couch.

You’ve started up a game of Truth or Drink, a somewhat milder version of Truth or Dare, where you get to take turns asking each other questions, and the respondent has the chance to either answer the question or take a mouthful of whiskey. Normally, between you and Taehyung, such a game would be low stakes, with your shared years and few secrets between you making it hard to ask challenging questions. But something about tonight and the need for a distraction seems to have made both of you competitive, going for questions that you know the other wouldn’t want to answer.

“What was the last thing you cried about?”

“One thing you don’t like about me?”

“Favorite position?”

“Did you really lose your virginity in a tree house?”

“What’s your greatest fear?”

"If you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?"

"Oh God, one of those cupcakes from Sweet Night Bakery," you groan. It was a place you had passed every day on the way to school, the wafting scents of cookies and cakes playing pied piper to your youthful noses. You had always dreamed of one day being able to afford the expensive pastries but had fled your hometown before having the adult money to do so.

"Seriously? Anything in the world and you want a cupcake?" Taehyung laughs, pink tongue poking out from behind his teeth.

"It's not just anything, it's one of my life's dreams," you counter, playfully shaking a fist at him for emphasis, but Taehyung seems unconvinced. "Fine then, if you have such a good answer. Same question."

He tilts his head at you, a mild haze in his eyes that tells you that while he's not drunk-drunk, he's definitely tipsy. A beat passes and he takes a drink.

"Ooh, mysterious," you slur. "But I win."

"Alright, alright." He grins at you. "I concede to your sugary dreams."

You mirror his smile, observe the way his fingers curl in his lap as you try to think of your next question. He’s always had nice hands—so delicate and careful with everything he touches. It’s odd, you think, how such gentleness could emerge from a home and upbringing that was anything but. How someone as bright as Taehyung could come from such darkness.

“Do you want kids one day?”

The question takes him by surprise when you ask it, and he physically startles, turning the bottle in his hands slowly. “I don’t know. Why?” He looks at you then, and you feel like you can see a riddle being worked out in his head. “Where did that question come from?”

“I don’t know,” you echo. “You spent so much time earlier imagining a future for me. I realized that we’ve never really talked about what you want for yourself outside of your career.”

Growing up, you’d discussed your dreams for the future, of course. But while you have always skewed towards the romantic, envisioning rings and weddings and vows, Taehyung’s always been much more practical and career-oriented—his plans always involved degrees and promotions and retirement funds.

A beat passes as he continues to fidget with the whiskey bottle before he again says, “I’m really not sure.”

“Well think about it now,” you challenge. “Or drink up.”

He chuckles to himself, some private joke in his head. “It would terrify me, I think. But I’d love them with everything I’ve got. Want to give them everything I didn’t have and be better than my parents were.”

You hum in agreement; you’ve had the same thoughts on occasion. Some who grew up in your situation may have been turned off the idea of children—and the idea does scare you in certain respects—but you’ve always been stubborn. “It’d be a chance to prove that it doesn’t have to be that hard. That you didn’t deserve what you went through.”

Fingers graze against yours in a subtle show of kinship. As always, you understand each other. “Exactly.”

And he may be struggling to imagine it, but you can see it so clearly: a small boy with big, brown eyes and a boxy smile riding on Taehyung’s shoulders. The two of them playing in the sand at the beach house or walking down the street together—the boy’s tiny hand tucked safely in his father’s.

The image chokes you up, fills you with so much warmth you think you might burst.

“You’d be an amazing father, Tae.”

There’s not a single doubt in your mind about it—that this incredible, thoughtful, selfless man would also be a wonderful dad. He doesn’t look so sure, but a flicker of recognition passes through him.

“You’ve said that to me once before,” he murmurs.

“I did?”

A nod. “One time when you were drunk junior year.”

You don’t remember it, the memory lost to the alcohol. “I guess drunk me has flashes of brilliance.”

“Maybe we’ll see someday.”

“I hope we will.”

Suddenly nervous, he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing in the long column of his neck. “But it’d have to be with the right person.”

“Has there ever been anyone who you thought was close?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You’re asking a disproportionate amount of questions.”

Reaching over, you pull the bottle from his hands, drink down a mouthful of burning liquor, and set it right back in his lap. “Answer.”

Wide eyes appraise you through the dim light; he looks almost impressed. “No.”

“No, there’s never been someone you could see a future with, or no, you won’t answer?”

“The first one,” he says. “I’ve never been with someone I could imagine having kids with.”

You frown, the blunt despondence in his tone cutting. “Not even Luna?”

A look is thrown your way—pursed lips and creased brow telling you that’s a stupid question.

“What happened with her?”

He scoffs, lips immediately wrapping around the bottle as he takes a gulp.

“So something did happen.”

“We broke up,” he states. “That’s what happened.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never said why.”

He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. As if you’ve just asked him what he wants for dinner and not why the longest relationship of his life ended. “We weren’t compatible.”

You can’t help but sigh, a small part of you hurt that he still refuses to talk about it, that he’s closed this part of himself off to you. “You don’t trust me?”

“Y/N, no.” He shakes his head, looking genuinely remorseful to have given you that impression. “That’s not it. It’s just…impossibly complicated—“

“Was it me?” You’re suddenly reminded of a conversation with Maya from weeks ago, when she’d suggested that you were the reason all of Taehyung’s relationships had failed.

His lips part, tongue pushing into his cheek like he’s trying to hold words back.

“It was, wasn’t it?” you push, and his teeth dig into his tongue now, chewing. “You can tell me. I can handle i—“

“You were part of it, yes.”

In spite of what you’ve just said, the words land like a blow. You’ve spent years watching him go through breakup after breakup, and now you find out that you were a source of that anguish all along—helped fuel that heartbreak in his life.

It pains you to think you’ve been holding him back.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” you whisper.

“Because there was nothing to tell. It didn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Tae. If I’m getting in the way of your relationships…I want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy.”

That silences you, the sincerity in his voice leaving you blinking at him, and he continues.

“She didn’t like how close we are—most of them haven’t. But it doesn’t matter because at the end of the day, I’ll always choose you. And that’s the end of it. Nothing left to tell.”

You feel like you should protest this, insist on him putting himself and his future first.

But given similar circumstances, wouldn’t you do the same for him?

“Did Jace ever give you shit about us?” he asks, reading your mind.

He had, ranting about Taehyung that night in some fucked up attempt to explain away why you’d found him in bed with another woman. Before then, you hadn’t noticed the signs: hadn’t picked up on his reluctance to spend time with your friends, hadn’t read into the way he stuck close to your side on the rare occasions he did, a possessive arm always tight around your waist.

It all made sense afterwards, and you hate that the vulnerability and anguish of the moment made you question your own actions. You never would’ve shut Taehyung out—never in a million years—but it initially made you think that maybe if you’d been more attentive towards Jace, had been more sensitive to his feelings, that maybe you wouldn’t have wound up in the situation you did.

You recognize now that he didn’t deserve it in the end, obviously, but heartbreak is a funny thing.

Not wanting to have to admit to any of that out loud, you whisk the bottle from Taehyung’s hands again and drink. He watches the movement of your throat with heavy, knowing eyes, immediately taking the whiskey back for his own sip once you’ve finished.

“I must admit,” he says, the alcohol clearly loosening his tongue as he sags against the headboard. “I’m a little relieved about things ending for you and Jace. Aside from him being a certified douchebag, I mean.”

You frown, not sure where he’s going with this, and the look on your face must come across as offense because he’s quick to clarify.

“Not that I liked seeing you hurt.” He shakes his head, and you can see some anger at the situation still lingering under the surface. “No, never. But I just…now I get to keep you longer at least.”

“Keep me?”

“Yeah, this…” He wags a finger between you. “You know this has to end one day, right?”

The whiskey should be warming, but your veins fill with ice at his words. Losing Jace was one thing. Losing Taehyung would be a different matter entirely.

“You’re always going to have me,” you say, reaching for his pinky.

But he pulls his hand away.

“Not like this.” He smiles with what you assume to be intended comfort, but his entire demeanor is tainted with sadness. “One day, when you have the dream guy and the family and the white picket fence, there won’t be room for me. Not like this.”

It feels like earlier—him trying to paint you a picture of a possible future for you—but unlike earlier, you can’t picture this future. You don’t want it. Not if he’s not there.

“Tae—“

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He gives another sad smile, takes another drink. “No husband is going to want a third wheel hanging around. I understand. I want you to be happy, too.”

But you wouldn’t be happy without him, and in many ways, you’ve always known that to be true. But that knowledge hits you now with such force, such raw truth, that it renders you speechless and leaves you staring at him, drunken eyes laser-focused as if discovering the very center of the universe.

You want to challenge him on his statement, make him see that he’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But the alcohol muddles your thoughts, has your brain dropping half-formed sentences through your mind like Scrabble pieces that you can’t quite wrangle into a coherent thought.

Taehyung takes your silence for agreement and, seeming to suddenly realize that some kind of line has just been crossed, takes the quiet opportunity to flip the conversation back to your game.

“The shoes you gave me for my seventeenth birthday,” he begins, the words tipping out slow and oddly calculated for someone who’s had as much to drink as he has. “Where did the money come from?”

You know where he’s going with this. And it’s perhaps the only secret you’ve kept from him in the entirety of your friendship. “Christmas money, I told you.”

“No, really.”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“I never saw that house decorated for Christmas even once.”

“Could’ve been from an aunt or uncle.”

“But it wasn’t, was it?”

It wasn’t. You snuck the money out of your father’s desk one day knowing that he wouldn’t have even noticed it was missing. Absent-minded in everything aside from work, your father had misplaced things constantly. You drink. And even though it’s supposed to be an avoidance of the question, it gives him his answer.

“I knew it.”

“They weren’t going to miss it, and you needed it more.”

“You could’ve gotten in so much trouble.”

“I knew I wouldn’t. I didn’t. And it was worth the risk regardless.”

Looking back, you wish you’d had more of a fear of getting caught—wish your parents would’ve scolded you, screamed at you, anything. It would’ve been better than the indifference you’d been met with day in and day out. As if you were invisible.

Taehyung’s head swings from side-to-side. “You shouldn’t have. I would’ve been okay.”

“And you shouldn’t have punched Jace in that club, but you did anyway, didn’t you?”

“That’s different.”

“It’s not. You’re not the only one who gets to put your ass on the line for the people you care about. You were worth the risk.”

He blinks, regarding you as if you’ve presented him with some outlandish concept. Like you’ve asked him to explain rocket science or open-heart surgery. “Then you should’ve told me then.”

“You would’ve given them back.”

“Maybe, but then at least we would’ve been in it together instead of you lying to me.”

“And you’ve never lied to me?”

He hesitates, tongue tracing his bottom lip. “No.”

“Okay, then. Truth or drink: what’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?”

You know there must be one, can read it in the way his shoulder is suddenly pressed against yours as he tilts into you. Fingertips skim the bare skin of your knee, tentative in their movements, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath as the distance between you closes to mere centimeters, his gaze roaming your face and snagging on your mouth.

And you feel it—the pull that you’ve always felt towards him, the gravitational force that’s kept you in the same orbit since you were children. Two souls that intertwined the moment they sensed the other’s presence with a flash of awareness and said, You, you, you.

Thinking back on the entirety of your life, you don’t know how you possibly could have made it through without him: your best friend, your partner, your sanctuary. In such a volatile world—a turbulent youth marred by uncertainty and sorrow—he took your hand and held you steady, made sure you didn’t go through it alone.

In hindsight, you can’t truly regret it. Yes, there will always be a part of you that will resent your parents, wish that they would have loved you enough to spare you the hurt and stress they put you through. But just like the night when he brought you back to your apartment—held you close as you fell asleep in his embrace—your memories with him far outweigh the trauma you endured. When you think of your time spent growing up, he is by far the brightest star, outshining any darkness that may have lingered at the corners. It’s not the empty house or your parents’ stony faces that you think of first, but him: blanket forts and starry nights and walks in the park and blurry photographs and sometimes tears, sure, but only with him there to hold you.

Looking at this man in front of you, in every familiar line of his face and body, you know, without a crumb of doubt, that you’d do it all again. Screw Jace and Luna and your parents and anyone else who’s expressed disdain at your closeness with him. He’s written into every line of your history, every memory that’s worth something. And he may fight you on it, but he’s worth every risk you’ve ever taken—you would’ve stolen a thousand pairs of shoes for him. You’d move mountains and drain the oceans if he needed you to. You’d do anything.

You couldn’t live without him. You don’t want to live without him.

A moment of clarity, a wave of revelation as you lock eyes and are met with your favorite color. And at long last, you find the words.

I love you.

Your heart throws itself off a cliff…

And you lean in to press your lips to his.

a/n: happy holidays to all who celebrate 😊

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

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rinbowaman · 6 days

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Hi Reina!!! <33 what would be Heethan reaction if they were to a mariage and when the it's time to throw the bouquet, reader caught the bouquet? (as you may know that if we catch the bouquet we are supposed to get married) I love you so much you're my favorite writer <33

🦝 anon

oooohohoho this is juicy! I’m gonna answer in great detail!

First off, he’d make sure you both attend a friends wedding with you dressed to the nines, despite you not being the bride. You’re the most beautiful girl in his eyes and even though he has you all to himself, he likes to show you off. ;)

He’d watch over you like a hawk the entire time. If anyone dares to approach and ask you to dance, they’re going to meet an unpleasant end after this wedding.

his eyes are going to watch you with an expression of desire and yearning. You look too good, and he’s going to stand off to the side leaned up against a wall in his tux, head tilted and smirking. he won’t ever be more than 3-5 feet away from you.

you stand among a group of friends, not really intending on participating in the traditional event. You stood off the side and watched all the other girls reaching up and yelling out to the bride, desperate to get their hands on that bouquet.

the bride turns around, her back facing the eager crowd and she closes her eyes and swings her hands over her head. Her lack of coordination and aim caused the bouquet to lapse over to the side and fly directly in your direction. you gently catch the bouquet with wide eyes and a surprise expression. 😲

The girls all pout and frown as they see you holding the large bouquet. It’s heavier than how it looks. You look up at the crowd with your lips stuttering, trying to find the words to calm them.

suddenly, you feel yourself being thrashed away. Pulled at the waist, you’ gasp out your breath and become shook by being taken away from the audience.

Dragged away, everyone stood with wide eyes, just as shocked as you when you slowly disappear. You only see his backside as he continues to pull you through the rows of parked cars, until he gets to his own.

his movements and level of force nearly had you convinced that he was angry. But for what? It wasn’t as if you intentionally tried to catch the bouquet.

he throws you into the seat, before getting in and starting the car. His eyes are stern, he displays no smile and doesn’t say a thing. To make matters even more frightening, he steered the wheel with one hand while he maintained a strong hold on your neck, slightly having you leaned in, facing him, over the center console. “Babe? Heeseung? Please….why won’t you talk to me?”

he keeps his eyes on the road. His silence wasn’t the only thing that was constant, he didn’t bother to look at you the entire drive, only staring dead at the road. Your body halfway twisted as he kept you in close proximity over the center, your rear bed barely touching the seat, you start to feel sore and uncomfortable. Why won’t he say anything? Was he angry that you caught the bouquet without his permission?

the drive finally ends and he quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out, dragging you along with him. You’re in an unfamiliar setting and grow more fearful as he takes you inside a building.

A desk at the front is before you. There stands a lone woman who greets the both of you as you entered. “Hello, what can I help you with?”

“you have a a magistrate available?” His tone is deep and stern, just like his eyes.

“Why yes sir, are you seeking our walk in services?”

He quickly answers, ensuring that you stand behind either his hand gripped around your wrist. He fills out some documents, while the woman comes back to the lobby with the magistrate. “Hello there! What a lovely couple. My assistant has told me you are looking to seal your vows and need your marriage officiated, and that you’re in a hurry?”

Heeseung nods without looking at the minister, who willfully agrees to officiate your ‘wedding’ through a high level of kindness and understanding. “I’ll be happy to do that for you both. Do you have anyone to stand and bear witness to the ceremony?” Heeseung nods once more and just then, the door opens. Six young men enter, one of which was Jake.

“H-Heeseung….” You stutter as he drags you behind him, following the minister. “Heeseung!” You whisper desperately after experiencing his ignorant behavior once more.

He stands you across from him. The pastel beige colored dress served as your bridal gown as he joined his hands with yours, and the minister begins his introduction. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” Heeseung’s hands tighten around yours, and you stand confused and scared. Is he seriously going to make you marry him right now? In this way? What about his agreeing in letting you finish college? Why? All because you bc sight a bouquet?

The minister asks Heeseung to repeat the vows. When it came to your turn, he strategically tugs on your palms, causing you to hiccup an “I do.” Never allowing the minister to suspect the use of force that was present. “I hereby announce you as husband, and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

The six young men all cheer and chant Heeseung’s name as he pulls you by the neck into a passionate kiss. Just as quickly as he brought you in, he took you right back out upon finalizing the rightful procedures and signing the marriage license. All of his friends continue their chant as they trailed behind and followed closely behind you both.

He pulls you back inside the car, holds you by the neck for the final time and pulls you into a kiss. Pausing, he whispers against your pout with a grin…

“Catching bouquets, are we?” He slaps another kiss on your lips. “I thought you wanted to wait until you finished college. Guess you couldn’t wait.”

You tried to object and set the record straight but he wouldn’t let you. He grips your mouth into a full make out. “You know what comes next after marriage baby?”

You shake your head. “Heeseung no…”

“Oh yes.”

His eyes couldn’t hide it. You knew better that this man, while carrying the potential of being a great father, merely only wanted to put his deed inside you to trap you for all eternity, ensuring that you could never leave even if you had wanted to. The thought of marrying him and having his baby was a dream that you wanted to experience the traditional way and I due time, but not like this. “Heeseung no…not like this.”

“It’s so damn cute that you—“ kissing you once again, he pauses as he tucks your hair behind an ear. “think you have a choice.”

Your eyes sting with the tears coming through. “You wouldn’t want to break the traditions of marriage, would you? After all…”

He leans closer. “You’re the one that caught the bouquet. And I’m a man that doesn’t like tie waste time, especially with my pretty wife.” Grabbing on to your thigh, he pulls you into the backseat and crawls onto of you. Grinning darkly, he looks down at you with a taunting smile that took pity on your helpless appearance. “Now, lay there and watch me fuck a baby inside you. I’ll make you into a mommy, make you quit school, and be my perfect stay at home wife and mother to our children. I’ll take care of everything else. You will stay safe and forever be near me. I’m going to watch my baby grow inside you. You’re going to be my perfect soulmate.”

He goes on and on. You see the insanity of his obsession and love for you, and it scares you to death. “I want you to always remember this y/n…you did this to me. You have this effect and made me crave you. This is all your fault and I’m going to remind you every single day.”

Your breath hitches. “Heeseung…it’s not my fault that I was born the way that I am. I never asked for this…for you to choose me. Please take it easy.”

He smirks again. “Oh pretty…maybe you shouldn’t have been born then? Maybe in the next life, you should remember that. But if you still come into the world, don’t worry, I’ll come find you and make you mine again.”

#heeseung x reader #heeseung scenarios #enha x reader #heeseung smut #heeseung hard hours #heeseung fanfic #heeseung hard thoughts #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enha heeseung #yandere heeseung imagines #heeseung yandere

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imyourbratzdoll · 1 year

Text

𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆

week 4 - day 16 - kinktober - monsterfucking, public sex and sex pollen - were-bear ari levinson x fairy reader

warning - monsterfucking, public sex and sex pollen

kinktober masterlist

18+ only please, the gifs and headers aren’t mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The tiny fairy flutters over to where she hears grunts and groans. Knowing about other creatures in the woods, she is mindful and careful of what she may come across. Once she comes into view of an open field with flowers no creature should ever go near, she notices a man. He’s at least seven feet in height, his chest is covered in hair, and the sight of his face is scrunched up. His beard was unkempt, and his long hair blew in the breeze.

The fairy is unsure, trying to call out to the man. But his grunts and groans were too loud for him to hear. She looked down at the flowers, brows furrowed, knowing that no creature was to go into this field but not wanting this poor man to continue to suffer. She huffs before flying over to where he stands. As she gets close, she gasps. His giant veiny hand is wrapped around his monstrous cock, an angry tip and throbbing veins, and his head snaps up at the sound. Golden eyes connect with the small figure, and growls leave his canine mouth before his clawed hand reaches up and grabs her.

Y/n struggles, her tiny hands trying to push herself out of the beast's hand. Ari brings her close to him, smelling her as the hand around his cock has now grabbed a flower, tearing it from the ground and crushing it between his grasp. Bringing it close as the powder from the petals entered Y/n’s senses, causing her eyes to darken with lust and slick to gather between her thighs. Whines of desperation leave her as she tries to hump one of his fingers, needing to be filled by the beast.

Ari lays her body against his palm, his giant finger coming close to where her tiny white dress lifts and exposing the fairy’s forbidden fruit. His finger is practically the size of the fairy’s body. Ari’s golden eyes zone in on her bare cunt, sniffing the air and smelling the sweet nectar that gathers within her glistening folds before he begins to rub her, his finger managing to touch every part of her. Tiny whimpers exit Y/n as the beast continues to stroke her before a sharp gasp leaves her lips when Ari begins to push his finger into the small hole.

He growls as he’s met with resistance, “tiny fairy needs to relax. Ari only wants to help.” He can feel her slowly fall deep into her subconscious as her body relaxes and she welcomes him to her. Y/n’s magic flows through her, opening her up and allowing big things to enter her tiny form. Ari lets out a growl as his finger slips in easy, and his cock throbs as the fairy arches her back. His finger hits all of the right places inside her as he curls and thrusts them. “Good fairy, make bear happy.” Her cunt flutters around his finger before he adds another, creating more pleasure inside her.

Ari stretches Y/n out. Moans and giggles fill the air as she is high on the sex pollen in these flowers. You can’t blame the beast for his sexual desires, as he was out in the field and exposed. Ari continues to thrust and curl his fingers before taking them out and placing them in his mouth. His eyes widen before he lets out a pleasured growl, bringing the woman up and sitting her on top of his face, his tongue lapping up all of her sweet nectar. The smooth but wet muscle slithers inside her small hole. He groans as her tiny hand's grips whatever hair she can reach as his tongue fucks her.

Ari laps up all the juices that flow out of her as she cums, before bringing her down to his throbbing member. “Nearly done, little fairy.” He prods her hole with the thick tip of his cock, before slowly pushing in. His cock stretches her body as it appears in her stomach. Ari throws his head back and groans, never experiencing something so tight. “Fairy so small, fairy mine now.” He growls out before gripping her tiny body and fucking her onto his cock, feeling her small walls squeeze the life out of his monstrous cock. “Little fairy squeezing bear so good, never want to stop feeling this.” Ari picks up his pace, fucking her harder and faster against him. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head as her tongue hangs out of her mouth.

The fairies were told about the other creatures, but none had ever experienced the feel of a werebear before. One of the reasons was the sheer size difference between the species, but Y/n knows she will never be able to return to anything so small after experiencing Ari.

Her mind has gone entirely dumb. The sensation of being fucked out was probably the best thing that anyone has had the pleasure of experiencing. Her tiny hands try to grip Ari’s large ones, feeling his member split her apart as he continues to pound her against him. She feels as though he’s entered her mind. Fucking her from the inside out, her limbs hang loosely, body tingling when she feels her end approaching, feeling it in her toes, through her spine and at the tip of her head.

Y/n lets out a small scream, her throat sore from all the pleasing sounds she’s been letting out. Her fairy cunt gripping Ari’s member as she reaches pure bliss, spasming around the throbbing base. Her juices squirt out and cover her tiny body and the base of Ari’s cock, causing him to fuck it back into her as he chases his release.

Ari can feel his cock swell, his knot beginning to grow and lock inside the tiny fairy. No longer able to thrust anymore, he lets go of the built-up release and streams of cum fill Y/n up, stream after stream goes through her body and comes out of any hole it can. She tastes the saltiness of his cum as it flows out of her mouth. Her eyes begin to close as Ari starts to soften, and they wait for his knot to die down. The effects of the sex pollen begin to wear off. He slowly slips out of her and carries the sleeping fairy to his den, cradling her sore body carefully.

Once they’ve reached his home, her eyes begin to flutter open, and she looks around, confused, before Ari’s form comes into view. “It’s okay, little fairy. Bear not going to hurt you. How are you feeling? I’m so sorry. Do you want some water or food?” Her soft giggles fill the room as the giant man worries. His head tilts to the side as he looks at her, confused.

“I’m okay. Thank you for taking care of me. Are you okay?” His bright blue eyes stare at her as he crouches down, giving her a small smile whilst nodding. Ari’s hand comes closer and uses his fingers to stroke her hair, careful not to hurt her with his massive size. His other hand places it on his chest and points to himself.

“Ari, bear.” Before he points to you, “you, little fairy. Mine.” Ari beams as you nod your head, nuzzling against his giant hand.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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vasito-de-leche · 1 month

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A short (or not) ramble of scenarios and questions for reverse: 1999 self aware. (sorry if this bothers you, I just don’t have enough confidence to post it on my own blog (plus I love your content))

- Okay so first of all, in the main page of the game, when you click on the upper left corner with your level and username, you go to a screen with Vertin looking fly as ever along with some user information.

So if Vertin can see the game’s ui, then she can see the year in which the player has joined the game (2023-2024). I haven’t dived deep into Vertin’s character so I can’t portray her reaction to much, but I feel like she would tell this info to someone close like Sonetto.

Also our motto: I put “When in a rush, say ‘runs in high heels cutely.’”. I’d be so embarrassed if anyone (even fictional sentient characters) saw that. Like im dead.

On that topic, when you mentioned in your Sonetto self aware post that she can sometimes see us, and honestly, I’d be even more embarrassed. Cause like, if any of the characters from games I played, were sentient and could see me, id pray they didn’t see my bad angle. Like imagine looking up to the sky to see, just for a second, the chin of a head as the hands go to scratch their nose. Like the first impressions I would make.

- P2p players. Imagine the player spending money on the game (at the risk of Vertin possibly seeing their credit card number) to help level up or get costumes for their fave characters.

(Some misc. questions)

-what would happen if player didn’t log in the game for a while (a week to a month as best) cause I would ditch some games to spend more time on others

- What does Vertin think of the mail messages that the player gets? Like the latest mail I got was the discord event invitation. Upon closer inspection and critical thinking, it would hint that there would be more players other than us because it says the winners get 60 clear drops (oh and money too)

- If I remember correctly, I think you mentioned about Vertin hearing the player sometimes. So imagine her hearing us trash talk certain character *cough* Constantine *cough*.

(Anyways, I love your content ❤️ especially your fmn headcanons, can’t wait to see more posts!!)

;R1999 - Self-Aware AU (2)

Answering some questions and discussing the Self-Aware AU. A follow up of this post.

not a bother at all, you bring up really good questions and details that are fun to explore! I'm glad you like my stuff, have a nice day o7!

On the subject of Vertin seeing the player's profile.

With the way I intended to portray Vertin within the AU, I don't think she would be affected by the date on the Player's profile!

This is the date you came into contact with her from your perspective, whatever time and space that flows within your world, not hers─the world behind the fourth barrier that she cannot see nor hear nor even fathom, let alone try to make sense of. In a way, it's like expecting ants to care about concepts we made up, such as time. They understand night and day, they do not understand 3PM nor 8AM.

Is it truly proof that time can go beyond 1999, when this is something that only she can see? When it doesn't affect a single thing within her universe by being part of a game menu meant for your eyes only? There's also the fact that she finds out the proper time of the world in the 1.4 update, in Chapter 05.

Her dynamic with the Player is something I like to keep vague, so that everyone can fill in the blanks, but ultimately it is something so complex and private for Vertin─who sees it as a one-sided relationship, since she cannot hear nor see you, unlike other arcanists who may reach the 100% bond─that I don't think she would talk about it with anyone, not even Sonetto! The name on your profile and whatever message you've written there are secrets she will take to her grave. The idea of Vertin being the eyes and hands of the Player, but having no way to truly see or hear them makes for a really fun concept to explore!

And on the subject of messages, let's be honest, if you've written something funny or some modern shitpost, chances are she won't understand it LMFAO so it's okay! I literally just have my socials and "men enjoyer" listed there.

Oh! But since you brought it up, the message section could be a fun, little way to communicate with Vertin, since she can read what's on there!

As for P2P players, Vertin wouldn't see any information from the Player's credit card since that's something that happens outside the app lolol. Like, to me, it directly opens to google play transaction stuff.

On the subject of the player dropping the game for long periods of time.

Hmm, in the first post I said that there might be characters ouside Vertin and her suitcase who may be self-aware, with their own goals and such. But nothing truly "matters" unless the Player is there to witness it. So to keep including these possibilities and details, I feel like there's two options, pick whichever you like the most!

One, time continues as usual within the game─but once it reaches an important date where the plot is meant to kick in with some important event, it simply resets back to where you left it. This is a world that exists outside of your perception, but cannot continue without you.

Two, time freezes entirely within the game─but only for those who are not self-aware. Keep in mind we're talking about long periods of time, this wouldn't happen if you log in every day, or every few days. This is what happens when your phone picks up the fact that Reverse: 1999 is one of the unused apps taking up space in your phone. This is a world that stops existing once you stop looking at it.

In both options, the Wilderness would remain unaffected as it seems to be entirely disconnected from the flow of time and space outside of it.

On the subject of the game's mail.

Since the messages auto-delete and all, I can't check but I'm pretty sure Vertin receives mail too? There were a few ones from a few characters a while back like Druvis III or An-an Lee, and I think the implication is that they were vaguely addressing Vertin?

If someone has screenshots and can confirm this, please let me know!

Either way, the easy answer is that yeah, she knows this is a game, so she could make the assumption that there's more players. She has access to your friend list, after all! And even if you don't have anyone added, the fact that it exists is enough for her to start connecting the dots.

I don't remember saying that Vertin can hear the Player, though! I think I was pretty consistent with her not being able to see nor hear you, to have the Player as some sort of eldritch, unknowable entity. But I also write so much stuff in this blog that it's hard to keep up sometimes lolol, if I've mentioned somewhere that Vertin can hear the player, it was a mistake!

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #self aware au #vertin

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split-spectrum · 4 months

Text

Water and Rock

Chapter 12

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: (please read updated tags for this chapter <3) explicit content, i.e. SMUT, 18+ only - minors DNI. sex, oral sex, cum play, dubious consent, drug use, hair pulling, very slight violence

Chapter Length: 8K

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

Thirty-Second Hour

When you sink back into the vision, you let out a slow, albeit shaky breath, to steady yourself. The instant that you can see again, it's clear the effort was wasted.

He's brought you right back to the spot you'd left - the sudden, choked noise in the back of his throat letting you know he's close- so close. Everything in his body language is telling you he's seconds from spilling into you.

But no matter how much the drugs may have altered his mind, Obi Wan is still Obi Wan, and he is nothing if not brutally controlled.

He's dragging it out, you realize. The obscene sound of him fucking you has slowed into a steadier rhythm and you hear the first half of a desperate moan escape you before it's cut off. You watch your own hand fly up to cover your mouth. Your jaw looks tight from this angle.

Obi Wan doesn't slow down, doesn't miss a beat of rocking his hips, releasing his hand from your throat and deftly sweeping up to uncover your mouth. He pulls your hand away, dragging it down and pressing his grip over yours until you're holding your own throat.

"No, no," he admonishes next to your ear. "If it feels good, young one, you mustn't be quiet about it."

You hear the whining groan that answers him. You nearly mirror it, in the here-and-now.

It's beyond you, how he's able to keep his voice so composed while the rest of him is nearly snapping, at the obvious precipice of his orgasm. Every muscle is taut, glistening with sweat as he pumps diligently into your body. Your thighs clench around him, a sign that you're close, too, and he notices.

The hand he'd been using to hold your hip slides between your legs and though you can't see it, you feel the movement in his thoughts when two of his fingers drag the wetness from where you're dripping around his cock, spreading it over your clit. Your desperate noises turn strangled.

"There we are," he soothes. "Be a good girl and show your master. Let me feel-"

The vision blurs, the Obi Wan in the room with you breathing unsteadily. You feel him shake his head, dropping the tips of his fingers away from you. "Forgive me, I-"

But you're aching now, and you don't hold back your impulse, lifting your hand to his head, brushing your middle finger gently up from the hair at his ear over to his temple, and resting it there. "Oh, don't stop. Please."

His aura is so thick with desire that when you open your eyes to look into his, you're not sure if the air around you has turned hazy. He relents almost immediately.

"Let me feel you come," the Obi Wan in the vision purrs, the sound of his voice filling your mind again. The honeyed rumble of his command burns through your bloodstream and coils up hot in your stomach. You're about to come in the vision. You might come now, just from watching.

Your body shudders on top of him, doing as he's told you, tumbling over the edge hard and fast, and crumbling against him with a mess of moaning and finally a high, keening sound that could be his name. He turns it into a choked whine, tightening his grip around your larynx and fucking into you even harder when your climax starts to taper off.

Your voice goes quiet, and when your movements begin to slow, he pulls his hand from between your legs and folds you onto your side. His other hand finally releases your throat as you roll, and his leg hooks behind your knee, opening you up for him to reach even deeper.

"That's it," he pants roughly, your body spasming beneath him and your voice pitching upward again. His mouth is pressed into the nape of your neck, where the marks from his teeth are starting to turn dark.

One of his thumbs hooks down to brush your nipple, his lips meet your neck in a kiss that you remember feeling, and all at once, you recognize what you're seeing. This is the scene he'd shown you, back on the ship, during your meditation.

But he hadn't shown you all of it.

You can see the dazed, glassy look in your own eyes as he bears down on you, his thrusts turning ragged, grinding you into the floor.

"Obi Wan," your plea comes out guttural, wrecked, and the sound of it it makes your head swim. You realize it's his reaction you're feeling, and suddenly it's like you're floating out of your own body. It's overwhelming and at the same time, not enough. It's you; it's him. You can't tell whose feelings you're having anymore, or whether they're a part of the vision, or something happening right now, in the room you're sharing. You don't know where the line is. You don't know if there is a line.

"Fuck-" he says, hard and clipped. He leans into his forearm, pinning you down, and you bite the inside of your lip to keep from becoming a whimpering mess while watching the man you'd always known as tender, who'd never accepted anything not freely offered, bury himself into you. Watching him take and take and take exactly what he wants, losing himself in cruelty; in pleasure...

This time, when Obi Wan brings the vision to an end, it's a slow stop. Like breaking the surface of the water and coming up for air. It's not as definitive and sudden as before. You can still feel it while you're gazing into his eyes. His lips are bright, pink, and slightly parted. He closes them into a hard line, to swallow.

You're so wrapped in the vision and in wanting to feel more of him that your consciousness keeps pressing up against his, at first. To the point where Obi Wan not only cuts off the contact between you, but actually begins to push back. The walls of his mind are rigid once again, and his presence is firmly closed off.

It takes an eternity for you to gather yourself. You're too afraid to speak. Your hand is still at his temple, resting against the warmth of his face, and you stay there. You're not ready to break your connection with his skin.

"Obi Wan..." His name leaves your mouth before you're ready to talk, and the rest of your mind catches up clumsily as you realize your tone is too breathy and far too intimate. His eyelids dip deliciously, and it nearly sends you over the edge. But you swallow, vehemently tamping down your desires, and force yourself to even out your voice.

"Thank you," you tell him simply. "For showing me. Now I know."

You shift in the bedding, bringing your noses just a bit closer.

"Now you know," he says back. There's a long, loaded silence hanging over you. He's trying to remain unreadable, as he always does, but you'd caught that first look he'd given when the vision ended, and it was enough to tell you why he's still lying next to you instead of moving away.

The wind howls outside, and it's the first time in hours that you've thought about the rest of the world existing.

"Was it... as you thought it would be?"

His question catches you completely by surprise, and you have no idea how to answer.

The silence that envelops you is perilous. The kind of silence that threatens to make you into a fool. The kind of fool that would lean in and close your lips over his. And you can't allow that to happen.

Because even as you're coming down from the high of watching him take you in ways you'd never even let yourself imagine, you know - you know that if you were to press your lips against his, he would stop you. He would do it gently, but the disappointment and shame would tear you apart.

So, you allow yourself to bask in the feeling of this moment for just a little longer before you pull away. You feel numb when you speak, forcing yourself to operate on auto pilot.

"I don't think there's a good answer to that question," you murmur, almost lowering your voice to a whisper.

His eyes betray nothing, but he smiles softly, and you see the tightness in it.

"Right," he says. "Of course not."

A thousand words go unsaid. You want to tell him that it was nothing like you'd imagined because you can't allow yourself those kinds of thoughts for even a moment - even a second - or they'd seep into you so deeply you'd never be able to think of anything else.

"I'm... going to get some sleep," you tell him instead, flatly, breaking your gaze apart from his at last.

You roll over, putting some distance between your bodies. You close your eyes. But you can't find sleep.

Thirty-Sixth Hour

"Fuck-" he says, hard and clipped. He leans into his forearm, pinning you down...

You've seen this before.

Obi Wan cums, and it fills you, and he fucks you through it. He keeps fucking you until the air has left your lungs, and until the room is silent, and until his muscles drop him to the floor, cock still wrapped inside you. He looks down, watching himself drip down the backs of your thighs. He moves slightly, watching himself ease out of you and then disappear inside you again. He's dripping. And still hard.

"You-" your voice beside him sounds far away, delirious, blissed-out. Like any words are an afterthought. You can hear yourself panting, and after a long time, you try speaking again. "You... finished inside me."

Obi Wan's gaze flicks up to your face, looking at your closed eyes, your face pressed sideways against the floor. He's still moving in long, unhurried strokes, and after a while, he brings his eyes back to where he's slow-fucking you.

Your body is still so pliant, so willing, beneath him. The noises you make are warm and soft, inviting him to stay exactly where he is. "I wasn't aware," he drawls, "we were in the midst of making careful decisions."

The filthy sound of him entering you again and again ends when he bends down and presses his hands around your waist, pulling himself out of you with a soft groan.

"Turn over," he tells you, settling back, pants still around his legs.

You sit up slowly and your hand wraps around his cock, keeping your connection as you start to turn around. He stands up, looking down at you, and you come up to your knees, bobbing your head forward to spread your lips eagerly around him. The warmth makes him stop still, easing the lower half of his body into your welcome embrace.

His knees unstiffen for a brief moment while you swallow his cum, cleaning him dutifully with eyes locked on his. It only lasts a moment before he's snaking a hand behind your head. It's not clear at first whether he's pulling you closer or stopping you, but when his fingers tighten in your hair, the message is clear.

He jerks your head up, your mouth still full of him.

"Did I say, 'get on your knees'?" His hand follows your head as you shake it gently back and forth, gagging on him. "No, I didn't. I told you to turn over."

He releases your hair and drags his hand down to your chin, pressing into your jawbone. "You don't listen."

He pulls you off, your face pinched between his thumb and his knuckle, shoving you backward and sinking down between your legs all in one fluid motion. He crowds you, aligning his hips with yours, your body half-pressed against the floor and the wall of the ship. You dimly wonder how he could still be hard, but decide to simply attribute it to the drugs, not particularly caring about the cause so much as the effect.

Slowly pressing inside you again, he rubs his thumb tenderly over the spot he'd squeezed on your jaw. "What was all that training for, hm?"

He pulls back, dropping his other hand to the juncture of your hip, and shoves his cock into you so hard it draws out a yelp, even as his hand gently cups your face. "So disobedient."

Obi Wan ends the vision like slamming a book shut. This time, when your eyes open to meet his, they're stormy, dilated. Dark.

You aren't prepared to mask your feelings when you're suddenly awakened and blinking back into consciousness. You just gaze back at him, not hiding your hunger. Not keeping your energy hidden, but letting it bleed out so that he can feel what he's done to you. The fire is all but gone, dying embers lighting the corners of the room. The air is sharp and icy.

"I'm sorry. That was not-" He breaks off, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't-" you tell him, moving closer to his warmth. You try to calm your breathing, and into the cold silence you whisper, nerves raw, "Fuck." The obscenity escapes you before you can think to catch it.

He stares. Then he seems to gather himself and clears his throat. "In my sleep I... failed to guard my thoughts." You're silent, still reeling, and he lowers his voice. "Now you remember as much as I do. Or... nearly."

You're taking careful breaths, drinking in the way his mouth curves when he speaks. "Nearly?"

The muscles in his jaw tighten. "I would... prefer it if only I remember the rest."

Despite his somber tone, you can't help your body's reaction. You want to pull him to you. You want to beg him to take you further into this darkness. You're flushed with heat when you think about the things he did. Imagining him taking it further is driving you to the point of madness.

"I understand," you tell him instead, finding your voice weak.

"I regret it," he says, more of a statement of fact than an apology. "Hurting you."

"And," you surprise yourself, speaking without thinking, "the rest?"

He doesn't say anything for several long heartbeats.

"I wish none of it had happened," he says at last, with stark directness. Then his gaze softens. "But, if I could have chosen, it would not have been... like that."

Your heart thuds wildly. Your voice is barely audible. "No?"

His eyelashes dip once, then twice, as he seems to hold back his answer. He looks stunningly beautiful, pinning you under a deadly serious expression. "No."

It's a long time before you can bring yourself to say anything back.

"I should go."

The spell over him suddenly seems to break, and he tilts a brow, watching you reach for the robe lying on the floor behind you. "Go? Where?"

It's late. Or it's early. But you've rested enough to call this morning, and though there's only darkness outside, you push your blankets to your waist and sit up. If you stay here even a few more seconds, you will try to have him. Looking at him like this - hair a mess, eyes wild - you stand absolutely no chance.

You wrap the robe around yourself, stepping carefully out of the makeshift bed you'd been half-sharing, and you back away slowly. "I think I should meditate," you tell him. "I think I should be... alone."

You can tell he's trying to read your expression in the dim light of the fire, and you turn away, after giving him a curt bow of your head to take your leave. It's so overly formal that your stomach turns in embarrassment. You don't know how else to behave.

It's cold and dark inside your sleeping quarters, and as you turn the knob to close the door, you heave a sigh of relief. You won't be able to stay in here for long without any heat, but cold and dark is exactly what you need. You sit on your freezing sheets, pulling your legs up and crossing them with a shiver.

But you know now that it doesn't matter how cold it is. He's burning through you, and it won't stop.

Thirty-Seventh Hour

When you emerge from your room, you find that Obi Wan hasn't gone back to sleep, either. He's lit another candle in the kitchen, and his hands are busy in the sink, washing one of the cups you'd used earlier. When he sees you walking up beside him, he finishes rinsing and sets it to the side. Then he turns to you, wiping his hands on a towel. His face holds some concern, but it's reserved.

"You don't need to do that," you tell him, nodding to the cup.

"I thought it best to take advantage of the running water while we still can."

Sensible as always.

He holds the towel, just looking at you, not making any move to come closer. He looks unbelievably handsome like this - wearing his bed clothes, a simple brown undershirt and pants, with his sleeves rolled up to keep from getting wet.

"Are you alright?" He floats the question quietly to you.

You nod, crossing the short distance between you and sitting down at the table to look up at him. "I'm sorry for leaving."

"I understand. You needed time."

You nod again, not elaborating on his comment. "Can I ask you something?" you venture.

"Of course."

"Back on the ship, when we were... meditating," you begin haltingly. "You showed me such a... small part. Why didn't you tell me you remembered so much more?"

His features are contemplative for just a moment before the corner of his mouth turns up. "You didn't ask."

Your throat feels sticky as you try to push out your next words. "I wanted to tell you... Not that it matters now, but..." you sigh, then try again. "I'm on a contraceptive. I don't know if you worried about-"

"Yes, I know."

That catches you by surprise, and you stare at him for an explanation.

"You told me, later," he elaborates quietly. In your long silence, he adds, more seriously, "I would have spoken to you about it. All of it. I wanted to, for some time."

The pain his words cause you is unintentional, but you nearly wince anyway. While you'd been ignoring him, focused on dealing with your own feelings, you hadn't shown any concern for his. He'd wanted to be open and honest about everything. But you'd kept him alone, instead.

You open your mouth to say something - to apologize, or try to make it right. But he goes on, closing the subject. "But perhaps it was for the best. After all, what could it have changed?" He places the towel on the counter, looking down, then smiles back up at you. "Sometimes talking only complicates a simple matter."

You have no response. Just an aching feeling. Your chance to make this right is long gone, and anything you say would seem empty. Finally, dumbly, you glance over at the wood stove in the other room. "I should make us something to eat."

His smile softens, tapering off. A thousand thoughts seem to be playing behind his eyes, but he only answers what you've said. "Breakfast would be very nice. Thank you."

You stand up and busy yourself with the kettle, picking up the towel from the counter to dry it, and he begins washing another dish. You don't stop him this time.

"Would you mind if I borrow these?" He holds up a small pair of scissors, their golden shine twinkling in the dim light, pulling your attention from the simmering water you'd been checking.

You glance up from the fire, replacing the lid on the kettle. Then you look down at the table where he'd presumably found the scissors, sitting next to a plant. "Hm? Oh. Sure. What for?"

He brushes a hand over the edge of his beard. "I've been in need of a trim."

You turn to face him, quirking an eyebrow. "I use those to cut my plants. They might be dirty."

He gives you a smile. "Oh believe me, I've made due with worse." He turns toward the refresher. "Thank you. I'll give them a rinse."

You stand up from where you'd been crouching next to the fire, deciding to leave the water a little longer to come to a full boil, and go back to preparing the jogan fruit.

As you finish cutting up the last of the fruit, you reach for a plate, and when your fingertips graze its edge, a cool, creeping sensation suddenly trickles down your spine. You stop, staring at the ceramic pattern in front of you. Stretching your mind into the Force, you try to capture the fleeting feeling, but it leaves as quickly as it came.

You stand there another moment, almost wondering whether you should ask Obi Wan if he'd felt it, too. But really, you aren't even sure it was anything in the Force you'd felt. You glance around one more time, and sensing nothing more, you place the fruit down on the plate and head back into the main room.

Picking up the packet of polystarch portion bread and shaking it in one hand, you use your other hand to lift the lid on the kettle and check for a proper boil. Seeing the bubbles break on the surface, you reach down, using a cloth to move the kettle from the stove.

...Bright red feathers. Scrabbling claws digging into the crevices of a rocky cliff face at a dizzying speed. A leap, and a blinding light...

Your hand slips, the kettle jolts forward-

...the teal of protective outer scales turn into the tan of a soft underbelly. The tan and brown of a Jedi's clothing isn't far behind. Hands grasp to reach leather reigns, a futile gesture as the creature and the Jedi are now falling, falling... His blue saber's light is extinguished and you can feel his pain and confusion as the explosion of rubble surrounds him, following him down into the endless abyss...

You bark out in pain and jerk your hand away, the boiling water splashing over your skin as the kettle crashes to the ground. Sucking air through your teeth, you instinctively grasp around your wrist and look down at your burned hand.

Before you can get a good look at it, you hear the door of the refresher swing open and Obi Wan call your name with concern.

You turn to face him, wincing. "Sorry, it was nothing, I-"

When you catch sight of him, you stop talking. The connection between your mind and your mouth has fizzled out. He crosses the room, trading looks between you and the overturned kettle, clearly trying to decipher what had happened, while you stand speechless, pain in your hand momentarily forgotten. He's bare-chested, presumably to keep his shirt clean while trimming his beard, and he's nothing but angled brows and perfect lines of hard muscle as he approaches you cautiously.

You take a breath, embarrassed, and try again. "It's nothing, I just got distracted and I dropped the kettle."

His eyes slide to your hand, where you're still holding your own wrist. "Are you alright?"

You pull your hand up, inspecting it properly for the first time. It's a little red, just on the back of your thumb down to the start of your wrist, where the water had splashed.

You shake your head dismissively. "I'm fine. I'll run it under cold water."

He gently reaches a hand out. "May I see it?"

Your heart is still racing from your... dream? Vision? Whatever it had been. But it doesn't slow down at all when he takes your hand in his, holding you still. He looks back up at you. "You should put something on this."

You make no effort to pull your hand back. "It's just a little burn."

"Burns can be deceiving," he tells you, then turns around, heading back to the refresher. A moment later, he emerges with some bacta gel and a gauze wrap. He's also carrying his shirt, but he doesn't put it on quite yet.

His hand finds the small of your back and gently guides you into the kitchen, toward the sink. "Don't be difficult."

You try to ignore the way your mind turns immediately back to the same commanding tone he'd used in the earlier vision.

He turns the faucet on for you to run your hand under cold water while he twists off the cap. The cool relief does wonders for your hand, but it does nothing for the heat in your face as he stands in front of you like this, on display.

His body has always been lithe, almost wiry, but it seems the war has made him a little bulkier. His shoulders are rounded, his ribs lined with lean muscle. You're doing your best to keep your eyes trained on the water pouring out of the sink, but when he turns around briefly to find a place on the counter to set down the cap, you drink him in from behind, trailing your gaze from the lines of his trim waist up to his shoulder blade, where the stark contrast of dark ink paints his skin.

The symbol there has lived at the edge of your consciousness ever since you first saw it, back on Keoth. Watching his muscles move underneath the tattoo is making you weak in the knees, and your chest rises with a weighty breath when he turns back to face you.

"Come now, it can't be that bad," he says with a half-smile. The way his eyes glitter in the candlelight sends a shiver through you, and you shake your head again, trying to remain in control of your thoughts, despite the way they're continually running away from you.

"It isn't. Not that bad," you murmur. He puts his hand out for yours again, and you turn off the water and offer yourself over to him. He holds you carefully, tenderly turning your arm to the side and patting it dry with a dish towel.

He pauses, holding your hand in his, drawing his eyes up to meet yours. For a moment neither of you speaks, and you both seem acutely aware of how close you're standing, how little clothing separates you, and how tenderly he's touching you.

He lowers his gaze. "This will sting."

Normally, you'd make a sarcastic comment at that. You're both intimately familiar with using bacta to treat wounds. But he's filling the silence, and you know it, and since neither of you is going to comment on why this silence is so pervasive, you bite your tongue.

He swipes the gel onto his fingers, then gently dabs it across your skin. You try to concentrate on anything besides the feeling of his touch. Your eyes drift to his shoulder again, though you can't see the tattoo from this angle. He catches the glance and you lower your eyes quickly.

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and you wonder if you've offended him by staring. But when he pulls back his hand to get more bacta gel, you find him looking more pensive than anything. He's using one hand to slick a finger over the top of the gel tube, and he's still holding your wrist with the other. "I've never told you what it means - that symbol of mine. Would you like to know?"

You flick your eyes up from his hand. You nod, half-opening your mouth to say "yes," but never quite getting the word out.

"It's an ancient dialect of Mando'a," he tells you, "When I was very young, Qui Gon and I spent some time on Mandalore. We were still finding our balance as master and padawan, and having some... difficulties."

He slides the cool gel across your skin again in a second layer, two fingers gliding flat over your wrist. "While we were staying with a small band of Mandalorians, I had decided to partake in their clan's tradition and get a tattoo. The design I'd chosen was the symbol of the Republic, as I felt there was nothing by which I could better define myself."

His finger traces along your thumb. "But when I told my master, he was not as enthusiastic as I had expected." He looks down, carefully using his own thumb to swipe away the excess gel from around your burn. "He told me to think carefully about the way I chose to define myself, and the ideals to which I committed. Of course, lacking any understanding of nuance at the time, I believed that he was disapproving what I'd chosen, and it led to a heated discussion."

He looks wistful for a moment, then melts into a smile with a shake of his head, and starts to unwind the gauze. "I said that I would never regret branding myself with the symbol of that which I held most dear. "

He finishes wrapping your wrist and uses the scissors to cut the gauze, tucking away the end, then draws his gaze up to meet yours. "And he, in turn, told me that the Force created living beings for a reason. That reason is simply to live. To experience all that the universe has to offer. Some experiences are worth a stain. Worth a scar." Obi Wan gently removes his hand from yours. "'We all carry scars in the end, but it's up to us to decide which ones are worth having.'"

You shift your arm back down to your side. "But, you got the tattoo anyway?"

He gives another smile. "Oh, yes. The next day, I returned to him with something I was very proud of. I'd gotten tattooed with their symbol for 'regret'."

You look at him in utter confusion and he goes on to explain. "You see, I thought I'd taken my master's words to heart. After our disagreement, I wanted to show him I understood. I now had a permanent reminder that any decisions I made about how to define myself would stay with me forever."

You raise your brows. "...and Qui Gon? What did he say to that?"

Obi Wan picks up his shirt from the countertop, then starts to pull it over his arms. Your eyes dart to his exposed stomach, then quickly dart away. "I believe it was the most disappointment he'd ever shown in me." He finishes pulling it over his head and down his stomach. "Which annoyed me to no end, of course. And we never spoke of it again."

You watch the candlelight play across his features, his thoughts seeming far away. Brushing your hand over your bandaged wrist, you lean your hip into the countertop and look down at the floor.

His voice is very soft when he speaks again. "It wasn't until much later that I realized how I'd missed his point entirely."

You look back up at him. "It's still a beautiful symbol."

He meets your eyes. "Yes, it is. And the lesson becomes clearer each day."

He holds your gaze a little longer, then picks up the bacta and the scissors, and leaves to put them away. You stare at the overturned kettle on the ground, and your thoughts linger on his words while you pick it up, and refill it, and while you finish preparing the food. You want to ask him what he'd meant, but you know.

The way he'd looked at you - you know.

Through breakfast, you talk about the war.

Thirty-Eighth Hour

You exhale, the Force rolling through you, and release your tension from your shoulders down to your fingertips. Your eyes are closed, the hum of your saber the only noise in the room.

After breakfast you'd tried reading again in an attempt to distract yourself from the unbearable tension plucking at your mind, but had found yourself unable to sit still. After having pushed most of the furniture in the main room up against the walls, you're now standing in your makeshift dojo, practicing lightsaber techniques.

You run repeatedly through your opening stance, then begin to move through more advanced forms, muscles glad for their use. As you bring your saber upright, you shift your body around it slowly and deliberately. It's a type of meditation you've practiced so much that it's second nature.

Sliding one foot backward, you glide into the next pose and you hear the door to the next room open, Obi Wan leaving the refresher, presumably finished with the trim that he'd started earlier. You can feel him watching you, saying nothing until he crosses the room.

"If that's meant to be 'circle of shelters', your left arm is a bit low."

Your eyelids open smoothly. "It's 'singing fortress'."

"Ah, well in that case, you would want to tighten your stance. Your knees should be aligned with your shoulders."

You drop your blade slightly, reforming your body around it and easing back into the same position, with an emphatically tighter stance.

"Better. Now, your chin-" You look at him, and the rest of his sentence hangs in the air, then dissipates as he gives a slightly rueful smile. "I'm sorry. Old habits die hard, I'm afraid. I'll leave you to it."

Many years ago, when you hadn't known each other in the same way, you might have tensed under his scrutiny. But not now. For the first time since he'd arrived, his comments had made things between you feel almost... normal. He's always shown his affection, even what could be called compassion, through criticism.

"Would you like to join me?" you ask suddenly, opening your stance back up, "Whatever guidance you have to offer, I'll gladly take."

It's meant as an olive branch to his intrusion. It is, just for a moment, like you're back in the temple, during one of the many times he'd found you running through exercises and stepped in. It's only courteous for you to invite him. It's courtesy that should keep him from accepting, now. But, surprisingly, it doesn't.

He looks around. "There isn't much room."

You take that as your answer, tightly whipping your saber behind your shoulder with a bit of flourish. You face him. "Never been a problem before."

The tightness in his face sifts away, his eyes brightening. "True."

You had practiced in many a smaller space than this, although those spaces were designed for training in tight quarters and not surrounded by your personal belongings. Still, your blood is thrumming unexpectedly at the prospect of a spar after two days cramped inside, and you don't much mind if your walls get singed.

Obi Wan reaches to his belt. Having changed out of his bed clothes, he has his lightsaber clipped back at the waist of his tunic. Unless asleep, even in this setting, he's still battle-ready.

He illuminates his saber, then eases into a simple opening pose, arms raised, both hands on his hilt. "Perhaps this will do us both some good."

For a moment, you're silent, feeling one another's signatures.

You strike first.

The burst of light and sound that erupts across the room is cathartic. Green and blue, groaning through the air, then exploding against the darkness. It makes your fingers tingle; your muscles tighten.

You press in, then let him push you back, testing strengths, listening in the force for the hum of his aura. He winds his wrist casually around in a circle, grinning. "I see your hand has healed nicely."

Buzzing, you begin to circle him. "You'll go easy on me since I'm injured, won't you?"

He mirrors you, winding around the room in slow half-steps. "Have I done so in the past?"

You lunge, a quick swipe, and he crouches, hardly dodging. You'd anticipated the movement, using his shifted center to let you roll your blade in a semi-circle and drive back toward him. He meets it with a graceful side swipe, redirecting your attack to the ceiling. Whipping around, you stab at him and you feel a puff of air leave him as he cracks his blade against yours, pushing you back without so much ease as the first time.

When you step back, his lightsaber comes crashing over you in ruthless, repetitive swipes. He knocks you back into yourself until your shoulders are tight and beginning to ache from the effort of rebuffing him. Relenting at last, he leaves you to catch your breath. His careful, slow steps around you are no longer playful.

"Your speed has improved," he tells you. "I can feel you sensing my attempts as the thoughts form. Very good." As he finishes the word 'good', his blade crosses yours suddenly and he presses in until his face and the two blades are inches from your face. "You should be careful, though, when my thoughts are guarded."

He'd closed himself off and attacked so quickly, you'd barely had enough time to counter, let alone anticipate. Your eyes narrow. "You never tried that trick when I was a padawan."

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh. "There are many things I've learned since you were my padawan."

Shoving him back, you roll your shoulder and widen your stance. "I see. So this is new."

With a twinkle in his eye, he lets his shoulders drop into a deceptively relaxed pose. "You know me. I'm full of surprises."

You whirl on him again, and for a long time neither of you says another word, blades and muscles speaking for you. You're well-trained in defensive positions, so you make as many attempts as you can to bait him into attacking, but your few successes are hardly worth the effort. It's clear he's driving the fight from every angle. By the end, though, you're both panting.

"You've practiced well, young one," he admits, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he straightens his back, ready for another round.

You catch your breath, swallowing. "Not much else I could do with my time."

He slashes, you block. He slashes again. "That's not entirely true, though, is it?"

You take a step back, letting his next swipe pass, then raise a brow. "What do you mean?"

"You chose to come here. You speak as though the choice was someone else's."

You have to struggle to repel his next strike, caught off-guard by the remark. "I know. I know it was my choice."

"If you were bored by the assignment, you could have returned to duty."

"Yes," you say, your voice growing softer, but your returning thrusts becoming more ambitious, more intense. "I could have."

"Then why not come back?" He bats your attempts away with equal fervor. "After a year? Why not come back to Coruscant?"

Your wide eyes meet his. "What?"

He draws back from you, his arms spread, his saber to the side. Still on guard, but not locked into your aggression. "You heard the question."

You take one, then two breaths. Then you lunge at him wildly, pinning him against the wall. "You know the answer."

"Then tell me."

You're panicking, and you know he can feel it. You sink your blade downward in a futile attempt to rend his hilt away from him, but he blocks it easily.

You force your expression to remain steady as you step away, pulling your shoulders back, hard. "The same reason you came here to tell me we can't work together."

His face drops, and he echoes your earlier heart-wrenched, "What?"

You shake your head slightly, confused at his reaction. When he stares at you, you raise your saber in defense, staring back. "Is that not the answer you expected?"

His saber is low at his side. "I... had thought it was fear that kept you here. I wanted to help you admit it. Face it."

"It was fear." You stand still for a moment, then remember your lightsaber and swing it. "What did you think I meant?"

He parries. Then he stabs at your side, forcing you to step left, where he pulls back his blade to meet your throat. "You told me you'd stayed because you could no longer trust in the Force."

He's won the round, in more ways than one. You've let too much slip.

You raise your arms and concede the point to him. He backs off, but his gaze is still pinned on you, waiting for your answer. You admit as much as you can without admitting anything at all. "When you said we shouldn't work together - you were right."

"Meaning?" He presses, and somehow you can still feel his blade at your throat.

A long, slow, painful silence. You tighten your palm around your hilt until it hurts. "I think I've made my feelings clear." Anxiety ripples from you, the Force crashing around your aura erratically. You flick your wrist, swinging your saber down and behind your back, where you trade hands. Your left arm brings a surprise attack down on Obi Wan, who catches it at the last second. It isn't a particularly impressive move, but you know he wasn't expecting it from you, which made it useful in the moment. "Something I can't ask from you."

It isn't fair for you to turn things on him like this, but your goal isn't to be fair. It's too late to turn back. You can only redirect. He raises a brow, then spins to deflect your left-handed strikes backhanded. "And what does that mean?"

The words are pouring out of you now, thoughts half-formed as you jab and dodge, pulse pounding. "It means you can't expect me to talk about my feelings when you showed up at my door to tell me we'd never see each other again with hardly a goodbye."

He meets you blow for blow with ease, but the look on his face is disoriented. "I never said that."

You match his shocked expression. "You told me this was the last time we'd ever work together."

"The last time that I thought we should work together, yes, but certainly not the last time we should see one another."

It's as if you can actually hear the sound of your final shred of sanity being torn apart. Though your mind is racing in a thousand directions, you try to calm yourself enough to speak as your sabers meet. You hold still, and so does he. "And why did you say it?"

For the first time in your spar, his eyes are pleading for mercy. He says nothing.

You grit your teeth, holding your blade against his, unable to pull away from the path you're set on. You need to know. "You told me not to pretend anymore. Please, Obi Wan. The truth."

"You already know the truth. Must I say the words?" He bends your arms back, putting more weight against you.

You step back, put off-balance, and the back of your knee brushes against the chaise lounge. There's no room left for you to back away.

"Yes," you tell him, forcing yourself to keep looking into his eyes, and not to look away.

He crushes his blade against yours, then relents, finally allowing you to push him back. He doesn't turn off his lightsaber yet, and neither do you. He stretches out his other hand toward you in the darkness. "For all of the reasons we work so well together." He lowers his hand, his body tense; frustrated. "Because you are... resilient, and remarkably clever. And passionate. Obstinate at times, and unpredictable. And because you are beautiful. Because I look at you, and I wonder what could be. Those are dangerous thoughts in the best of times. In battle, they're an unacceptable risk."

"Obi Wan..." you murmur, unable to come up with any other word but his name in reply.

"But that is my burden to bear. And though I won't allow it to interfere with a mission, I cannot let it be the end of our friendship."

There's absolutely nothing you can say back. You're stunned speechless, but beyond that - to say anything truthful back to him would rip you apart.

Instead, you step toward him, leveling your blade in front of your chest. "You've been holding back."

The earnestness in his face drains away at your response. He drags his gaze down from your eyes to your lightsaber. His tone is guarded again. "Of course I have. Haven't we both?"

It's obvious he isn't talking about the sparring.

"Fight me." It's the only thing you can ask for that's real. "It's going to be the last time."

The silence bears down on you, and the room is so much darker, now. You let your emotions show on your face, and you let him feel you in the Force. But you can't bring yourself to say the words. When you meet his eyes, you know he can feel you burning.

His shoulders come down, and his body takes a new shape. He seems almost more relaxed than before. It occurs to you, then, how much effort he was putting into keeping himself from dominating you. Then, all at once, he shows you why he's one of the most celebrated duelists of your generation.

His speed is frightening when he lunges at you. It takes all your strength to keep from toppling over. Two of his brutal strikes rattle your arms bone-deep as you struggle to keep your lightsaber upright. You suck in a sudden gasp of air, letting him force you backward. You try to return a blow, but he catches you swiftly, knocking your saber wide and stabbing at you, making you hop back again.

It's over before you can even fully register what's happened. He knocks you back with two more thrashes of his saber, and you lose your balance when your knees hit the furniture. You fall back onto the chaise in a seated position, legs splayed apart. You're panting and arching your back to get away from him, but he digs a knee into the cushion between your legs and reaches out with a hand to deactivate your lightsaber and pull it to him. He uses his other hand to bring his blade just below your chin. Yet again, he's caught you out.

You tip your face up toward him, heart racing as much from his close proximity as it is from the duel you've lost. His chest rises and falls in front of you. He doesn't look triumphant. His eyes are penetrating. He's waiting for you to speak.

You catch your breath. His hand is tightening around his hilt threateningly, but there isn't anywhere in the universe you feel safer than with his blade at your neck. You take your time, staring deeply into his eyes, and you finally find your words.

"I said you were right that we shouldn't see each other, and I meant it. The boundaries between us are broken. Nothing can set that right. I don't want to set it right. But I can accept that. I can move on. I just can't do it with you."

The light beneath your chin goes out. He holds your two hilts in each hand and simply looks at you.

"I understand," he says then, quietly, and leans into you, setting down your two lightsabers on either side of your thighs.

You inhale his scent, struggling to keep your eyes from closing. "Stars, Obi Wan..."

He knows he's too close. You both know it. He should have stepped back, and his knee shouldn't still be surrounded by the warmth of your body. You're half-lying down, one arm still spread over the top of the chaise, too afraid to shift a muscle. Too afraid for the moment to end.

Instead of standing up, he stays close, eyes locked onto yours, and says softly, "What is it?"

The finality of it all truly sinks in, and you shake your head slightly, just drinking in every detail of him. There's no point anymore to lie. You'll never see him again. "Even now. I want to kiss you, so badly."

You watch the conflict on his face melt away, into something else. He whispers his reply against your mouth. "Then kiss me."

You blink. You close the gap between you, pressing your lips against his and opening up, giving yourself over to him.

You don't care that he shouldn't have said it. You don't care that he might stop you. You want his mouth against yours. The feeling is as sweet as you'd imagined for over a year, while making every desperate effort to drive it from your mind.

He tastes just as you remember, and as he lets you slip your tongue into his mouth, your body shudders with a mixture of desire and relief that leaves you dizzy.

Please... Please... you silently beg him not to stop you. To let you feel as much of him as you can, and keep the memory of the softness of his lips, the feeling of his jaw working beneath your palm, and the gentleness of the sigh he lets escape when he opens for more of your tongue to slide in.

He doesn't stop you. He tilts his head to the side, leaning in for more. When he presses his chest to yours, you finally regain enough of your sense to break your mouth away from his. Every part of you is screaming, but you claw back to sanity just for a moment, to breathe a weak, confused, "Why...?" against the corner of his mouth.

He catches your lips in a searing kiss once more before answering, driving every last thought of stopping from your mind.

"If this is truly the end..." he murmurs, then pulls back to look at you properly, and his eyes sparkle like sapphires in the dying light of the fire. "Let us be miserable for good reason."

A/N: Sorry for the missed promise of an update last week! Holidays really get crazy fast. Thank you, as per usual, for tolerating my schedule. Planning shorter chapters upcoming, in hopes of quicker updates. :) For anyone who has tagged me in recent posts, I appreciate it and I'll respond as soon as I can!

Tag List: @cosmicsierra @projectdreamwalker @guacam011y @thriving-n-jiving @reverieisaway @cursedfaechild @honeymoon7770 @hedvighedvig @cool-ontherun-world @ladytano420 @eddythewitch @immajustvibehere @iwanturkiwi @thegreatwicked

Masterlist // Next Chapter >>

#obi wan x reader #star wars #obi wan kenobi #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #obi wan #fanfiction

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yandereunsolved · 2 months

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Clip A Hummingbird's Wings - ,, yandere James's s/o tries to escape

cw(s): yandere themes, semi-graphic gore, suggestive themes

☾ He hadn't killed you yet, but he will. You two had such a good thing going. He stalked you through the hotel and fell madly in love with you. You stayed unaware and gave him perfect views into your body and soul. You just had to go and do this. You just had to go and try to escape. Now he's dragging your body into a torture chamber and strapping you onto a metal table.

☾ He is still madly in love with you. He's getting drunk off of those terrified faces you're making and how your features contort into unending petrification. He may even be a little excited that such a delicate bird like you tried to fly from their cage. It gives him a chance to try some more of his extreme methods to make you submissive to his words and will.

☾ You won't be in peace for many weeks to come. The times you are visited by James are filled with 'reprogramming' as he has coined it. This is a mix of torture and praise. He keeps you on high alert constantly. You don't know whether he is going to choose to take you on the table once again or ruthlessly dig his favorite knives into your skin, so you know how he felt when you tried to leave him.

☾ Naturally, he first broke your legs. It is for the 'reprogramming'. You need to be dependent on him. You need to be nothing without him. Don't worry. He won't allow them to heal incorrectly. He won't allow them to heal at all. He threatens you with cutting them off and then killing you. It would be so romantic. You wouldn't be able to act like the Countess. You'd have to depend on him to carry you everywhere. ♡

☾ He starves you of food and his attention. He makes you eat from his hands. He makes you eat from the utensil he is holding. Oh no, sweetheart. You have not earned the right to eat at the table with him again. You will be eating on the metal table. Perhaps if he is feeling generous he will unstrap you and allow you to sit up. If you spit at him or refuse, you'll only make it infinity worse for yourself. No more food for you. The Countess is now delivering your food. As much as she detests James, she hates it more that he's found someone he truly loves. So she manages to be even worse than he is.

☾ He breaks your mind by allowing the addiction demon to be your constant companion. He soaks in your tortured screams as his hand fiddles with his belt. As much as he'd love to indulge in his carnal needs... he'd rather just use the lovely companion he has in the torture chamber. It'll give you a reprieve from the demon. He gets to hear you beg for him and his body. It's like falling in love with you all over again.

☾ He injects you with many different drugs. He paints you with many scars from his most beloved tools. It felt like years before your pain finally ceased. In reality, it could have been just days. James came in to the torture chamber and whispered 'I love you, darling' into your ear. He cut your neck wide open so you would have a matching neck wound. As the life leaves your eyes he presses kisses all over your face. He gropes your body and moans. 'We will be forever together. There is no escape now.'

☾ You awake in his bed with a new pair of sleepware on. You look so pretty and cute. You touch your neck and the slit is there. James can't get enough of it. You tried to escape and now he has you forever.

☾ James taxedermied your dead body. He thinks it's the greatest thing he could do for you. He keeps it next to the 10 Commandment jars. Your body even gets its own glass case. No disgusting chute for you. His love deserves so much more.

☾ He doesn't allow you out of his sight. If you stray too far from his side he summons the addiction demon to terrorize you until you come back. He makes sure that you are so utterly pathetic and lost without his constant attention and care.

☾ He's still very paranoid that you will find someway to escape. He makes sure every guest that enters the hotel doesn't have any affinity for the dark arts. He makes sure no holy people come in either. The last thing he needs is your soul being saved. He needs you here for all eternity with him. If you try and beg for help with other guests he only drags you back. He pulls you into his embrace and gently tsks you. He treats you almost like a bratty, disobedient child. He secretly loves when you're bratty. He loves an excuse to punish you.

☾ You are under his control at all times. Yet, you also have such a control on him. The mere absence of your presence causes him to go on a murderous frenzy. In the lack of your absence he seeks out the Countess for some hate-filled companionship. He has canceled his monthly dinners with the Countess. Something new arises. A sort of punishment from your previous escape that has now made James addicted. You are all in the dining room but the Countess has to watch as he toys with you, makes out with you, plays with the pretty little throat slit he gave you. He doesn't allow her to say anything to you. He just makes her watch. He makes her watch so that he is able to get revenge. As I said, this was originally about 'reprogramming you'... now it is just a greater payback, and an erotic payback at that.

☾ You are able to use that small amount of control over him to get anything you'd like. Your freedom? No. Space or privacy? No. The greatest luxuries and lavish goods one could wish for? Yes. Behave and he'll offer the world to your hands. You may even be able to talk with a guest or two— if he's allowed to stay by your side in his invisible ghost mode— and he gets to brutally slaughter them after.

☾ It'll take over a year for you to gain any semblance of his trust back. After that, you have a better chance of exploiting him and possibly escaping through exorcism or attachment to someone's presence. You will get more freedoms and responsibilities within the hotel. Does that mean he's gonna leave you alone? Not even a little. He may just leave for a few minutes to commit another massacre of guests.

☾ You may have lost your chance to ever escape at after 2026. The hotel is now a historical landmark. They will never tear it down. The place is ever so popular. People go just for the possibility of getting murdered. And oh? James is even more possessive of you as the hotel gains popularity. These swine have come to see his beautiful god(dess)!? They have come just to see if they are able to help you escape? 'Darling, you cannot leave anywhere without me. It's not safe. They want to take you from me. I will not allow it! There will be no arguments on this subject matter! Understood?'

☾ He does not allow any of the other ghosts around you. You are completely isolated except for him. If one or two of them try to pity you they are tortured and scared out of spending time with you.

☾ He contemplates binding your souls together. It's a risky ritual. It would require a talented witch or warlock. It is the process in which you and your soul mate conjoin your souls through time and space. Through every reincarnation you both will find each other. Even if you do not remember you will be tied together. It is a manipulation of fate considering you already had a soul bound to you. James was infuriated when he found that out. He is more likely to do it even more now. He can't have your soul escape, and you find whoever it is that your soul is bound to. You belong to him! Him only!

☾ He treats everyday with you like it is your last. He constantly showers you in praise and love. He allows makes you watch his killings. He is just so utterly obsessed with your presence. He makes it so you would never want to leave. Right? Darling? Dearest? Love of my life? God(dess) of everything in my life?

☾ If somehow all of this didn't manage to move your heart and you still wanted to escape, he would be devastated. He would resort to begging on his hands and knees and sobbing. It would be quite out of character for him. Can't you just see that's what you do to him?

☾ He will do anything and everything. He will make you his forever. He will go through with the soul binding ritual. He will kiss away all of your attempts at anger. He will soothe your need to lash out. He will practically be floating in the heavens. You are his, forever. You are his even after death. In the next lifetime he will have you. He will have you in the lifetime after that as well. It makes his dead body flush. His desire for you just continuously grows even though he has you for all life and eternity.

☾ You'll never truly escape his presence. You'll never truly leave this hotel. Even if it crumbles and the world caves in— he'll pass on with your lips locked together, his hand in yours.

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billyharringson · 4 months

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My contribution to the @harringrove-relay-race is some cute Christmasy fluff. Thank you @greyghoulclub for the introduction.

Christmas had never been all that special to Billy, even as a child. The only Christmas that he could remember with any fondness had been when he’s been eight and his parents had brought him his first surfboard, and even that was marred by the memory of Neil’s drunken rage later in the evening, the fact that he couldn’t use his present for two weeks after he got it and not because the weather was bad.

Then his mother left and any pretence at Christmas or being a ‘happy family’ disappeared. Christmas was just another day, another day where the people around him rejoiced and Billy just tried to survive. Even after Susan and Max arrived things didn’t really change, now Billy just had to watch as Max opened gifts. Any longing for presents of his own had died long ago and Max’s lingering, guilty glances did nothing but drive home that this holiday, just like everything else in his life, was not for him.

He wasn’t sure why Max seemed surprised, she’d been there for his birthday, she should already know that he wasn’t getting anything.

They moved to Hawkins and other than the weather Billy anticipated a Christmas like all the others, at least this time he had his car, he could escape before the fists started flying, before the thin veneer of the ‘perfect American family’ disappeared as it always did.

He just never factored Steve Harrington into his vision.

Billy had been smitten with the doe-eyed, floppy haired boy since day one, and had done everything in his power to dispel everyone else of the notion that he had a crush. Somehow, despite his posturing, his insults, and his generally prickly nature Steve had decided that Billy was his friend. And despite knowing that fraternising with people he genuinely liked only increased the chances of Neil finding out and turning his ire on the poor, undeserving teenager, Billy accepted his friendship.

He accepted the invitations to smoke at the quarry, to drink by the lake. The apparently constant and unspoken invitation to hang out at Steve’s place, that large empty house that just seemed to exist as the physical embodiment of Steve’s loneliness.

It was at Steve’s house where Billy’s view on Christmas changed.

They were lounging in Steve’s bedroom, still high from their last joint when Steve asked. “So, what are you doing for Christmas this year Billy?”

Billy shrugged from his spot on the floor, continuing to stare up at the popcorn ceiling. “Same as last year I guess, watch Max open her gifts and then hide in my room until Neil passes out.” Billy had been surprised initially when Steve had guessed, within one week of knowing him, just what Billy’s home life was like. But Billy quickly learnt that while Steve may not be smart in an academic sense the way that Billy was, he was very smart in an emotional one.

So, whilst Billy continued to hide behind the veneer of loud, bad boy in public, when he was with Steve, he was more honest, more himself.

“What are you doing?” He asked, anticipating an answer filled with opulence, of going to a second home in the mountains, skiing, all that stuff that rich people did.

“Same as normal as well, I guess. “Steve replied, his head turned towards the bedroom wall so that Billy had to strain to hear. “Watch whatever’s on TV and drink until I pass out.”

Billy frowned, propping himself up on his elbows. “What? You mean you’ll be here…alone?”

Billy knew that they both drank more than was good for them, that they drank for very similar reasons, just as he knew that Steve only drank to excess when he was left alone, when the echoes of his empty house got too loud.

“Yeah, mom and dad have already gone to Colorado, they’ve got a lodge there.” Steve finally looked at him, a faint blush on his cheeks that caused butterflies to explode in Billy’s stomach. “Do you…what if you came here for Christmas?” Steve asked shyly. “I can’t promise you a full Christmas dinner, but we can have a feast, the freezer is well stocked.”

“You serious?” Billy was sat up properly now, staring at his friend.

“Yeah, you think your dad would let you?”

“He wouldn’t even notice I was gone.” Billy replied, which was as good as a yes and Steve clearly understood that because his face lit up with a smile.

“In that case, you wanna come over Christmas eve then? We can put up the decorations and then we’ll have the whole of Christmas day together.”

Billy wasn’t sure what he expected when he turned up on Steve’s doorstep on Christmas eve, his overnight bag slung over his shoulder, but it wasn’t the sight of Steve opening the door in a full festive getup. He had a hideous red and green sweater on that appeared to have had a fight with a tinsel factory and lost, a floppy red Santa hat perched atop his precious hair, and honest to God sunglasses in the shape of Christmas trees covering his eyes.

“Billy.” Steve crowed, having to shout slightly over the Christmas music blaring through the house. “Merry Christmas.”

“It’s not Christmas yet, pretty boy.” Billy replied with a snort, shucking his jacket and accepting the glass of sherry that Steve handed to him. “You really do go all out when you’re expecting guests.” He continued, gesturing to Steve’s getup.

Steve laughed, removing the glasses and placing them on the table. “Nah, I just wanted to see your expression when I opened the door.” He replied, tossing the hat onto the sofa and combing his fingers through his hair. “I’m keeping the jumper on though.”

“Shame.” Billy hummed before he could stop himself, flushing to the roots of his hair when he realised what he’d said. “You said we were decorating.” He said in a desperate attempt to change the subject, gesturing to the bare Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room.

“And we are.” Steve replied chipperly. “The decorations are in the garage.”

Billy grumbled but helped Steve carry the three large boxes from the garage to the living room.

“We used to have a lot more, enough for the whole house but with my parents always away for Christmas it was too much effort so it’s just the living room stuff now.” Steve explained as he opened one of the boxes and pulled out a long garland. “That one has the tree decorations in it.” He gestured to the box that Billy had just put down with his chin. “Why don’t you focus on the tree, and I’ll do the other bits?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Billy said.

They decorated to the soothing sounds of Bing Crosby, the room seeming to grow warmer and cosier as more ornaments were set out. Billy felt both giddy and completely relaxed at the same time and wondered if this was what Christmas was supposed to feel like.

If it was, he wondered if he would be able to have it every year.

He placed the golden star on the top of the tree with a contented smile, stepping down off the stool that Steve had provided for him. “There, what do…Steve?” Billy turned towards the door where Steve was hanging what was unmistakably mistletoe, and Billy felt himself flushing again.

Why had Steve brought mistletoe if it was only going to be the two of them?

He felt a brief flicker of hope in his chest that he tried desperately to suffocate. This was probably just a tradition that Steve hadn’t thought much about, either that or he’d organised a surprise Christmas eve party or something.

“What are you doing?” He asked, that little flicker growing stronger when Steve blushed.

“Putting up mistletoe?” Steve replied quietly, bashfully.

“Why?” Billy pushed, swallowing loudly when Steve held out his hand towards him, like he wanted Billy to take it. Trying not to second guess this too much Billy slipped his hand into Steve’s, allowing him to tug him into the doorway, directly beneath the mistletoe.

“Why else would people put up mistletoe?” Billy followed Steve’s gaze upwards to the little green and white plant. “To have an excuse to kiss the boy I love.”

“Steve.” Billy breathed, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Billy.” Steve said quietly before leaning forward and pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to Billy’s lips.

If this was what Christmas was supposed to feel like, then Billy could finally see the appeal.

“Merry Christmas, Steve.” He whispered, returning Steve’s kiss with one of his own.

(I'll post this on AO3 at some point as well)

And introducing @racketti who is next up on the list :)

#billy hargrove #stranger things #fanfic #steve harrington #harringrove #relay race #harringrove relay race

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itsagrimm · 1 year

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He who Comes from under the Water

Chapter 3 - The Fish, the Fox and the Fairy Lights

CN mentions of cannibalism in a fairytale-esk way, implied mentions of femicide, arranged marriage, sexism and patriarchy, talking animals, slight dip into paranoia, isolation, missing dead family and human connection, mourning process and grieving, talk of sex, talk of ‘virginity’ and insecurity, eating habits that could be read as pica behaviour, generally food and weight play a bit of a role here but not in a judgy way.

Much tanks to @queenquazar for editing and pointing out that yes indeed we can go more monstrous and that this is in fact very sexy and romantic.

Masterlist

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

It became a silent ritual. You got up, dressed, and stepped into the garden after the knocks on your door. Every morning you collected a new pile of fish from König under the watchful eyes of the Heron. And with the fish, arrived a fresh stack of firewood and two buckets of water, ready for you at your doorstep.

Reliable and useful. It was a nice gesture…or a trap.

It made you uneasy.

Taciturn, you kept to yourself, mumbling a few polite words to the heron, and staying mostly around the house for the rest of the day. Now alone, you had plenty of things to do.

No one was there to share the work with you. No friends or neighbours to help with repairing the house or harvesting berries or sharing some of the household chores. Biting your lips, you laboured on alone, no longer crying yourself to sleep at night but falling asleep as soon as you closed your eyes.

The silence was the hardest. It broke you down more than any working day could. No words or gossip or laughter or songs filled the house anymore, grinding your need for seclusion down.

The only companion you had were your own creaks and groans as you struggled with heavy tools and an even heavier, lonely heart.

One day, you could not bear it anymore.

“Does König catch these fish, master heron?” You asked casually while walking through the grass, wet from morning dew, a big bowl already in your hands.

“Yes, he goes fishing. For you! The fox told me,” The heron replied and swayed on its spindly legs like branches of the willows in the wind, “The dirty furball insists on guarding you at night. Of course, he only does it for the fish he gets from the King if you ask me. He thinks it's clever and subtle.”

“And you? What do you get?” you asked as you kneeled to pick up the fish. Crucian carp and walleye this time.

The heron master cackled, the sound loud and teasing in the morning air.

“Maiden,” it said, “I may be a bird flying high above the King’s deep kingdom, but I fish on his waters – his kingdom is right below the surface I stare at for hours. Serving your husband and earning his good will is better than a fish or two from him. Besides,” It cackled again, “you will make a fine, kind queen. You share your food with me every day!”

You smiled politely, “Governed by the stomach are we then, master heron?”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Indeed. A chalice then, again?” you asked simply as you grabbed some wood for the cooking.

“It would be very welcome.”

You nodded before grabbing the buckets and closing the door behind you.

Alone again… to some degree. Except for a fox guarding you at night, a heron at day, and König visiting your house as you slept.

You had been right with the feeling of eyes on you.

Sinking in the chair, you stared at the bowl with fish. It was too much, far too much for only you to eat. Maybe König wanted you to cook for him as well? To share a meal, have a bit of company. He helped you, after all.

Like a husband would.

You shook your head at the thought.

No, you did not know him, did not know why he wanted to marry you and what he wanted with you. As far as you were concerned, he could still plan on fattening you up to eat later. You remembered stories of girls getting married, only to vanish. Why else would he bring you food but not visit you otherwise?

You pushed the thought aside, the air of death terrifying, threatening to cripple you now with memories too fresh to be just memories.

The pond was still too real.

You got up and started to pile up the wood. The heron was right. Everyone had something to gain, and you needed to know what a king from under the waters wanted from you.

You were just a peasant girl, you thought to yourself as you lit up the fireplace. No ordinary king from the cities knew of you or cared about this village, likely never even heard of it and certainly not about you. Kings married queens. Princes married princesses. No one married the poor bumpkin without a family. All you had was the flesh on your bones, the hair in your plaits, and the dress on your skin.

But König was no ordinary king.

He was no human.

And he chopped the wood for you.

The thought of the strange, tall man, collecting and chopping wood for you in the dark made you chuckle.

How royal.

How odd.

Was that what kings did?

You had no idea. What you needed was to learn more about him. You looked at the pile of fish and grabbed your knife. Maybe you needed to face your fears before the silence took you as the waters once tried to do. And maybe you could get to know your future husband a bit better over a shared meal.

This night you forced yourself to stay awake. Not lighting any fire or candle, you sat in your kitchen, wrapped in a scarf against the cold, and waited while sipping on your Sage tea.

Gathered by your mother and dried hanging from the roof of the kitchen, it calmed your nerves. It’s mild taste pleasant on your tongue, comforting and familiar.

You listened.

Outside the leaves rustled, the wind making the birch trees in the garden sway. The light steps of an animal walking close to your house, eating and smacking from the plate with fish left out, made you lift your head.

That must be the fox.

You took another sip.

An owlet cried somewhere in the woods, it’s “Kowitt, Kowitt!” hushed in the distance. It reminded you of your brother. He used to imitate all those cries, claiming one day he would learn all the bird’s sounds. He did not get to that.

Tock, tock, tock! The sound of wood getting chopped made you put your thoughts and your tea aside.

You got up, checked your plaits, and straightened your shoulders before grabbing your prepared package and stepping out of the house.

It was dark. The moon wasn’t even half full, so dark you could barely make out the steps down and into the garden.

“There, there. Here comes the bride!”

You stilled at the sound of the unknown voice.

“Is that you, master fox?” you asked into the darkness.

A rustling sounded before something warm pressed itself to the side of your legs and you smelled the little animal.

That definitely was the fox.

“Master?” the fox spoke with an amused ring, “So the heron was right. You are polite. No one ever calls me that. Say, why are you up and out at night, hm? It is dangerous for pretty women and future queens. You might run into monsters.”

“From my experience monsters care very little if the sun is up or down to be dangerous,” You replied. “But I could use some help walking at night. Would you like to make sure I don’t fall by accompanying me?”

The little animal around your knees shifted and smelled your hands. You felt a cold, wet, snout at the tips of your fingers.

“And where might you want to walk, eh?” the Fox said.

“To König.”

Immediately it stopped twisting and turning around you.

“Oh… OH!” The Fox exclaimed, “How romantic. Or stupid. In my experience, those two things can be very similar, hm? I will bring you to the king.”

For a quick moment the Fox left your side and stood in silence before a cold, wet snout at your shoulder nudged you onwards.

With wide eyes you moved.

“Don’t you worry, queen,” The fox rumbled somewhere above you, “I see well enough for two at night. You just walk.”

You nodded, too speechless from the tiny fox suddenly being tall enough so that you walked between its front legs, holding onto his fur to steady yourself.

“You are a brave one, eh?” The fox spoke.

“It is not like I have a choice.” You replied as you walked. “But, I am only putting out only one plate for you, no matter how tall you make yourself. I cannot have the heron accuse me of favouritism.”

A deep grumble erupted behind you, a laugh, you realised, as you stepped somewhere deeper into the forest. The ground changed from soft grass to roots threatening to trip you, despite clinging onto the fox’s leg.

“How stern of you, maiden,” The fox teased.

You walked on, further, and further, deeper into the woods, with the sound of chopping coming closer and closer, louder with each thwack.

Finally, the Fox stopped.

“King of all that is under the water!” The large animal rumbled through the dark forest, “I brought to you your bride. She wanted to see you.”

The chopping sound stopped, as an axe was driven down onto the wooden block.

“What a surprise! Here I thought humans sleep at night,” you heard König say, “Thank you, Fox.”

You felt the animal move and suddenly you were alone again in the dark.

“How are you, my bride?”

“I,”you started, thinking about what you could say before deciding to go with the most practical, “I cannot see you. Do you have a light?”

A chuckle, an amused human chuckle, sounded through the forest before you heard a few whispered commands.

You waited for a heartbeat in the dark, listening to the owlet cry far, far away now.

“There they are,” König spoke into the dark.

You looked around. Little swamp lights danced around the trees, coming closer with soft laughter and with it an alluring feeling of security. You felt your legs long to walk with them, wanting to go with those lights wherever they went, laugh and dance with them the whole night.

A hand grabbed you by the arm, breaking the spell.

It was König, his hand firm and warm on your skin.

He stood beside you, casting a long shadow with his frame.

You looked up, confused as to what happened.

“You must not go with the swamp lights, or you might drown for good, bride,” he muttered, “Do not look at them. Ignore them. Enjoy their light from afar, and you are safe.”

Dizzy from the light’s callings, you nodded, blinking slowly.

König’s eyes were light and reflective, like the water mirroring the moon. Aside from that, he looked human. A young man with a trimmed beard and kempt hair..

Good-looking.

Bashfully, you turned away. That is not what you came here for.

“Why are you here, bride?” he asked and tugged you to a fallen tree.

You sat down on the wood, and he took a seat on the ground in front of you. With his tall size you were near eye-level with him and his watery eyes.

“I wanted to see you,” you trailed off. You had made plans, thought up words, explanations, lies. Now, all gone and forgotten, you were left with nothing but yourself.

“Are the Fox and the Heron not treating you well? Did Ivar return after all, and I have not heard?”

“No. it is all fine,” You paused. König looked so real, so unlike the terrifying stranger haunting your mind when you were alone. Maybe you could marry this man and become what your grandfather had wanted you to become.

“Why do you want to marry me?”you ventured.

The watery, bright eyes blinked before settling on you again.

“The old man told me stories of kings- of kingdoms. What it is supposed to be like.” A soft smile danced over his lips.

“I am a king of a kingdom. I have all that is supposed to be of kings. All I am missing is a queen. That would be you.”

“So, you want to marry me because I accidentally became available to you? Because my grandfather offered my hand in marriage?”

“Yes.”

It was your turn to blink. Was that all to it? Was it just a swampy being playing king and you got caught up in it? No other intentions other than that?

“How is it supposed to work?” You asked, “I am a human. I am much smaller than you, and I need air.”

“I thought about it and have decided to build a new palace. That is why I have been so busy. It will be both in the water and on it. You will have to tell me what else you require to live except air. As you can see, currently, I am getting the wood ready needed for the foundation.”

He pointed at the fallen trees and chopped wood.

“And for the size – we can put you on a chair or something.” He eyed you up and down before adding, “maybe we put that chair on a box too. But it will work.”

“How?”

“What do you mean how? You will look taller that way.”

“What about when I am not on the chair and the box?”

Confusion knitted his brows.

“I don’t know. For what else do queens need to be representative for?”

You eyed him with confusion. You knew little about what queens were expected to do. But, you figured it included other marital expectations… bedroom expectations.

You felt your face turn hot.

“König,” you asked. “How do you think people marry among humans?”

He tilted his head, “I was told there is a feast.”

“And?”

“And then the bride and the groom stay together for the night.”

“Yes?”

“I suppose they have a good night’s sleep.”

“I doubt there is much sleeping going on during a wedding night,” You snorted.

“Oh,” He paused. “Oh. I did not know that.” He cleared his throat.

“We don’t have to do that.” He shrugged, “Who could tell anyway? And who would care to ask?”

You looked down at your fingers, your left hand nervously fumbling with the package you bought with you. Was it odd to know he was willing to lie to not… to not touch… not to feel… You were unused to thinking of yourself this way, assuming once you would get married, your mother and your already married girlfriends from the village would tell you all about this. But they were all gone, you were about to marry a man from the swamp, and all those things would always stay a mystery to you. You did not even know what it was you were missing, not even sure how to name it.

“Is that fish?” König asked, “ I smell fish. That is fish!”

Relieved for the change in topic you nodded.

“Yes, I wanted to say thank you for all the food you brought me. It is very thoughtful.”

You passed him the package.

“It’s not much but, maybe, you would like to have some din-”

The words stopped coming out of your mouth as König took the package and gobbled it up in one go without even unpacking it from the pressed birch bark.

With your mouth still hanging open you starred.

He bit down with a crunching sound on the fish and bark, his sharp teeth reflecting the swamp lights before chewing a few times with a thoughtful look on his face as if he was tasting something for the first time.

You closed your lips before you choked on the dinner invitation on your tongue.

“Ah, so that is how cooked food tastes like,” He finally stated after swallowing down with an audible sound, “Delicious. Thank you very much, my bride!”

He licked his fingers with a wet slurping sound and wiped his face from the birch bark crumps with those large clawed hands - hands that looked like they could snap your neck like it was a stick.

He burped before continuing.

“Pardon. It’s nice, easier to eat this way than when they still wiggle.”

Still fixing whatever face you were making into something less baffled, you mumbled an, “I need to go,” and got up.

König rose with you, whispering a few commands.

“The lights will guide you home. You humans can’t see in the dark, right?”

“Ah yes. Thank you.” You replied weakly and turned around to leave.

“Wait,” he called after you. “What was it that you wanted to say?”

You turned back. König looked at you, waiting patiently for you to speak. The terror was still in your bones, the crunching sound still ringing in your ears as he bit into the package like it was nothing. Was that what he could do with you too? Your body frail and fragile against the large and imposing König and he only waited for you to become his to do as he pleased with you and your body, consuming it whole like he had with your little gift?

“I-“ you began, fumbling with your now empty hands.

He waited as your heart raced fast against your ribs. A part of you screamed that you needed to run from this terrifying man who wanted to parade you around on a chair as his queen, ate like you had only seen in your recent nightmares and nearly drowned you. He was no human and commanded powers you did not understand.

But then he looked at you, a kind, patient face, who stood up for you when you needed it and was concerned for well-being.

It’s for now. I am safe until the wedding, you thought to yourself.

“I wanted to ask if you would like to have dinner with me, sometime?”, you said out loud.

XXX

Notes for better understanding:

- I use the word ‘plaits’ for readers hair to describe the braided hair style of the reader I know as ‘косы’. Since translating it as braids technically would have also been correct but invokes a different meaning for most English speakers due to distinct cultural codes, I used ‘plaits’. However, if you have braids or hair that can be braided, feel free to read the word ‘plaits’ as ‘braids’ or at least understand yourself as included in the description. This was very much a technical translation problem with words not being translatable 100% and ‘косы’ simply meaning any type of braided or plaited hair.

- some of you might not be aware of foxes’ smell. It’s a very strong and not pleasant to most.

- Female owlets cry ‘Kowitt!” which sounds like the german ‘komm mit’ / ‘come with me’. Therefore, it is said in German folklore that the owlets are birds of death wanting to take a soul with them or warning of the impending death of those who listen to it because it was heard so much around the dead and dying. Owlets and many other nightly birds of prey were hunted because of that in German speaking regions. The real reason for owlets crying around the dead is a different one: the lights of the wake for the dead drew the birds in at night.

- Sage grows wild nearly everywhere and is calming as well as anti-inflammatory. It is a medicinal tea so one should not drink it regularly due to it being very potent. Also, the sage reader is drinking is a native sage known as green sage so please don’t go and get white sage if you just want to have a tea.

- birch bark is a very versatile resource used in many cultures as a means to e.g. write on or to make other wares out of it

XXX

Taglist: @thesinsoflust @kdkj122920 @die-prophetin @lillianastuff @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore

#grimmwriting #könig #könig cod #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig x oc #call of duty #monster!könig #monster x human #he who comes from under the water #hwcfutw

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sobbingprincess · 1 year

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Okay so, you know how TFP focused on Arcee’s trauma from losing two partners? Remember that one scene where Arcee got PTSD flashbacks upon seeing Airachnid’s acid or whatever you want to call it on a tree trunk? Well, I wish they could have done the same for Soundwave and his possibly deceased minicons. (I think it is safe to hypothesize that they are most likely deceased.) I wish we had seen flashbacks for Soundwave as to what happened to his other minicons while he was flying to save Laserbeak. It is mentioned (in Transformers: Exodus) that he had Laserbeak, Ravage, Rumble and Frenzy. It is possible that they all died in battle except for Laserbeak which would explain why Soundwave just took off without even finishing off Wheeljack because he didn’t want to risk any of those precious seconds costing Laserbeak’s life. Personally, I’d like to have seen maybe if he didn’t reach one in time or put another objective first and it cost their life causing it to be one of his biggest regrets? Anything, really. But no, we didn’t get to see that. Why? Maybe because in TFP, there is a false belief that Decepticons must be cruel, distant, backstabbing one another and ranging from little to no care for others for the viewers to understand that they’re the bad guys. That doesn’t make sense. I wish they went more in depth with Dreadwing’s grief about Skyquake’s death. That’s his literal twin?? Arcee is all traumatized from her partners’ death which is completely understandable, don’t get me wrong! However, losing your twin?? Who you shared a split spark with?? And I’m assuming you’ve probably known all your life?? Arcee sees Airachnid and she is filled with anger and the desire for vengeance but not Dreadwing with Bumblebee. Although, we see loyal Dreadwing defy Megatron’s order when he wanted to kill Starscream so I guess there’s that but still. They could have gone more in depth about how it feels to lose a twin as Dreadwing himself said that he felt when his twin’s spark was no more, talking to someone (or himself since TFP characters seem to do that a lot) about his memories with Skyquake or maybe some shrine for him like Arcee did with Cliffjumper with his horn. Yet TFP didn’t go in depth about that. When we do see some grief or some sort of care towards others, it’s so vague and brief. Yes, the Decepticons are ruthless towards the Autobots and organics and they most definitely did heinous things that we can’t deny but they can at least have some care for others within their own faction, just like the Autobots do. There should be some genuinely good bots within the Decepticon faction and some genuinely awful bots within the Autobot faction which we do see, I just wish we saw more. Breakdown and Dreadwing were the true Decepticons and the others had strayed so far from what was the original Decepticon Cause was about for their own pleasure of killing or from being so blindly loyal. Shockwave probably joined because Megatron would allow his unethical experiments if it gave them advantage, plus more resources. Airachnid probably joined because she finds pleasure in killing people. (Airachnid herself may be the only truly “evil” Decepticon) Knockout switched to the Autobots because they were the winning team so perhaps Knockout joined the Decepticons because they were winning? After all… the Decepticons always had the greater advantage since they had better engineers, better scientists and basically the whole seeker armada. Soundwave was the only one who cared while the rest of the council didn’t and now he’s blindly loyal. Dreadwing and Skyquake was probably a high caste bot since they were seekers but they probably also cared if they joined the Decepticons. Also, TFP was extremely bias towards the Autobot. Yes, I know they wanted children to look up to the Autobots but... Ratchet is biased and we see the history leading up to the war from his perceptive. Not as how they actually happened. Love them but the cons. The cons genuinely had a good reason and it sucks that strayed so far. Anyways, I’m just rambling now. Bye lol

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toska-writes · 8 months

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Jedi Maul has been on the brainnnnn!

“Jedi Knight Maul AU”

Summary: With the idea of Jedi Maul of course knowing me I had to twist it into a Platonic piece! Enjoy these headcannons of Jedi Maul

Pairing: Jedi!Maul AU x GN padawan!Reader (ofc it’s platonic!)

Warning: ummm none really I can think of!

Word Count: 913 (I didn’t proof read lol)

Notes: since I couldn’t find any fics like this I filled in! I swear I’ll get back to doing requests but with school now fully back I do have a little more to do in my free time, whether I like it or not

-if anyone ever messed with or talked bad about his commander or men they definitely have another thing coming

-He gives me very protective dad/older brother vibes but only to his little tight knit circle

-And that would include you soon enough

- I definitely think if this certain AU wasn't set in the clone wars Maul would look for a strong willed padawan to pass his teachings too

-HOWEVER do you know how many bad things you would learn from him??? Mostly likely any swear word from any dialect in the entire galaxy. He would give Wolffe a run for his money for the way he would roll his eyes- and don't get me started on how he would totally blow senators off " in the most polite way"

-except of course the nice senators that want the best for everyone including the clones *cough cough Senator Chunchi my beloved*

-and I just keep thinking of this scene where maybe the both of you are talking to the council or maybe some Sith, and Maul would totally make a quip to you or something to ease the tension

-He would want the absolute best and peace of mind when he can't be right with you on the battlefield, because at the beginning he definitely wanted to be

-Maul definitely isn't the type to verbally encourage you, I think he'd be more of an act of services. Whether that be with a blanket and a shoulder to lean on after a hard battle, or helping you clean and wrap a wound if you don't necessarily want to go to the med bay

-Teaching you have to fly is like doing math homework with a parent at the kitchen counter. However after a few more lessons it is definitely a hobby you like doing together even if there is a little banter

-I can imagine on a far away planet while away for a campaign he may or may not sign you up for a pod race just for some extra credits. Would he cheat?... well it's worth it when he sees you fly around the corner with the rest of the troops cheering like mad men

-Meditating is... something else. He knows how hard it is to just sit. And relax, especially in a time of war. But it seems more bearable with someone else for the both of you

-Maul would take lightsaber and dueling technique training very seriously, it's an art form in his eyes and something that he believes he can excel at so of course it's one of the first things the two of you bond over

-He would want to make sure you are prepared for anything, hand to hand, blasters, lightsaber you name it

-Now let’s say something does go wrong and maybe just maybe you get hurt

-One word would be furious, what ever man or creature did that better say their good byes quickly.

-He’s not one to lose his padawan, or hurt by seppies in that matter

-now let’s be honest he’s pretty intimidating and holds a high standard for everything but when the broken little voice of his padawan says they’re scared- his heart is broken into a million pieces.

-that would probably be the only time where he properly brought his voice down to provide some comfort.

-Also can we talk about how dramatic he would be, maybe your sparing and you jab him in the chest.

-he would definitely grab his chest and look at you stunned saying his own padawan is growing before falling to the ground

-two more words: war crimes. I don’t have to explain and I won’t

-there would be so many different competitions among the ranks, kinda like how Anakin and Ahsoka see who can kill the most droids. Something to make the war seem bearable

-Now if anyone ever found out about these last few parts he’d wither away to nothing

-I would say Maul has something against the cold, he doesn’t like snow or being freezing. And so when it comes time for a cold related planet everyone has to know

-the clones would definitely be making different jokes and such but of course behind closed doors, no one wants a cold upset Maul

-however when it comes time for night Mauls CC definitely let’s him bunk with him

-that’s when the clone cuddle piles with the two Jedi really get started

-there’s just something about being absolutely surround by people you know you can properly trust and they trust you to protect them.

-and I’m more than certain the both of you have probably stolen blankets from the clones barracks

-On sleepless nights you both could probably be found talking about the most random shit that had nothing to do with the raging responsibility. Or even in tougher ones with nightmares Maul would most likely put an arm around you and have you fall asleep there

-My boys trying ok. Being a single father to his padawan with a bunch of crazy uncles

-He tries, maybe one day it’s both of you painting your own fighter or tricking it out, maybe it’s another where it’s all intense training and he carries you back to the temple room

-All in all I think Maul would be a fun interesting master to have!

If you want to see this take the form of an actual fic let me know!!!

_____________________________________

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook

#jedi maul #Jedi!maul #Jedi knight maul au #Jedi!maul AU #star wars maul #maul x reader #platonic paring #star wars #star wars clone wars #the clone wars #clone wars #my writing #toska-writes #Maul x reader!platonic #Jedi Mual has my heart

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cuprohastes · 1 year

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Lunch In Space (Part 4)

There is an old Human tradition. We keep it alive to this day. When things are Very Bad(tm), for example, your shuttle is about to perform a high-velocity Lithobraking Manouver, you invoke the Ancient Words of the Ancestors. Usually "Oh, sh*t".

I, as I'm sure you're now aware, am culturally sensitive, and cultured, so when chunks of Oscar started becoming Free Range and my life support lit up red, and Oscar's little Atrix-face started doing some very worried little colour combos, I took solace in this hallowed and time-honoured tradition and went with "Ru-ROH".

Now you may be thinking, gee, having your life support blow out while flying around the backside of a planet while everyone is too busy to come to pick you up is bad.

I mean, sure. It literally is.

But what doesn't kill you instantly gives you the opportunity for a really slow, horrible death so you can appreciate it so much more.

I took the life support unit off.

Counter-intuitive, but there you go. I jsut clipped one of my lanyards to the bottom attach point and released all the clips.

All the connectors that move all my various essential fluids and gasses are on failsafe connectors. They close automatically because it'd be super dumb if they didn't.

So now I'm just using passive insulation and things are going to get very hot very soon.

I turned the Life Support unit over and found a... Space Squid.

I mean that's what it looked like. This conical, bullet-shaped shell, with tiny little thruster vents, and then on the bottom of the cone, a bunch of little tentacles, sensor windows and what looks like miniature tools.

At first, all I saw was the shell so I grabbed it and yanked it out. I screamed jsut the tiniest amount when it wiggled its tentacles at me, but then it folded up and glared at me, and tried to puff away.

My mighty human fingers of course were more than a match for this.

My mighty human Brain took a few more seconds to catch up because Oscar wasn't loaded with enough coffee for peak human cognition and I did a comical flail and found two more of the little suckers trying to eat through Oscar's skin.

"I Yeet Thee!" I told them and yanked them off and threw them in the direction of away.

The first little guy was with me but still sulking. I think it was out of gas, to be honest.

So that leaves me inside Oscar, who's rapidly becoming a sauna.

Luckily, I am just covered in tools, patches, and other Fix-things stuff so I started checking the life support pack.

Not good. Squiddy had already chewed some quite important stuff - the valves all closed, but now there's no way to re-circulate a lot of the air supply.

A bit about life support. It's not just a couple of bottles of air mix.

There are coolants, thruster gasses that you just top up while you work, water, which is circulated through Oscar's inner lining, the uh, Yellow and Brown lines, and then the Scrubber which is kind of a back-up and also means you can go longer without an umbilical, or without large air tanks. It also prevents the inside of Oscar from filling up with condensation.

So anyway, the thruster tank and the air tank were basically there but unusable.

Two of four of the batteries were cracked. They got isolated by the technical process of just pulling them out. They're not supposed to be dangerous, but why take the risk?

Oscar was a nice toasty 40ºc by the time I got the life support back on and I almost cried when the cooling started to pull out all that heat.

And then I almost sobbed because Oscar told me I had three and a half hours until station rendezvous and approximately two hours and twenty minutes of life support.

So I shut almost everything down. Inspection lights, most of the computing, interior displays, and after one last use, the uh waste processing.

That got me an extra 40 minutes of power. What else?

Well duh.

My power tools have bi-directional charging. I plugged them into my utility ports and hey OK, now I was only 5 minutes shy. OK.

So what else?

The Scrubber - It's running out of... scrub-ability.

There's a thing you can do that you should never, ever do, because it's suicidally stupid and bad. Honestly, I've always wanted to try it.

I turned the temp down past freezing and told the auto-doc to go to Oetzie mode.

Now, this isn't an official process. It's one of the macros I've developed in bored moments - I submitted it to a couple of trade journals, both of whom told me I was a dangerous lunatic.

So I asked the Most Dangerous Human.

Miranda is a mutant. She burns 4000Kcal a day sitting still. Her IQ is supposedly about double or more than a normal Genius. She hates her life. Literally everyone in her species is kind of sad and bumbling and unable to grasp concepts she finds simple.

She lacks intellectual stimulation, and just craves novelty or anything that might make her feel for a moment, that she can be part of normal life.

When I met her she was running a comic book store.

She's considered the most dangerous living human because nobody can figure out if she's going to take a nap, then re-write the rules of linguistics, develop an AI that will take over the Human race or stub her toes and decide to eradicate all living things in a Light Millenium.

As someone who's spent an afternoon shovelling food into her and listening to her do the most hilarious routine on why Comic Books should be weaponised, I can tell you that she has no more ill will toward anyone who doesn't write Justice Interplanetary than the common dog owner has for their pupper.

But Stever Aronnomis and Gixy Lurraine? Your days are numbered. Especially after Issue 17.

Anyway, Mir-Mir took about eight hours and re-wrote the Oetzie protocol, and got published in about 19 interdisciplinary publications. She was nice enough to credit me with the original work, and that got me a job and a weekly visit from the People In Black to check that I'm not also a supervillain or plotting to steal people's essential fluids to make Tsin sports drinks.

Anyway.

Oetzie mode gives you near-fatal hypothermia. It's not quite suspended animation but it's close as you can get while maintaining a really good chance of waking back up.

All I had to do was program a really simple little macro that would ping for immediate assistance and flag the file with re-animation instructions.

Already I was getting chilled. My teeth were chattering and I was trying to relax and jsut lket it happen. My littel budd the spac squid was stuill floting her. gabe it one o th deb bat klklklkkkkkkkkkk

Ow.

Seriously. I was feeling very disoriented. Everything was too bright and I felt very woozy and my jaw ached, but apart from that, the pins and needles, the way all my clothes felt like broken glass and the uncontrollable shivering, I felt surprisingly not dead.

Also not in Oscar.

I was having trouble focusing my eyes, but hearing I could manage.

Two Tsin were discussing eating me.

Voice One: "Well he's dead. I say we just ask. You know Humans - it's either 'no, you can't because we have a whole bunch of traditions and sacred laws that cannot be broken' or 'haha yeah that's what they'd want' and then they ask you if you want some sauce."

Voice Two: "Yeah but... what if the othre humans get upset that we asked? What if they think we killed this one to get the meat?"

Voice one: "They were in an un-powered EVA suit with no air, and the life support running colder than the Caffeteria Freezer. I don't care what stupid plan they had, not even a Human can survive that."

This is it. The moment that I have been living for all these years. You always hope one day you get the chance, and now finally it's my time to shine!

I sat up and said "Do you two mind? I'm trying to get some sleep."

Their horrified screams were like a warm bath. Ahhhh!

#humans are space orcs #Lunch In space #Part 4 #atrix #Tsin #humans being weird little guys

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harringtown · 2 years

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steve harrington must die - pt 1

did it take me an eternity to finish part 1? yes. but we did it pals!!! welcome to the john tucker must die au!!! right now I've got this plotted at four parts & it'll kinda follow along the s3 timeline!!!

requested by @la-fille-en-aiguilles

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: three of Steve Harrington’s exes set up their former boyfriend to fall in love with the reader, so they can break his heart (aka introductions, general set up, and a laser tag date)

word count: 4.6k

During June in Indiana, there are only a handful of places to escape from the sweltering heat and near-constant dampness that comes along with it. If you’re committed enough and make it to the pool before the crowds descend, a lawn chair in the shade and a dip in the water. If you’re quiet enough, the library’s AC spends its summers rattling and cranking out cool-but-not-cold air.

The best, though, is Starcourt Mall. With its shiny new fixings and fancy appliances, walking into the mall always feels like stepping onto another planet. One where the sun doesn’t declare war on its people during the summers.

Three days into June, and the heat is already unbearable. As such, you spent most of May in the food court or browsing the stores or simply lying on the benches with your friends to avoid going back outside. June, July, and August are looking the same.

Having a mall is already an oddity. The girls you occupy your time with while you’re at the mall is even more odd.

You’d always heard things changed after graduation. You didn’t believe it until now, sitting around bright white food court tables with three girls you wouldn't have been caught dead with in high school, and vice versa. Social circles ran tight at Hawkins High, and it wasn’t until you were all released that you saw them for what they truly were. Or, more technically, until you got stuck in the Starcourt Mall elevator for two hours with them on your first day of summer vacation and came out fast friends.

“Alright, what are our options today, ladies?” Rebecca asks. In high school, she was class president and head of pretty much every club. Today, she stares intently at the food court signs like they’ll change out of her sheer will.

“Exactly the same as yesterday,” says Theresa-call-me-Thea, kicking her shin-high slouched leather boots up onto the plastic table. To her right, Beth swipes her smoothie out of the way just in time to keep it from going flying and shoots Thea a glare.

“We’ve got hot dogs, pretzels, burger king, and the great cookie. Not a single healthy option,” Beth says. Once a star athlete at Hawkins High, her few months of graduation hadn’t yet shaken its hold. Beth is always dressed like she’s heading to a workout or just came from one.

“Don’t even talk to me about the great cookie,” Thea groans. “If I eat another, I will combust.”

“We could just get ice cream,” you say. In over a month’s worth of rotations, Scoops Ahoy hasn’t been factored in once. The girls practically act like it doesn’t exist and have for so long you forgot to question it. “We never do, and that sundae always looks ridiculously good.”

All three girls protest at once.

“Absolutely not,” Rebecca says.

“Not a goddamn chance,” Thea says.

“No way,” says Beth.

You frown, sneaking a glance at the Scoops Ahoy counter. Apart from a manager you’ve only seen once or twice, the only consistent employees are a girl from the year beneath you, and Steve Harrington, once the alleged King of Hawkins High, who now spends his days scooping cones for tweens. Unless there was some rumor about rats in the kitchen, you don’t see any reason for boycotting what is clearly a popular spot.

“What do you people have against ice cream?” you ask.

One side of Beth’s mouth curls up, but the others aren’t impressed.

“Ice cream? Love the stuff. Can’t get enough of it,” Thea says.

“Steve Harrington, on the other hand?” says Rebecca. She shakes her head.

Thea scoffs and folds her arms over her chest. Her bracelets jangle and clack. “That’s one prom photo I will never get back.”

“Homecoming,” Beth says.

“Spring Fling,” Rebecca says with a snort.

“Wait, all three of you—” You start.

“Three months in ‘82,” Thea says, jabbing a finger at Rebecca. “Four at the beginning of ‘83.” She points to Beth. “And a whopping four and a half after that.” She gestures to herself.

“And still breaking hearts from the looks of it,” Beth says.

At the Scoops Ahoy counter, Steve has an exaggerated grin as he talks to two girls as he rings them up. You may not be able to hear the flirting, but you don’t need to.

“Friggin’ Casanova.” Thea huffs. “I mean, I get it, we all get a little too caught up in a boy with cute hair at some point, but Jesus. You’d think he’d run out of girls to work his act on by now.”

“He’ll get his,” Rebecca says. “Just you wait. One day, a girl is going to come along and rip his heart into pieces, just like he did to us. And he won’t even see it coming.”

“Oh, I’d like to see that,” Thea says.

“Ditto,” says Beth.

A silent second passes, and then, three pairs of eyes slide to you.

A wide, mischievous grin pulls on Thea’s dark-red stained lips. “Is anyone thinking what I’m thinking?”

Beth frowns. “Oh, I don’t know about that—”

“Absolutely I am,” Rebecca says.

“Oh, come on, Beth,” Thea says, reaching over to tap on Beth’s wrist. “You can’t tell me you haven’t secretly wished to see that boy get knocked off his high horse for years.”

Beth frowns. “I mean, yes, but—”

“Yeah, so I’m not thinking what you’re thinking,” you say, “and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me it's not possible,” Thea says, leaning over the table to stare at Beth. Beth, with visible irritation, rolls her eyes and turns to Rebecca.

“Do not encourage this,” Beth says.

“Encourage what?” you ask. “Seriously, if someone doesn’t start talking, I’m going up to the Scoops Ahoy counter and telling Steve Harrington you all want a sundae delivered right to the table by him, personally.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thea says.

Beth leans her forearms into the table, nudging Thea’s boots aside.

“They’re talking about getting even,” Beth says. “Breaking Steve Harrington’s heart and using you to do it.”

“Using is such a negative word,” Thea says.

“We could do it, though,” Rebecca says. “The three of us combined, we know him better than anyone. What he likes, what he doesn’t. We could make the perfect girl. Or, perfect for Steve Harrington.”

“That’s insane,” you say. “If it were someone else—If I were someone else—maybe, but...”

“You’re pretty much the only one who can do it,” Rebecca says. “You’re our very own trojan horse.”

“Weren’t you the one who was complaining about being bored out of their mind?” Thea asked. “Having nothing to do?” The excitement in her voice is persuasive in itself. It’s one of the things you like best about Thea. To her, anything is an adventure to embark on or a mystery to solve. “Think about it. You’d go down in Hawkins history.”

“She’s exaggerating,” Beth says. She purses her lips. “But she’s not wrong.”

“Aha!” Thea claps once. “And we’ve swayed the jury, ladies and germs.”

“It’s not up to me,” Beth says. “It’s up to you.” Beth nods at you.

“So?” Thea asks. She props her elbows on the table and leans her chin into her hands, waggling her dark brows. “Are you in? Tell me you’re in.”

You look between them.

Without a mission, albeit stupid, ridiculous, and destined to fail, the rest of the summer will be just like it has been. Every day as boring and uneventful as the last.

And maybe breaking Steve Harrington’s heart won’t put you in the history books. But it is something, and clearly, it’s important to the girls.

“I’m in,” you say.

And so, after three days of surprisingly intense preparation by Thea, Beth, and Rebecca, you don’t head to the usual spot to meet up with the girls. Instead, you make your way through the crowded food court—the lunch rush is in full swing, and you swear half the town is in line for shriveled corn dogs or oily pizza.

Steve Harrington stands at the ice cream counter, just like he does every day.

Back in school, your familiarity with him was more of a know-of-him type. The first two and a half years, his name carried through the halls daily. Then Billy Hargrove moved to town. One day the boys came to school with bright bruises and fresh cuts, and in an instant Billy’s name climbed above Steve’s.

After that, you didn’t hear much about Steve Harrington.

Only a few customers are waiting at the ice cream counter, and within two minutes, it’s your turn at the front.

“Be with you in a sec!” Steve calls, momentarily busy wiping up the melted sample someone spilled on the ice cream case.

He is immediately not what you expected, though the uniform doesn’t help. The bright blue sailors uniform and clunky white hat aren’t exactly doing him any favors in upholding his reputation. He looks more like the boy next door than the king of Hawkins High.

He doesn’t look as perfect as he once did, either. His nose has clearly been broken, probably more than once, and a handful of little scars catch in the fluorescent lights.

“Sorry about that,” Steve says, tossing the blue-stained napkins into the trash and turning to face you. “I swear, some of these kids were raised by actual wolves—” He stops as his eyes catch yours, mouth open mid-sentence like someone reached in and plucked the words out. He clears his throat, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he might be blushing. “What can I get ya?”

Your heart races, and not for the first time, you wonder if you’re even capable of this. If you’re the right choice for this little mission. But you’re at the counter, so there’s no turning back now.

“Can I get a scoop of the U.S.S. Butterscotch?” you ask, willing your voice not to waver. “Apparently it’s the best ice cream in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s out of this world,” Steve says.

Steve isn’t the only one surprised when you laugh—you’re surprised, too. Surprised that he made such a dorky joke, and surprised that it’s actually kind of funny.

“Don’t hype it up too much,” you say. “Your tip depends on it.”

Steve snorts a laugh. A line forms between his brows. He tugs an ice cream scooper out of his pocket and flips it over his wrist—a mindless action that, weirdly, grabs your attention and holds it. Holds it tight enough you don’t hear what he says next, and ask, “What?” far too loud.

A lopsided grin forms on his lips. “I know you,” he repeats.

You frown. Shit. It figures. Three minutes into the con, and your cover is already broken.

“Miss Harrison’s class. Senior year.”

Relief pushes a breath out of you, and you force a nervous smile—the nerves don’t need to be faked.

“I can’t believe you remember me,” you say.

He shifts back a bit, still smiling, like he’s shocked you’re even asking.

“Of course, I remember you. You sat right in front of me. I spent a year staring at the back of your head.”

“So, if I’d have walked up backwards, you’d have recognized me immediately?”

“Oh, no doubt,” Steve says.

You laugh, and though you know you’re supposed to, you don’t have to fake it. Steve laughs, too, and when the laughter fades, the pair of you just smile at each other for a little too long.

“Hey! Harrington! We have ice cream needs back here!” A young girl with her friends sidles up beside you, apparently familiar with Steve or just confident, or both.

Steve takes a breath and gives you an expression that makes it seem like you’re both in on some inside joke. It’s almost impressive how quickly he managed to turn you from strangers into allies.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you, Sinclair. You’ll get your ice cream. Hold your damn horses,” Steve calls. He gives you an apologetic smile. “That’ll be $1.25.”

You nod, digging a bill and a quarter out of your pocket and handing it over. Steve’s fingers brush yours as he takes the money, and it feels like a moment right out of those cheesy films Rebecca is obsessed with, but your heart skips a beat anyway.

Steve tucks the money into the register and holds out a receipt.

Before you lose your nerve, you ask, “Do you have a pen?”

Steve frowns but digs a pen out of his pocket and passes it to you. He says nothing, but as you scrawl the digits onto the paper, his eyes go wide.

“What is—” He starts.

“My number,” you say, shoving the receipt back across the counter. You flash a smile. “You should use it.”

His frown deepens, and then, in an instant, transforms into a smile that even manages to convince you, at least for a moment, of its genuineness. Before you do something stupid, like fall for it, you turn and walk away, heart still pounding against your ribs.

“Well, well, well, Popeye,” Robin announces as she shoves open the flimsy divider between the front and back of the shop. She slaps her whiteboard on the counter, uncapping her pen. “I think you just earned yourself the first tally for this side of the board.”

Steve rolls his eyes, grabbing the receipt—your receipt—from the counter and tucking it gently in his pocket.

“Thank you, captain obvious,” he says, and hopes Robin can’t tell he’s blushing.

To his infinite relief, Robin only teases him about it for a few minutes, and the lunch rush saves him. He spends the rest of his shift thinking about the two minutes you stood at the counter.

It feels different. It feels like, maybe, finally, it might be real.

“Steve Harrington has officially taken the bait, ” Thea says, throwing herself onto Beth’s bed. Beth, sitting against the headboard, draws her legs out of the way just in time to prevent Thea slamming into them. She purses her lips but doesn’t chide Thea.

Rebecca slides across the floor on the rolling desk chair, leaning her arms over the back of it. “Where’s he taking you?”

You take the open spot at the end of Beth’s bed, pulling your legs up under you. “No clue. He said it was a surprise.” You cock a brow. “What are the chances he’s taking me somewhere to murder me?”

Thea snorts. “He may be a lady-killer, but he’s not an actual killer.”

“Never say lady-killer again,” Rebecca says.

“Lady-killer.” Thea grins. “Lady—”

Beth reaches down to swat at Thea’s shoulder. Thea laughs, craning away.

“Focus,” Beth says. “Y/N is going into the lion’s den tonight.”

You frown. So far, Steve Harrington isn’t the playboy he’s been made out to be. To be fair, you’ve only had two interactions with the boy since high school. And the girls actually knew him.

“He’s just a guy,” you say.

“A guy who probably doesn’t know how to do his own laundry,” Rebecca says.

Thea lets out a dramatic sigh. “Those are always the most dangerous ones.”

Steve doesn’t take you into the lion’s den. He still won't tell you exactly where you’re going, but when he pulls into the parking lot of a decent restaurant, some of your fear dissipates.

“Italian food?” you ask, as he puts the car in park.

He flashes you a grin, and says, “Someone’s impatient.”

“More like, making sure you’re not kidnapping me.”

He snorts. “I don’t think it’s kidnapping if you’re 18.” He arches a brow at you. “And do you really think I’m organized enough to pull something like that off?” He shakes his head. “Besides, my trunk is way too small.”

“I mean, no, I don’t think you are—“

Steve feigns offense, a hand flying to his chest, and he gasps.

“But I’d be stupid to put it past you.”

To your surprise, Steve just smiles.

“For the record,” he says, popping open the driver’s side door, “we’re not getting Italian food. And I’m not kidnapping you.” He slides out of the car and shuts his door, but before you’ve even undone your seatbelt, Steve is opening the passenger side door for you.

You know it’s all part of the act, but there’s nothing in his eyes that justifies that. All you can see is a bouncy, nervous boy opening the door for his date.

He’s more dangerous than you realized, because he doesn’t appear to be.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you climb out of the car, Steve nudging the door shut after you.

“So, if we’re not getting Italian food, what exactly are we doing here?” you ask.

A mischievous grin pulls on his lips.

“We,” he says, “are playing laser tag.”

And against your better judgment, against everything you told yourself before going into this, you smile back.

The laser tag place, appropriately named Laser Tron, is busier than one might expect on a random Thursday night, and apart from you and Steve, no one is older than fourteen.

And though the teams are split evenly before heading into the room, the second you pass through the door, it becomes two on everyone else, with the younger kids splitting off to one side of the dark, neon-splashed room, and you and Steve heading for the other side.

The room has two stories, with dozens of walls and objects to hide behind, and green, pink, and blue paint scattered across the walls and floors. You’re sporting a bulky, worn vest, and a massive plastic gun, and once again, despite all your preparations, you’re surprised to find you’re already having fun. Steve helps you into your vest, and his fingers linger at the top of the zipper, thumbs grazing the hollow of your throat, and you try and convince yourself it’s adrenaline, not him, that makes your pulse leap.

With one minute until the game begins, you and Steve find a spot in the far corner, back to back.

“You ready for this?” Steve asks, his shoulders bumping yours. You can hear the smile in his voice.

“I think I’d prefer Italian food,” you say.

Steve snorts a laugh, and says, “Too late for that now.”

“You do realize we’re, like, the oldest people here, right?”

“Which means we’ve got the advantage,” Steve says.

“Us against fifteen pre-teens? I don’t know about that.” You raise your laser gun in preparation. “I think we’re screwed.”

Steve laughs again, and it’s an infectious sound. His energy, the shifting weight and fast breaths, is infectious, and again, you forget the whole reason you’re here.

“We’ll see about that,” he says.

Then the buzzer starts, a dozen children scream with delight, and the game begins.

“Go, go, go!” Steve yells, his gun in one hand, your fingers held tight in the other. You race up the stairs with him, twisting to fire a laser shot toward the trio of twelve year old’s pursuing you.

An OUT buzzer rings, and one of the kids curses just as you and Steve reach the top of the stairs. He pulls you sideways, down the neon walkway, firing as he goes.

“Behind you!” You say, ducking under Steve’s raised arm to fire at the teen coming down the hall. His buzzer rings, and he groans, his gun smacking his side.

Steve drags you behind a wall, and you skid, falling into him, pinning him against the wood. The only thing between you is the thick fabric of the vests, but you can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Time slows. His eyes find yours, and his irises are blown, and the crown of his hair shines with sweat, and his gaze darts down to your lips, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s going to kiss you. For a moment, you want him to.

Then his eyes dart over your shoulder, and in one swift motion, he slips an arm around your waist, spins you around, presses you against the wall, and raises his gun to fire at someone around the corner. A buzzer rings, and Steve catches your gaze again, grinning lopsidedly.

You let out a harsh breath, and push out of his arms, pretending you’re adjusting your vest.

“How many are left?” you ask.

Steve leans to each side, scanning the aisles and the floor below, his brows furrowed.

“I wanna say… six? Maybe seven?”

“God, it’s like they’re multiplying,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up,” he says.

“Not a chance.”

“Good,” Steve says. “Because we’ve got three pre-teen girls headed our way, and they look pretty pissed.”

“Guess we should do something about that,” you say.

Steve grins, and takes your hand, and you let him. And for a little while, you forget why you’re not supposed to.

The game lasts another twenty minutes, and to your utter shock, you and Steve’s duo comes out on top. And you know you should probably feel bad about kicking a bunch of thirteen year old’s asses, but as you and Steve head out into the warm night, all you feel is giddy. Like you’re drunk, but you haven’t had a touch of alcohol.

Steve has an arm around your shoulder, and he smells like sandalwood and aftershave, and in the moonlight, he doesn’t look like everything you’ve been told he is. The last hour, and he’s been nothing like you’ve been told he is.

He only lets you go to open the passenger door for you, and though you tell yourself this is only part of the game, you still blush as he shuts it after you. Blush until he comes around the front and climbs into the driver’s seat.

You don’t realize you’re staring at him until he frowns, and asks, “What?”

You shake your head. “How the hell are you so good at that?”

An almost sheepish smile flashes across his lips.

“I mean, they were a bunch of kids. We got lucky.”

“Oh, no, we absolutely did not,” you say. “That was… incredible. Like, you have no right to be as good at laser tag as you are.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” he says. And when you roll your eyes, he continues, “Seriously. You kicked ass in there.”

“You did most of the work. What, were you a soldier in some past life?”

An indecipherable emotion flickers across his face, and you can’t begin to read it, but it makes your insides ache, opens some unknown door in your chest. It feels like seeing behind some big curtain, but before you can identify what you see, Steve is smiling again, and turning on the engine.

It’s a clear and unofficial end of conversation, but you don’t mind. With each foot the car pulls away from the plaza, your friends' voices pop back into your head. The stories they told of the weeks or months it took to get over him.

Shame coils in your gut, hot and sharp.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe you’re the wrong person to do this. Maybe you have no goddamn clue what you’re doing, and you’re just going to get hurt.

But as Steve pulls out of the parking lot and back onto the road, tossing a soft smile your way, you realize that maybe none of that matters. Because maybe it’s too late.

Steve makes conversation as he drives you home, asking questions about your summer and your family and your pets and your future plans, and he seems to actually want to know the answers.

And you surprise yourself by asking questions back. About how he ended up working at Scoops (his dad is an asshole, and Steve didn’t get into college) and about the girl, Robin, he’s always with (from the way he talks about her, you don’t think there’s anything romantic there, but you’re not sure) and about what he wants to do with his life (he has no clue, which is an odd relief, because you have no clue, either).

It’s all painfully and beautifully normal until Steve turns into your neighborhood, and the car slides past the Holland house. It’s been two years since Barbara Holland disappeared from Steve’s backyard. Two years since the cops started looking, and a year since they stopped.

The car slows down just enough for you to notice, and when you look over, Steve has the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. His gaze is locked on the house.

Your brain rifles through everything it has regarding Barbara Holland in relation to Steve Harrington. Barbara and Nancy Wheeler were attached at the hip for most of high school, and when Nancy and Steve started dating, that didn’t change.

“You were friends with her, right?” you ask, knowing you’re poking the bear, and unable to stop yourself.

“What?” His response comes a little too fast, and his voice is a little too high.

“With Barb. Before she…” You clear your throat.

“No,” Steve says. “I wasn’t.” And his tone is harsh, a clear ending to the conversation before it even starts.

“But I thought—”

“I said no,” Steve snaps. “Just… drop it.” He rakes a hand through his hair, and his entropy changes. He is rigid and cold. He’s not the boy from the laser tag place, the one who opened your door for you.

The spell that’s been broken doesn’t rise again, and the last two minutes of the drive to your house are silent and awkward. By the time Steve pulls into your driveway, the tension in the car is so thick, you could slice through it.

Steve kills the engine and is out of the car and opening your door before you have your seatbelt undone, once again. But he doesn’t meet your eyes, and his jaw is clenched, and he doesn’t put his arm around you again. He walks to your door, and when you turn to face him, his smile is so plastic, you think it would crinkle if he moved.

“That was fun,” you say, because you’re not sure what to do with the silence, because you’re desperate to fill the seconds until you can get inside the door.

“Yeah, it was,” Steve says. You don’t have to know him that well to see he’s distracted. He glances over his shoulder as if he expects to find something running up behind him. He catches your eye again, clearing his throat. “Have a good night, y/n.”

And then he’s turning, heading back down the drive, climbing into his car. He’s gone so fast, you can do nothing but stand on the porch and watch as his car grows smaller and smaller, until it turns down the street and disappears.

Your stomach churns and lurches as you unlock your front door and slip into the dark house. To your eternal relief, your family is already in bed, and you don’t have to suffer the third degree. You’re already guaranteed it from the girls at the mall tomorrow.

You had fun with Steve tonight. A lot of fun. More fun than you’ll ever admit to Beth, Thea, and Rebecca.

But the Steve that dropped you off is different from the one you spent the night with, and he is the whole reason you’re here in the first place. The cruel, cold tone. The refusal to meet your eyes, like he’s too good to do so. The flippancy with which he left, like he hadn’t just taken you on the best date of your life.

You’re here to break Steve Harrington’s heart.

No, not to break it. You’re here to shatter it. Pulverize it. Break it beyond repair, the way he’s done to so many girls.

Game on, Harrington.

#Brooke writes fic #jtmd au #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington au #steve harrington fic #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things imagine #x reader

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