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janekfan · 3 years

Note

ooooh..... difficult anniversary and/or you’re not human anymore bingo prompts for jarchivist obliteration?

AAAA This took so long! I am SO SORRY!!! <3 <3 <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31123295

Jon was used to hurting.

Used to hiding.

Which is why he didn’t notice. Didn’t understand what was happening to him and more importantly why.

A panic attack here. A bad day there. A cold, maybe? Until the scars on his skin from the worms and the corkscrew and the scratching woke one day as though they were fresh and new. His skin crawled, the slightest touch filled him with revulsion and, lord, he had to keep it together because Martin would almost certainly overreact and Jon hated, hated to be the source of his worry.

So he would ignore it as usual.

Whatever it was would pass. And he could avoid being the center of attention for this thing that was out of their control. He’d read the Lord of the Rings. He knew about the less romantic side of anniversaries. What was one more thing for him to overcome?

It didn’t stop them from hurting like the day they were drawn on his body and while the rents in his skin looked the same as they ever did, he nearly bloodied himself after a particularly wretched nightmare with his frenzied clawing.

And it passed. The burning, bleeding, boring sensations disappeared and Martin hadn’t suspected a thing. Okay, that was a lie. But he seemed mollified enough when Jon wrote it off as a tough week at university.

“I’m just tired, habibi.” He forced himself to reach for Martin’s hands, sighing in gusty relief when everything was normal and allowing himself to get wrapped up in warm arms.

The mark left behind by the Distortion ached deep and throbbing and somehow also elsewhere. It was a phantom pain traveling the myriad corridors of his veins, his arteries, his nerves and when he couldn’t rid himself of it in any conventional way, he waited. It would pass. It would. Just like the last one. This was just pain. He knew pain. Was fast friends with it by now and this was nothing like his worst days.

“Jon-darling?”

“Mm?” He was flipping through the pages in a book, not too fast, not too slow, not really reading anything, trying to pretend that everything was normal when his foot cramped up like he’d been bitten. He was practiced now in not looking; there wouldn’t be anything there anyway. His skin might as well have been a great big door and the only way through to the other side didn’t involve knocking.

“You look pale.” Ah. Well. Pain like this would do that to a man.

“Just a little sore today, love.” It wasn’t a lie. Jon set the book aside, not bothering to mark whatever random page he’d landed on, and threaded their fingers together.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into carrying the shopping.”

“What are you talking about? I always help carry the shopping.” Despite his chronic conditions, Jon pulled his own weight.

No, stop. Of course you do and you have nothing to prove, especially not to Martin of all people.

“You’ve been run down.”

“I have not!” Martin fixed him with a stern look and he cowed under his scrutiny. “Perhaps a bit, but you know how these things go.”

“I do. And I can’t help but feel like there’s something you aren’t telling me.” Here it was. Martin’s overture, his olive branch. His invitation to come clean and tell the truth and avoid his wrath when he found out later. But Jon never was a quick learner of these social lessons.

“I’m fine, hayati.” Jon soothed, tipping Martin into his newly throbbing shoulder. “I’m fine.”

The next three hit him like a lorry, nearly as hard as they had a year ago and nearly all at once.

His burn scar, just like the worm scars, felt blistered as badly as the day he’d taken Jude’s hand, and he shook violently at the onset of it, thankful he was squirreled away in his office at the University and not crying into Martin’s shirt even if that’s where he’d prefer to be but Martin hates burns.

Hates how they look, how twisted and ugly they become when they scar.

Burns made him upset. Burns made him sick.

He hates them. Hates them. And while Jon was reasonably sure Martin would never turn him away when he was hurting like this, the fluttering undercurrent chanting what if wouldn’t leave him be.

So Instead he sniffled away in the dark, wrist pressed between his knees in a vain attempt to stop the shaking while he tried to remember how to breathe.

It was dark when he slipped into bed beside Martin, dead asleep after a run of night shifts. For a frantic moment Jon wanted to shake him awake, beg for reasurances, for relief, but it would ruin this. Martin looked so peaceful, face relaxed in repose, cheek soft when Jon pressed his trembling lips there.

“Jon... ?” Washing out on a swirling tide his voice was fuzzy, thick with exhaustion, and the hand that brushed the small of his back lingered only for the time it took for him to drift back under. No. He’d wrought enough damage here. Better for Martin to rest without worry. He shouldn’t have to deal with Jon and his problems. Especially when they would be arriving like clockwork for the rest of his life. Jon pressed himself against Martin’s warmth, trying to soak it up, stop the shivering. How could he be so frozen when his whole right arm was engulfed in flame? Silent, he let the tears come, closing his eyes against a burgeoning dizziness he knew would only grow worse.

Be quiet. Just be quiet. Don’t disturb him, you mustn’t. You’ve nothing else to give except more burdens that aren’t his to carry.

The ceiling was spinning so fast above him; lights, cast shadows, cabinets whirling, reeling, spiraling so much he’d be sick with it any minute. The vibrations from Martin’s pounding footsteps resonated through the whole of him, pulsing, in time with his uneven battering pulse.

He barely remembered the actual fall, just the terrifying sensation of being weightless and the fear welling in his throat like coagulated ink. Forever. He’d be falling forever. Nothing to hold. To grab. To slow. To Know.

Endless.

His scream wrenched away from him in the rushing winds filling up his ears, stealing his voice, his breath. No one could hear him in this place. Martin would never know what happened. That Jon was eaten up by the sky. Surrounded infinitely on all sides by a sea of simultaneous nonexistence and brutal presence. Jon’s awareness whittled down only to the pull of gravity in all the wrong directions.

“Jon!” A bleary shape manifested above him, blocking out the worst of it. Hands, gentle, probing, searching subconsciously for breaks, contusions, his training winning out over the panic Jon could just make out in the set of his mouth. Fingers ran soft through his curls, seeking out any swellings and Jon winced when he found one. Must’ve struck his head on the way down. Those cool hands settled, cupping his face, and twin thumbs brushed over his cheeks. “You’re warm, love.” A murmur, almost to himself as Martin puzzled.

“B’bit of, of vertigo, s’all.” Uncoordinated, Jon’s arm struck out as he tried to reach for him and landed on his wrist. “Tryin’...nnh.” He gripped Martin like a lifeline, slamming his eyes shut against the need to be ill.

“You’ve clocked yourself.” Fair enough. “But I think you’re alright. Think you can move?” With no other option than to speak lest he set it all swirling again, Jon whimpered. “Okay.” With one more pass through his hair Martin stepped away and soon enough had Jon settled as best he could on the tile, tucked beneath a blanket with a cold pack pressed to the back of his neck. Relief came gradually and Martin’s unasked questions lingered on the edges of their companionable silence. “Better?”

“Mm.” Despite the hard surface applied to every pressure point, Jon was falling asleep cocooned in the safety of Martin’s soothing company.

He wouldn’t be able to keep this up

Martin teased him mercilessly about the loss of his voice and Jon let him have it if it kept him from noticing how sore his throat really was. He wanted to tell him that it was Daisy’s mark, to cry and come clean and beg Martin to stay.

But that wouldn’t be fair. Jon had to be a whole person in this relationship and stop relying on Martin to pick up the slack. He would figure this out. He’d prove his past didn’t control him.

After he could get out of bed.

And here was what he’d strived to avoid. Finally laid low.

“I worry, Jon. You know that.” That was the problem. Martin was already going to be late to work from all his fussing. With the scrap of voice he’d gained back he protested in a hoarse whisper, syllables squeaking past what felt like a shredded voice box and listened to Martin call in again. He had to be better than this but he was overwrought, dangling at the end of a very frayed rope. This marked a sharp decline and Jon was sure it hadn’t escaped Martin’s notice that they were coming up on the date he’d more or less died. He could barely rouse himself in the mornings for school, drifting through lessons and relying more on his TA than he’d like. More than once he’d splurged on a cab, not sure if he’d make it on the tube and Martin’s fretting and worry and distress only made Jon more secure in his conviction. If it was this bad already, how bad would it become if he knew the reason it was all happening? They were supposed to be free of this. Jon wasn’t supposed to keep doing this to Martin.

Melanie’s scar throbbed, chipping away at any scant reserve he had left and ruthless with its aim. It was worse than Daisy’s even though he could understand both motivations. Daisy was putting down a monster. Mel was striking out at someone trying to help, driving home with the scalpel that no good deed goes unpunished. Rationally, he knew he’d deserved it. Too bad it didn’t dull the sting of it all really.

“Darling? Sweetheart?” Jon forced his eyes open, gasping when it sent the dark room to pirouetting, his stomach to churning, staging a mutiny against the scant meal he’d forced on himself not too long ago. Anything he’d gained in their short reprieve had long melted away under the stress. “I’m here, what’s wrong, love?”

“Nnothing…” he regretted the word as soon as it passed his lips.

“You’ve a fever so high it woke me. That’s not nothing, Jon.” Mercifully, he gave him a moment to gather his thoughts, catalogue how much more of this he could take before it broke him. Burned hand shaking, Jon clenched his fist which didn’t help the pain rocketing through his arm and into his heart, but steadied him.

“Jus’a, a bit of a flare up.” Those sometimes came with fevers.

“Oh, love. Why didn’t you say?”

Because it was a lie. Because I didn’t want you to worry. Because I never want to see you upset over me. Because I’m not worth it. Because if it’s always going to be like this--

“Din’t want you to, to…” The cramping agony slurred his voice badly, stringing syllables together with an uncooperative tongue was too much effort. “Nngh.” Dazed and groggy, Jon shut his eyes tightly, trying to focus on Martin’s soothing touch stroking over his face. Like a coward, Jon let sleep rescue him from the truth.

It was the flesh that gave him away.

Woke him screaming; hot and twisting in agony with Jared’s phantom fingers dug into his rib cage. More fingers clamped onto his shoulders, shaking him, a distorted voice calling, shouting his name over and over and over.

“Jon!” Martin was little more than a blur, obscured by tears, and Jon’s panic was reflected straight back at him. “Where does it hurt?”

“Wha…?”

“Where, habibi? Left, right? Please, Jon.”

“Not...not. S’not--” He couldn’t get the words to come, to admit after so long what he’d kept poorly hidden.

“Not what?” Frustration bled sideways into his words and Martin gripped him harder as though he might tear the answers out of him.

“Real.” It burst from him in a raw, somehow soft explosion. It wasn’t. Not really. The wounds were long healed over.

“Looks plenty real from here, Jon.” He batted away questing fingers.

“No. No.” There was no way he’d be able to explain through this piercing agony, the literal holes invisible in his skin.

“It’s the fears, isn’t it? Your marks, your scars.” Martin already knew judging by the disquiet in his tone. This was merely confirmation.

“Yes.” He sobbed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” There was hurt in his voice, sadness and betrayal, alongside the ire.

“I thought, I thought--” Jon couldn’t breathe, panic and pain stealing the very air from his lungs. This was only going to get worse. After all they’d done, he’d done--how was he still a monster?

“Shh, shhh, thought what, love?” Martin held him carefully, mindful of all the ways Jon hurt, ticking off fears and scars on mental fingers, trying to figure out how long he’d been hiding it. How long he’d been suffering alone.

“Supposed to be, god, supposed to be safe, free of this.” He was trembling now, with chills or anxiety or both, gasping for every sip of oxygen and swallowing seawater for his trouble. “Can’t, what if--?” Choking himself off, Jon strangled. Martin stayed silent, rocking them both gently, back, forth, soft, slow, calm, calm, calm, and when Jon finally spoke again had to strain to hear him over the echo of a hammering heart beat. “Every year?”

Every year.

He couldn’t Breathe.

Everything was close. So close, too close, and he was crushed under the implications.

“Jon?” Now he was heaving for it, fast and deep, and while Martin could feel the strain it was to breathe he knew it wouldn’t be long before Jon lost consciousness altogether. “Hey, hey, listen, hayati, slow down, sloow down.” Jon’s entire body lifted when Martin inhaled, and again, and again, until he picked up the thread and made more than a half decent attempt. “Okay, there you are, you’re doing so well, sweetheart. So well.” Time passed in measured breaths, so much so that Martin had begun to think Jon had fallen asleep when:

“You’ll leave.”

Soft and shattered. All the fear that he’d piled onto the pain flowing out of him, a dam burst and broken.

“I won’t.” Jon’s movements were hard-won but he managed to shift himself enough to face him. His expression was firm.

“You, you can’t be stuck taking care of an i’invalid again, Martin. I won’t. I won’t have it.”

“Ah. You won’t have it.” Martin scoffed. “And what about me? When do I get a choice?” Jon, eyes wide and dark with exhaustion and pain, looked at him as though he’d grown a second head, perhaps a third.

Or like Martin was a predator and Jon was prey, cornered and hurting.

“You shouldn’t want this.” Me. “This, this burden. This trap!”

“You’re not some sort of trap!” Martin could see the moment Jon decided to change tactics, to try and convince him otherwise, win the game. Too bad for Jon that Martin knew him better than he knew himself.

“You want this don’t you?” He sneered, so convinced, and while once upon a time it would have made Martin wilt and retreat, now he was familiar with Jon’s lashing out. Sorry, Jon. “I won’t be another reason for you to martyr yourself.”

“And I won’t be scared off by your nasty attitude.” Softening, he reached for Jon’s trembling hands, running his thumbs methodically over the backs of them. “I won’t. Together. Right?”

“Martin.” His name broke open on a sob. “I don’t. I don’t want this for you.”

“Tough.” Smothered, Jon’s next words died in his throat, a fledgling bird crushed before it could take flight. “You don’t get to choose for me, even to protect me.”

“Every year--”

“We don’t know that. Not yet.” Martin eased him down. “You aren��t a burden. You aren’t trapping me here.” He kissed away the tears, the hopelessness, even as Jon shook his head nigh delirious.

“I am, I am.”

“No, love. What you are is worn out and hurting.” Martin teased out Jon’s tangled curls, stroking his fingers through them and watching him relax as much as he could at the moment. “What you’re going to do is let me take care of things. Of you, Jon.”

“Don’deserve you.” Fresh tears welled in half lidded brown eyes, slipped into the fly aways at his temples when they closed. “Never have.” Martin stood, pressing lips to his hot brow, intending to gather up anything he thought might help.

“We’ll talk when you’re feeling better.” Jon nodded and Martin turned to leave, stopping when he found himself caught by quaking fingers tangled in his sleeve.

“I, I love you.” Contrite, whispered and awaiting rejection. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, darling.” Martin leaned down, thumbing away new tears. “I know, I know and I love you too.” He stole one more shivering kiss. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #sick #anniversaries #scars #fever #pain #hurt #fights #reassurances

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stubbychaos · 4 years

Text

A Guilty Conscience

Chapter 10 of Saviin’ika

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: While you get used to your new role in the tribe, you make it your mission to meet the ones who are to be your family. While befriending some unlikely members of the tribe, Paz later surprises you with something that he thinks will make you happy, though it ends up having the opposite effect.

Rating: T

Word Count: 14,000 *Y’all idk how this happened, I’m so sorry lol*

Warnings: Some unresolved sexual tension, minor injuries and reader still dealing with a bunch of past trauma. Other than that, this chapter is pretty harmless!

Just a quick mention: Thank you as always to @datmando for inspiring me and giving me so many amazing ideas for this story!! You’ve helped me so much with this story and getting through writer’s block and I freaking love you <3 Thank you as well to @aerynwrites @hdlynnslibrary and @maybege for all being wonderful and I love you all for motivating me to write more Paz!!

Also thank you to @coredrive for the beautiful gifs you made!! If anyone wants quality gifs for their stories, masterlists, etc... please go to Kat because she was so freaking lovely and sweet!!

“Would you like one of my shirts, ner cyare?”

You turn around, coming face to face with an unarmored Paz who is sitting on the foot of the bed, his forearms lazily resting on top of his thighs as he observes the way you hopelessly shift the torn, silky fabric in your hands. You turn to face the culprit who is currently curled up in a white rocky ball close to the furnace in the main area of Paz’s private quarters, seeming completely unbothered and not regretful that she had used your only sleep attire as a chewing toy while you were in the shower and Paz was talking to the armorer.

“That would be nice, thank you,” You murmur softly, watching with a smile as he promptly stands and makes his way over to the dresser near his bed while you discard the torn, silky fabric.

Though a few days have passed since the fight without incident--much to your appreciation--you notice Paz acting differently around you and while it’s not in a bad way by any means, it still has your curiosity growing. You notice how he almost seems worried about letting you stray too far from him, though you’re certain it’s not because he’s concerned one of his own will hurt you again, but perhaps he has the same fears you hold in your very own heart. While you’ve only been with the tribe for three days, you find yourself getting less sleep with every passing day, afraid that when you wake up, you’ll be right back at the village infirmary with your estranged father.

Perhaps he’s anxious that if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll randomly decide to leave without a word or trace.

The thought amuses you and also fills your heart with grief, wondering how the Mandalorian could possibly conjure the thought of you even thinking about leaving the place that had quickly become your safe haven.

“I’m going to shower, if you want to change,” Paz gruffly voices as he approaches you with a thick, black garment and you perk up a little upon feeling how warm it is--how warm it will keep you.

Once the Mandalorian is in the refresher, you’re quick to strip your clothes, smiling softly as you neatly fold the emerald, long-sleeved dress that Ima had found for you in a designated stack of clothes that wasn’t being worn by anyone in the tribe. Once you are only in your shorts, you grab Paz’s black shirt that he must wear over all his padding and sheepishly tug it over your head, instantly relishing in how it smells just like him--all woodsy and spicy and just like the soap he uses. The material is incredibly thick, though it’s not stiff and doesn’t make it feel like you’re suffocating; it feels soft and comforting against your bare skin, engulfing you so warmly just like one of his embraces, though you still long for the intense pressure of his arms around you. The sleeves that usually come to an end just above his elbows now fall just a few inches above your wrists and the hem skims the middle of your thighs.

As you sit on the edge of the bed and get to work on tending to your braids and all the tangles from the hair you had chosen to leave down, you think of how surreal everything still feels and how all the horrors you had ever dreamed about running away from are currently above you in the village. You try your hardest not to think about it, and instead, your mind wanders to the tribe and its intimidating, rambunctious warriors that you’ve been interacting with in the covert for the past few days.

It’s been… an interesting experience, to say the least.

For people who you used to be terrified of until recently, you think it’s somewhat surprising as well as amusing that Paz had been correct when he mentioned them being quite mischievous when it came to you, though you’re certain most of it comes from you being an outsider and not understanding their language. It had already happened a couple times where you would be exploring the enclave, trying to memorize the tunnels and where different ones led, and you would run into a small group of Mandos speaking in their native tongue as you shyly approached them to introduce yourself.

Most of the time they would simply peer down at you while informing you that they already knew who you were--that they had seen you standing your ground against Paz, which apparently nobody in the tribe had ever really done before. It was quite interesting seeing everyone’s perspective towards their heavy-infantry warrior, how they knew him to be one of the strongest in the tribe and how they respected him for it. However, it was also slightly amusing that they seemed to have no problem making jokes at his expense--talking about how they were glad you were at the covert so he would stop being grouchy and angry all the time.

Ima, you found, was the exact same way, although she had no qualms about berating the man she called her uncle to his face.

Seeing the way the teenager and your blue warrior interacted with one another felt like some sort of special phenomenon that you had never really witnessed before--a relationship stronger than that between a sister and a brother, but not quite as profound as one between a daughter and father. You thought uncle and niece was a good way to describe it and though you’re curious as to why Ima doesn’t call anyone else in the tribe ‘brother’ or ‘sister’, you decide it’s better not to ask for the sake of accidentally bringing up a sad memory.

You’re too deep into your thoughts that you don’t notice a hulking figure emerge from the refresher minutes later, a few water droplets dripping down his shoulders and back as he mindlessly observes you combing through your hair with your fingers.

A small cough startles you and you turn your head to gaze at Paz, his helmet slightly tilted to the side as he stares at you through the guise of that unforgiving visor. Your fingers are still threaded in your damp hair, your bare legs dangling off the side of his bed with your sock-clad toes barely skimming the stone floor as you blink owlishly at him, still not used to seeing him expose so much of his skin.

He’s not saying anything and it has you slightly worried--have you done something wrong?

“Paz, are you okay?”

His bare, broad shoulders tense upwards when you shift on the bed, finally working through a stubborn tangle as you tilt your head at him; you find yourself doing that a lot more lately and you think being surrounded by so many Mandalorians has their little mannerisms rubbing off on you.

You move to get up when he doesn't say anything, now worried that you really have done something wrong, but Paz shakes his head and squashes your worries immediately.

"No--I mean, yes," He huffs and shakes his helmet a little harder when you stand up next to the bed to pull the thick fur away from the pillows it's tucked under while he moves to turn off the lights, "I'm fine, just a little tired, cyare."

You nod your understanding, feeling your own exhaustion creeping up on you, though today had been a relatively easy day in regards to treating scrapes and bruises. You’ve come to find that some of the younger, less trained Mandalorians aren’t exactly the most graceful on their feet, some tripping over their own capes while descending staircases, while others who are less skilled with blades or blasters manage to slip up and injure themselves. It’s definitely not the kind of injuries you’re used to tending--minor ones--but you find it much more pleasant and rewarding than your job in the village, especially when everyone here has treated you politely, for the most part.

You know that even while you had been accepted into the tribe, it doesn’t quite make you part of the family to some, especially to those who still felt as though you should swear the creed to be fully accepted. It was a big detail you had worried about quite a bit, whether or not you would have to swear the creed and wear a helmet just as the rest of them, but you think that perhaps it is a topic you should speak to the armorer about.

You slide underneath the heavy fur and exhale a content sigh, reminding yourself that such worries could wait until morning.

A yawn leaves you just as you hear the quiet hiss of Paz’s helmet being removed before he places it on his nightstand and a tired smile stretches your lips when you feel the mattress dip underneath the weight of the warrior’s body.

Before you can even turn to face him, his huge arm is wrapped around your waist and he’s carefully moving you closer to him; an intense warmth spreads throughout your cheeks when he holds you close, your back pressed firmly against his chest as he wastes no time in placing a kiss to the top of your damp hair. You can feel the heat from his bare chest already spreading throughout your entire body and you curl your legs back to press your feet against his bare ankles.

He lets out a small huff as he curls his fingers into the soft material of his shirt covering your abdomen and leans down to press a tender kiss to your cheek, “You are lucky I love you, or else I would not let you wear socks in our bed.”

The ‘our bed’ comment definitely doesn’t go over your head and you hold back a giggle when he sighs against your warm skin, his thumb stroking firm circles near your belly button, “I cannot help it that my feet are always cold.”

His chest rumbles with a soft laugh as he settles behind you, his hand moving a little lower to your hip, just underneath where your cauterized wound is still healing, and he gives you a gentle squeeze, “I told you that you’d do nothing to warm our bed up, mesh’la, I knew I was right. You’re always freezing.”

“If I recall correctly, you told me that you would not mind keeping me warm,” You remind him of what he had said the night he had told you his name, your cheeks growing hot when you feel his lips against the outer shell of your ear, “And you are doing no such thing, ori kebiin.”

“You are a funny woman,” Paz is still trying not to laugh as his hand comes up to cup your jaw, long fingers splayed widely against your burning cheeks, “You feel plenty warm to me, sweetheart.”

Realizing that there’s no way of beating the Mandalorian at his own game, you give up and simply shuffle your curled toes between his calves, making him grunt a little when he feels the blocks of ice that are your sock-clad feet through the material of his sleep pants. He cups your jaw and urges your head to the side a little, using his thumb that’s pressed to the corner of your lips to seek them out with his own.

This close intimacy is certainly another thing you’ve noticed since you forgave him after the fight--him wanting to kiss and touch you whenever it’s just the two of you. It’s definitely something you don’t mind, you realize as his tongue firmly swipes across your bottom lip, and you find yourself growing more comfortable and relaxed when it comes to accepting little touches from him. You can tell that it’s something he’s nervous about when you two are just laying in his bed, wide awake when sleep refuses to wrap itself around the two of you--that he’s worried something he does will set you off.

He always tries to keep his touches to your thighs and hips feather-light after politely asking if it’s okay for him to touch you there and a part of you wonders if he’s already concluded that you’re simply not used to people asking you for consent when it comes to certain things.

Even if it’s not the reason why, you’re still grateful he always asks and his consideration fills your heart with warmth whenever he seems so hellbent on making sure you’re comfortable when you two find yourself in these sort of intimate settings. It doesn’t necessarily feel like it’s him testing your boundaries, but more so him seeing what you like and what gets certain noises out of you, though you find your skin quite sensitive to every nip and lick he inflicts on you.

A part of you is grateful that he usually lies on his back when the two of you are holding one another, as the thought of being pinned underneath anyone again, even your blue warrior, lingers like a storm cloud in the back of your mind.

Currently, however, you focus on the way his fingers tentatively curl around your thigh, just below the hem of the shirt he had given you and your lashes flutter as he guides your head back a little so he has more access to your throat. He seems a little more eager tonight, you think, and as his fingers curl into the thick fabric at your thighs while he dutifully presses tender kisses to your sensitive skin, you start to slowly put the pieces together.

“Paz?” His name comes out in the form of a breathy whisper as he settles back to press a kiss into your damp hair.

He still seems slightly dazed as he brings his arm back to curl tightly around your waist, “Hm?”

“Earlier, when you were staring at me when you came out of the shower,” You grin a little when you feel the way his arms tense around your middle, “Was it… is it because I’m wearing your shirt?”

Paz huffs an amused noise and you’re certain you’ve left him flustered for once as he slowly shifts his body until he’s able to rest his chin against the slope of your neck, “I like the way you look in anything, cyare, but something about seeing you wearing my clothes--it does things to me. I can’t say that I am upset that your vulptex tore up your nightgown, not with how beautiful you look right now.”

“You can’t even see me right now, silly man.”

“I don’t need to,” He mumbles, his beard scratching your sensitive skin as he lazily tends to all the little marks he left behind with his lips and teeth the previous night, “I remember everything about you, ner cyare, like how your eyes always get big whenever you see me taking off my armor and my clothes. Perhaps my sweet little nurse isn’t as innocent as I thought.”

You nearly let out with a whimper when you feel his tongue on your skin, your cheeks burning furiously as his hand cautiously grazes up your thigh, “Is this okay?”

His tepid breath fanning along the column of your throat makes you shiver a little and your voice cracks a little when you speak, “Y-Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He repeats with a soft sigh, his hand moving past the little shorts you typically wear to bed and up to your bare hip, just underneath where your blaster wound is still tender, though not nearly causing you as much pain, “Stars, your skin is so damn soft and your hair smells good--just like those flowers you’re always wearing.”

You let your eyes close as he continues to explore your stomach with feather-like strokes, seeming content to simply warm you with his large hand and you feel your thighs clench together firmly when he rubs a sensitive spot just underneath your belly button. His hands are leaving a scorching blaze in their wake and you feel a deep shudder wrack your body upon feeling the wet, open-mouthed kisses he’s leaving just underneath your earlobe.

Despite the ache between your thighs, you jump when his fingertips barely graze just above the hem of your shorts and he immediately freezes upon feeling the tension in your body.

“I’m sorry,” Your ears grow hot with shame and you think he must be frustrated with you for not feeling ready to be intimate on this kind of level yet, “I just--”

“Hey, don’t you dare ever apologize for knowing when you’re not ready,” He whispers, moving his lips away from your jaw and removing his hand from underneath the shirt he let you borrow, “I shouldn’t have done that--I should have asked first.”

“It’s okay,” You weakly reassure him, smiling softly when he politely fixes your shirt, dragging the hem back down your thighs, “I... I want to be with you like that and I thought I was ready but I... I don’t know.”

“You do not owe me an explanation. I would never pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” Paz promises in a rushed tone as he moves to unlatch his arm from around you, though you are quick to stop him, “I am sorry if I was too forward, cyare. I want you to only ever feel comfortable around me and if I ever do or say anything that you don’t like, please tell me, okay? I’ll never be mad at you.”

“I love you, Paz.”

He relaxes against you and presses another tender kiss into the hair above the tip of your ear, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner cyare.”

You smile into the darkness at the warmth his words bring you, though you can’t help but to feel doubt towards yourself and you turn your head a little over your shoulder until his warm breath fans across the plane of your cheek. Even though you can’t see him in the slightest, you like to imagine his eyes scanning your face thoughtfully--curiously--and you hear him let out an inquisitive hum when you murmur his name.

“I haven’t been able to sleep the last couple of days,” You admit softly, placing your hand on top of the much larger one that’s resting just under your sternum, “I’m scared that every night here is going to be my last one--that someone isn’t going to want me here because I haven’t sworn to the creed and that I don’t wear a helmet or armor.”

Paz exhales softly and you close your eyes when his minty breath tickles your nostrils, “Our alor already knows that you were to be brought to the tribe to be our nurse, not a fighter. I made it clear to everyone that you would not have to wear our armor and if anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with me or the armorer. You’re not going anywhere… not if you don’t want to.”

You detect the way his voice lowers into a much more sheepish, subdued tone upon whispering the last part and your suspicions from earlier are proved correct.

He’s afraid that you’re going to change your mind about staying with the tribe.

In an attempt to squash his own fears and insecurities, you wrap your fingers around his wrist and urge his arm up past your chest until you are able to lean your head down a little and kiss his calloused knuckles tenderly. He lets out a content sigh as you let him splay his fingers out widely against the swell of your breast, your heart pounding frantically against his palm while his thumb studies your firm pulse at the base of your neck.

“I just want to be wherever you are, Paz,” You murmur, your lips stretching into a smile when he tenderly kisses your cheek again.

“I feel the same way about you,” He sighs, finally relaxing completely as you keep his hand cradled to your chest, “Anything else you’re losing sleep over, cyare?”

For a moment it sounds like he’s teasing you, but something about the rawness and sincerity of his voice makes you think differently and you swallow the lump in your throat as you think of the little boy from the nursery--the one that had clung onto your leg and hugged you. Though a part of you wants to ask Paz more about how he was found and what happened to his parents, you think it best not to ask and shake your head a little bit.

It is none of your business.

“Try to get some rest,” Paz murmurs against your cheek, his beard scratching your sensitive skin, “I’ll make sure to wake you up if you have any nightmares.”

You murmur a tired ‘thank you’ and let your eyes slip shut, feeling reassured by his words and the feathery press of his lips against the tail of your brow, along with the way his thumb continues to rest atop your pulse point at the bottom of your neck.

For once, you sleep restfully--not necessarily dreaming of much, but not really having any nightmares either. You’re stuck in a strange limbo for the rest of the night and at one point, you feel Paz stroking your brow in an effort to calm you down upon feeling your body jolt when you wake from a strange dream that has you crying out.

As you fall back asleep underneath the comforting guidance of his hands and sweet whispers against the shell of your ear, you briefly wonder if the heavy-infantry warrior ever sleeps.

The next morning when you wake up and tiredly crack your eyes open, Paz is already fumbling around the little kitchenette, his helmet and underclothes now on and you prop yourself up on an elbow as you watch him set a wooden bowl down in front of your excited vulptex. The dish is filled with colorful fruit and chunks of meat and you think it must be the best meal she’s had since she was born, what with her dramatic reaction. She lets out long, happy little squeaks between bites and you think you hear something reminiscent of a laugh or a chuckle from Paz’s vocoder when he reaches out to graze a bare hand along her rocky spine.

“And here I thought you hated her,” You murmur with a yawn, stretching your arms above your head before gracelessly rolling out of bed, the room dimly lit as you make your way over to your beloved companions, “You and everyone else are always calling her a runt.”

Paz snorts and shakes his head a little, tilting his head a little as he hands you a bowl of fruit that has some yogurt underneath, “She is a runt, saviin--doesn’t mean I hate her for it. Besides, she tried to bite Djarin in the leg yesterday, so I guess she’s starting to grow on me.”

You huff a little at that as you savor the fresh berries, your taste buds still not used to such sweet food, and you shake your head at your Mandalorian, “You better not be training my sweet vulptex to attack others, Paz.”

“I would do no such thing,” Paz still sounds a little smug as he begins to put on all of his thick padding and heavy armor, “I’d only train her how to attack the bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes and watch as he puts his armor on piece by piece, the same way he’s done it every morning for the last couple of days he’s been here. It must be a routine for him, you think as you watch him clip his pauldrons in place and work his way down his body; you find the whole process to be mesmerizing and you wonder if he’s been doing this every single day for nearly his entire life.

“I can feel you staring at me, cyare.”

You feel your cheeks warm up when you promptly turn your attention to the breakfast that Paz had kindly made for you, though you had insisted the previous mornings that you didn’t expect him to do this for you. Your heart warms when you remember how he had admitted that it made him happy to see you enjoy little basic necessities that you had been robbed of nearly your entire life and you stopped arguing after that.

Though it was only yogurt and fruit, you still felt like the most spoiled woman in the galaxy.

After completing your usual morning routine, along with braiding the top half of your hair around the crown of your head, you pick out your clothes for the day and scoop your needy little vulptex into the crook of your elbow, her favorite resting place, it seems.

“What am I going to do when she gets too big and I can’t carry her like this?”

Paz snorts as you wait for him to snap his gauntlets into place around his black, leather gloves, “If you didn’t spoil her so much and carry her around all the time, this wouldn’t be a problem, cyare.”

You pout a little at that, struggling not to smile when he gives your earlobe a playful tug once he’s finished with his big gauntlets, “Her leg is still sore--would you really be so heartless to make her walk around the covert?”

“She seemed to have no problem limping around until you showed up and started carrying her all over the place.”

Not having a solid rebuttal to the playful words, you simply shake your head and watch as he checks all the big pouches attached to his utility belt. Your eyes immediately land on the vibroblade sheathed at his hip and you let out a shaky sigh when you remember the Trandoshan, though Paz seems to notice the change in your attitude and shields that side of his body from you.

“C’mon cyare, we have a long day.”

Following close behind Paz, the two of you make your way out of his private quarters and down the tunnels where others are starting to trickle out of their rooms as well. You’ve come to find that with the exception of a few Mandos, the tribe tends to stick to a pretty strict routine of going to bed at a certain time and waking up earlier, though you find this to work out quite nicely for you. Whereas once you were getting two or three hours of sleep a night, along with maybe a thirty minute nap on your break, you now have the entire night to rest, even if you don’t always get the best sleep.

Perhaps he’s worried that you’ll get lost, even though you memorized the directions to your little office on the second day of being at the covert, but you allow Paz to guide you there anyways, grateful for his company when you know you won’t see him until tonight. Though you feel slightly sad upon making it to your destination, you’re somewhat anxious and eager to see what today brings you and who you might meet.

With a gentle kiss of his Beskar forehead against yours, you and the heavy-infantry warrior part ways for the day and you contentedly enter the little office that you had managed to clean up pretty well since your arrival. As you enter the little alcove, something feels off and you quickly detect the sounds of soft hums and discontented grunts.

You freeze upon finding out that you are not the only one occupying the room and your brows shoot up at the strange spectacle taking place in front of you.

In front of your desk, where you had placed a small pot of violets that you’d taken from the room Paz and Ima had decorated for you, is an unarmored Mandalorian who’s currently inspecting something you wrote down on a little notepad the previous day. Though the Mando is wearing a light grey helmet with chipped away emeral trimmings around the visor and cheeks, you think they must be one of the elders in the tribe, what with their hunched over form, wavering hands, and the long staff they wield.

You don’t miss the sharp, pointed tip of the walking stick that is made from what you’re certain is Beskar and you make sure to approach slowly, not wanting to frighten the Mandalorian, though the thought of you startling a warrior is slightly amusing to you.

They’re humming something that you can barely make out through their modulator and your lips instantly stretch into a faint grin when you realize they’re reading the little list you had started of all the Mandalorians you had met in the tribe so far, along with the colors of their armor and their names to help you memorize the people who are supposed to be your new family. You watch with curiosity as the unarmored Mandalorian grabs one of your pens from the little cup next to your notepad, leaning down to try to scribble something down, though they seem to grow frustrated with how shaky their hands are.

You decide to step in when you hear a disgruntled voice uttering curse words under their breath that you’ve never even heard Paz say before and your cheeks grow warm.

“Hello, may I help you?”

Immediately, the Mandalorian whips around with a small gasp, making you jump as well and you hastily take a few steps backwards when they turn around to face you, their hand pressed tight to where their heart must be frantically pounding, just like yours currently is. Your eyes are wide, hands nervously clutched together as the Mandalorian tilts their faded, scuffed up helmet to the side while observing you closely. Though you think they must be elderly, they stand about only one or two inches taller than you and you’re finally grateful to meet someone who isn’t terrifyingly large or as tiny as one of the younglings.

“You cannot sneak up on me like that!” He lightly admonishes in a deep, gruff voice, still holding his bare, wrinkled hand over his heart, “I am not nearly as alert as I used to be, but it doesn’t mean I can’t deal out some damage still.”

He lifts the staff to show you the pointed, steel bottom of it and you immediately nod your understanding, bowing your head a little, “Of course, I am so sorry! I wasn’t sure if you were hurt or not and I just thought…”

You bite your bottom lip nervously--what were you even thinking?

“Ah, I see,” He seems to relax then, pulling out the chair in front of your desk and sinking down into it with a pained grunt while you continue to wring your fingers together in an anxious manner, “So you must be my replacement--the nurse Paz insisted on bringing to the tribe.”

Maker, did your Mandalorian actually tell the entire damn tribe about you?

Your leg bounces as soon as you take a seat at the end of the medical cot and you brush a few unruly hairs from your forehead before speaking to the elderly man, “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a replacement, sir. I’m sure I could never be as good of a medic as you are for your people. I’m just here to help out as much as I can.”

He chuckles and shakes his helmet at your humbled statement, propping his steel cane against his thigh and you feel a twinge of sadness deep within your soul as he stares down at his trembling hands. You notice his right hand is trembling more than the left and you think that must be his dominant hand--the one he would typically use for certain medical procedures--and you remember what Paz had mentioned about the tribe’s medic growing too ill and shaky to actually help others.

‘No wonder why the office was so dusty and everything was unused,’ you think to yourself sorrowfully, your eyes taking in all the big dents and scuff marks on his gray and crimson helmet.

“Hey, don’t give me those sad eyes, little one,” He admonishes you again and though you don’t remember having any kind of grandparent in your life, you think being scolded by this man must be what it feels like to have one, “I was told by Paz that you are a tough one--a warrior, just like us.”

You offer him a wry smile, “I suppose he didn’t tell you that I tend to cry quite a bit as well?”

“Oh, he definitely mentioned that,” The Mandalorian chortles and you can’t help but to grin at that, immediately feeling better at how playful he sounds, “I was hoping he was messing around with me--our people aren’t exactly the best with tears and emotions, but I suppose it is not a bad thing. During times like these, the tribe could use a little more happiness and vulnerability.”

You contemplate his words deeply, thinking of the few times Paz had informed you that because of the Empire, his people were nearly extinct and you wonder how this stranger could so easily accept you into the tribe without really knowing you. Seeing how worn out and damaged his dented helmet is, you can’t help but to wonder what he’s been through and though he seems to be more of an eccentric member of the tribe, you’re certain he’s been through hell and back.

“If you do not mind me asking--” You offer him a fond gaze, your smile growing when he tilts his helmet dramatically to the side, his Beskar cheek nearly touching his shoulder, “May I have your name? I am trying to learn who everyone is, but the visors are all the same and sometimes the color of armor is similar and--”

“I get it,” The older man sounds like he’s amused and you briefly wonder if he was once an outsider like you, though you find it rude to ask, “I was about to write it in your little notebook, but I fear my hands are too unsteady for you to understand my writing, little one.”

You perk up and quickly stand up, making your way over to where he’s sitting before you crouch down in front of your desk and grab one of the several pens in the little cup near your notebook. The Mandalorian makes a funny noise as you give him an inquisitive glance, wordlessly asking for his name with a quirk of your brow and though he wears a typical Mandalorian helmet, you think he must be grinning underneath his Beskar guise.

“Ezir Ralas.”

You somehow manage to write down his name as fast as he spells it out for you and you grin at how demanding he sounds upon spelling every single letter out and how he describes the exact colors of his faded helmet. There’s something about his lighthearted tone that makes you think he’s not as intimidating as every other warrior you’ve encountered since being brought to the covert.

“Well, it is lovely to meet you, sir,” You beam at him as you make your way back to the medical cot to sit on while you wait for your first patient of the day, “Have you been the tribe’s nurse for very long?”

He chuckles again, long fingers curling against his knees, “Oh yes, I’ve been with the tribe since we were forced into hiding years ago. Before all of this, however, I was a field medic for my people on Mandalore, back during our civil war.”

“Oh, I um, I had no idea there was a civil war,” You frown at this new information, briefly wondering if Paz knows about this, though you think he must, “That must have been so scary to be out there on a battlefield, trying to save your own people.”

He lets out a small grunt as he leans forward to rest his forearms atop his thighs, “Even though I am a medic, I was also born and raised a fighter, little one. Though the things I have seen haunt me at night when I cannot sleep, I would not so willingly admit that I was ever afraid.”

You slowly nod and gaze down at the steel pendant that hangs between his collarbones and you recognize it as the one you often see around the covert, or in the morning when Paz tucks his own into the collar of his tunic. Seeming to recognize your curiosity towards the skull sigil, he unties the knot at his nape and holds out the necklace for you to inspect up close.

With great eagerness, you reach forward to accept the kind gesture, “Is it rude of me to ask what this is?”

“It is not rude,” Ezir sounds amused by your curiosity and your cheeks grow warm as you trace over the sharp horns protruding from the cheeks of the skull with your thumbs, “It is the skull of a beast that was once native to Mandalore--the mythosaur. They were these enormous monsters with teeth and horns sharper than a sword made of Beskar and when they tried to attack my ancestors, we either slayed them or conquered them and rode them as transportation.”

“How big were they?”

“Massive,” He flippantly waves a hand in the air, appearing far too nonchalant while speaking of terrifying beasts, “Well, I would imagine they’re the size of the village currently above us, little one.”

Your eyes grow wide and a chuckle escapes past his modulator at how incredulous you sound, “And you’re ancestors fought them?”

“Without hesitation,” He informs you and though the image of a monster so fearsome and enormous terrifies you, it also fills you with feelings of reverence and awe, “After the beasts went extinct, the mythosaur skull became a symbol of our people and all that we had overcome; it is a symbol of our history and culture.”

You hum quietly, barely noticing the way his tilted visor is trained on the way you tenderly trace all the curves and divots of the pendant with admiration, a smile tugging at your lips as you think of the symbolism behind the sigil. Suddenly, you understand why people have always murmured terrifying rumors of the Beskar-clad enigmas and you think it must be true that they’re the strongest warriors in the galaxy. You wonder what it must feel like to exude such power to the point where people fear you without even knowing who you are and though you still regret feeling so much terror upon initially meeting Paz, you’re suddenly grateful that you’d eventually let him into your heart.

“Perhaps one day, you will have one of your own,” Ezir concedes and your head snaps up to peer at him with shock; you hand the pendant back out for him to take, feeling undeserving to be holding something so precious to his people, “Oh, don’t give me that look. You may not wear our helmet or armor, but once I teach you some Mando’a and get a weapon in your hand, you’ll be a fearsome warrior.”

You think of what Paz had mentioned about the others in the tribe teaching you Mando’a, and while you’ve only known him for a few minutes, he seems to be a respectful man, albeit a little quirky.

“What does riduur mean?” You blurt out, your skin instantly growing warm when you see Ezir’s shoulders shaking as he laughs at the innocent question; suddenly, you fear that everyone has been saying something demeaning about you, “I just... everyone in the tribe keeps calling me ‘Paz’s riduur’ and I--it’s not an insult, right? They’re always laughing when they say it.”

He shakes his head as his laughter eventually ceases, “No, little one, it is quite the opposite of an insult, but rather a term of endearment. I do not think it is my place to tell you what it means and I am not sure if Paz has the guts to actually tell you, but I can say that I am certain you will find out for yourself one day when he calls you that himself.”

Your leg bounces anxiously as you watch him situate his mythosaur pendant between his collarbones and as you think of all the meanings that the word possibly possesses, one stands out to you the most.

“Is it something I would be allowed to say to him as well in the future?”

“Yes,” He reaches down to pet your vulptex that’s awkwardly making her way towards his boots, sounding utterly entertained by your inquiry, “Though I cannot promise you that his brain wouldn’t combust if he heard you call him that.”

“Then perhaps I would call him that as payback for all the times he’s teased me about certain things.”

Ezir guffaws at that, remaining diligent in petting the lazy vulptex that’s headbutting his calf in a needy manner, “I like you, little one. I almost didn’t believe Ima when she told me you had stopped the fight between Din and Paz, let alone when she informed me that you had stood up for yourself and the bounty hunter.”

You watch as the older man awkwardly scoops the little vulptex into his arms and you’re grateful that not many seem to mind her presence in the covert, as you’re not sure what you would have done had you been forced to get rid of her.

“I have been belittled by men all my life,” You shyly admit, staring at the little creature that’s reaching up in an attempt to bite his pendant, though Ezir doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest as you continue, “And for the longest time, I just learned to keep my mouth shut and deal with it because that’s just the way I was raised, I suppose. These last couple of days have taught me that it does not make me a bad person for only wanting to be treated with respect and my only regret is that I did not realize this sooner in life. Perhaps I’d be a stronger woman if I had realized my worth at a younger age.”

No longer is Ezir petting the vulptex, but instead, he now has his visor trained on you and in return, you offer him a small smile. He remains deathly silent for at least a minute before giving you a curt nod, as though he approves of either you or just your declaration in general.

“In our language, we have a word that I think perfectly describes you, little one,” His gruff, filtered voice drops to something softer as he watches you perk up with curiosity, “Ramikadyc--it means that you have the tenacity and determination of a Mandalorian, that you have our mindset.”

Your heart instantly swells with gratitude and you shyly cross your ankles together as you wring your fingers together on top of your lap, “I would hardly compare myself to your people. I do not think I would have the tenacity or determination to fight against one of those mythosaurs that your ancestors slayed.”

“Something tells me you and I are not too different,” Ezir informs you with what you think is mirth laced within his deep voice, “I do not think you would hesitate to put yourself in harm’s way if it meant protecting someone you care for or someone you do not wish to see to get hurt.”

You smile softly and give him a slight nod as you think of the bounty hunter that you had stood up for, despite him not deserving it, or even your little vulptex that you had taken a blaster shot for. If Ezir truly thinks that you have the heart of a warrior, then he must be saying it for a good reason and his words, along with Ima’s and Paz’s confidence in you, fills you with a little more hope in regards to your future with the tribe.

“Will you tell me more about you?”

“I am afraid my stories might bore you to the point of insanity,” Ezir chuckles, shifting in his seat a little so he can hold your vulptex in a more comfortable position, “But since you seem so curious, what is it you wish to know, little one?”

“Can you tell me more about Mandalore and the civil--?”

Before you can finish, a deep baritone from the entrance of your office interrupts your inquiry and both you and Ezir immediately turn around to find your blue Mandalorian standing tall behind another unarmored Mando, though this one is still taller than you and Ezir. The smaller Mando is holding their wrist protectively against their chest and it takes a few seconds for you to recognize the warrior as one of the younger ones that seems to have a knack for constantly getting hurt during training.

“Saviin’ika,” Paz greets politely with a slight nod, cocking his helmet to the side upon noticing who’s been keeping you company in the short amount of time you two have been apart, “Ezir.”

You raise your brows at the way your warrior tenses up a little upon seeing the elderly man, though you manage to get in a word before any of the Mandalorians can say anything, your attention focused on the injured boy.

“Is your wrist hurt?”

The unarmored Mando peers up at Paz with what you think must be a wary expression through his visor--something that your warrior immediately picks up on. With absolutely no hesitation, the heavy-infantry warrior murmurs something to the younger Mando in his native tongue and you raise your head with anticipation and a kind smile. As though that’s all the confirmation of the young teenager--Vhan--needs, he nods a little and you slide off the end of the cot so your first patient of the day can sit down.

You give the boy a small, encouraging smile as he takes his glove off and pushes up his sleeve to reveal a swollen wrist, “What happened?”

“It was my fault,” Paz says immediately, making you raise your brows in surprise at the thought of him somehow hurting someone so young, “He was sparring with his brother and I looked away for a minute. He fell and landed right on his wrist.”

You frown a little at the guilt in his voice, though judging by the exasperated sigh that wafts past Vhan’s modulator, you think this must be a common occurrence amongst the younger ones who get hurt on Paz’s watch.

“Well, it’s hard to tell for sure without x-rays,” You manage to rotate Vhan’s wrist in the slightest, a gesture that seems to cause minimal pain to the boy, “But it looks like it’s just a minor sprain, since there seems to be no crooked bones and you can still move it around a little. Nothing too serious and nothing to feel bad about.”

Paz lets out a relieved huff at the news, though you know your blue warrior enough to know he’s not going to let the guilt down so easily, especially not when it pertains to one of the younger members of the tribe. A knowing grin stretches your lips when Vhan groans, and now you’re certain this isn’t the first time Paz has been worried like a mother hen over the clumsy teen. Though the blue warrior has quite the reputation among all the adults in the covert, it seems he also has a completely different persona when he’s with the younger ones.

“See? I told you it’s fine. Can I go back to training now?” Vhan insists, moving to hop off of the cot, though you are quicker to stop him by placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Uh uh,” You shake your head, earning another groan from the teen and what you’re sure are surprised expressions from the two other men occupying the room, “Just because it’s a sprain doesn’t mean you can go running off just to damage it even further. You should at least rest it for forty-eight hours and put some ice on it every thirty minutes for two hours until the pain goes away. Also try to keep it elevated as much as possible.”

“That’s so much work for a little sprain though!” Vhan argues and you let out a soft sigh as you begin to compress his wrist with a thick bandage, “Can’t I just--”

“Hey!” Ezir suddenly sounds annoyed, and you’re surprised when the boy tenses up a little, just as Paz had earlier, and something about their reactions has you growing even more curious to what kind of reputation the elder has among his family, “Listen to the nurse, di’kut. She only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yes sir,” Vhan mumbles, though you can tell he’s still not happy about it when he turns his visor to you, “S-Sorry, Saviin’ika.”

You blink your surprise at him calling you the familiar nickname, but eventually you give him a kind smile and stand up to retrieve your roll of ice wraps, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure it must be difficult for you to miss out on training, but it really is for your own good. I don’t have the resources here to fix your wrist if it was seriously broken, so it’s detrimental to make sure that the sprain heals properly before doing any serious training again. Perhaps there is… um, maybe something else you can do in the meantime that’s not too strenuous?”

He perks up a little and hope instantly flares in your chest as he gives you an eager nod before turning to look at Paz, “You told me the other day that you would show me how to take apart an assault rifle and put it back together--would that be okay?”

Paz glances at you and the boy’s eager tone makes it hard for you to say no, so you give your warrior a reluctant nod as you finish tying the ice wrap around his swollen wrist, “Just as long as you make sure to not move your wrist around too much and keep the ice wrap on, okay?”

“Alright!” He’s instantly hopping off the cot and you chuckle at his newfound excitement, “Thanks vod’ika!”

You huff a little, opening your mouth to stubbornly remind him that you’re far older than him, though he cuts you off with a quick headbutt to your forehead; while it’s not too harsh of a harsh gesture, it’s certainly not as gentle as all the times Paz has performed the same action. You rub your tender forehead as Paz turns to the side a little so Vhan can make his way, presumably, to the armory. Paz shakes his helmet in an exasperated manner as he steps toward you, most likely to get a look at your forehead, but Ezir’s small grunts as he slowly stands up has your full attention.

Instinctively, you move to help the elder up from your office chair, noticing his slight struggle to stand and you force yourself not to cringe at the numerous pops and cracks coming from his knees and back. After a lifetime of fighting and being a medic, you’re certain it’s taken a toll on him, though he simply chuckles a little and pats your back as you both make your way over to Paz.

“I suppose I should take this as my sign to leave you to your duties for the day, verd’ika,” You beam at the new nickname as he carefully grabs onto your elbow for better balance while you lead him to the entrance where Paz is still standing with a cocked helmet, “I’ll have to look for my old medical books and datapads for you to read.”

“Oh, thank you!” Happiness and warmth instantly blankets your heart at his consideration, gratitude filling your soul when you realize that he seems to approve of you being the tribe’s new nurse, “I would love that very much, if it’s not too much of a hassle.”

“Of course not,” He gives your hand a little pat before latching onto a grumpy Paz’s elbow instead, “I’ll just make this one help me later since he can reach the higher shelves.”

“I have other things to--”

Jutting a thumb out in your direction over his shoulder, Ezir sends a rough little whack! of his walking stick to Paz’s armored shin, “It is good she is here with the tribe now--perhaps she can teach you and everyone else some manners, you big brute.”

“Yeah, ori kebiin,” You giggle in a teasing manner, earning a small grunt from the blue warrior, “Would it really kill you to learn a few manners?”

Ezir lets out a loud laugh that has Paz shaking his helmet at you, and though you know you’ll soon regret it, you think it’s worth the delightful torment he’ll inflict on you later when the two of you are alone. Without another word, Paz reaches out to give your nape a tender squeeze before leaving you alone to your thoughts in your little office, though you think that seeing Ezir and helping Vhan has already given you a bright start to your day.

With a faint smile stretched along your lips, you add a few comments to your little notepad and take inventory of the supplies you have and what you need for the next time Paz goes on a supply run. For the most part, the day goes by slowly and uneventfully--something you are actually grateful for, what with being so used to the chaos that came as a result of working in a village full of crime and those with cruel hearts.

Needless to say, you don’t mind a calm day in the slightest and when Ima passes your office hours later to politely inform you that training and sparring lessons are done for the day, you’re grateful that no serious injuries were sustained. Packing up your things and making sure your office is in order, you turn off the lights and exit your office, eager to explore the covert a little more and go to the room that Paz and Ima had decorated for you.

After conversing with a few of the Mandalorians you had befriended in the short amount of time you’ve been at the covert, you happily make your way down the stairs that you know leads to everyone’s private quarters, as well as the nursery and your little flower alcove.

You hum a mindless tune to yourself as you stroll down the long tunnel, smiling when the atmosphere gets a little warmer when you pass the shielded alcove that leads into the nursery; your walking slows a little and you’re half tempted to go inside and say hi to the little ones, though you don’t want to cause any chaos again, especially so late in the day. Reluctantly, you continue past the nursery and make your way to the little room Paz and Ima had decorated with your flowers, your vulptex resting comfortably in your arms as you two seek out relaxation.

“I need to think of a name for you, little one,” You murmur, earning a soft gaze from her, crimson eyes slowly blinking up at you, “Maybe I should ask one of the younglings to come up with one. They must be far more creative than me.”

She simply answers you with a dramatic huff as you continue down the path that Paz had already taken you down a few times.

You’re completely oblivious to the little footsteps following you far behind.

Finally, you make it to your beloved sanctuary and let out a relieved sigh upon seeing all your growing flowers and the lights that hang above them. Placing your little vulptex on the center of the desk where you had placed a little pillow for her, you dutifully water the plants and flowers that look like they need it the most. It’s comforting to have a little place of your own, especially after dealing with so many of the boisterous warriors all day and while you feel as though you’re slowly getting used to their antics, you realize you truly had no idea what you were getting yourself into upon agreeing to be the tribe’s nurse.

A small smile quirks at the corners of your lips as you feel the tiniest ache in your temple where the younger Mandalorian had headbutted his gratitude a little too roughly earlier, though warmth fills your heart when you remember how he had referred to you as his sister.

You’re in the middle of checking on your little violets when your vulptex raises her head in a jolting manner; immediately, you turn around, expecting Paz or perhaps Ima needing you to tend to someone’s wound.

It is neither one of them, you realize with surprise.

You let out a little gasp upon seeing a pair of wide, fearful eyes poking from the tiny crack between the curtains and the doorway and you instantly recognize the sad, golden brown orbs from days ago in the nursery.

“Oh, it’s okay, little one!” You give him a warm smile that instantly seems to allay some of the despair in his big eyes, “You may come in, if you’d like.”

Hesitantly, he makes his way into the unfamiliar room, looking like a lost animal that’s experiencing a new environment for the first time and you think you know the feeling all too well; even after spending a few days at the covert, you still feel quite lost and you can’t possibly imagine what this child is going through.

You blink your surprise when he gets halfway across the room before spotting your lazy vulptex who is still curled up on your desk, staring at the boy curiously, though not unkindly in the slightest. Carefully, you make your way closer to the little who simply stares up at you with wide starry eyes, his hands clasped together politely in front of him and your heart melts at how nervous and scared he seems.

“It’s okay, little one,” You reassure him in a calm, hushed tone, reaching your hand out for him to take, “She loves younglings very much and would never hurt you, I promise.”

The curly-haired boy shifts his gaze between you and your rocky companion before ultimate latching onto your hand with his. Cautiously and without any force, you guide him closer to your desk where the vulptex is still observing the little boy with gentle eyes; you think that on top of being intelligent, her species must also be quite empathetic and can differentiate a kind soul from a dark one.

“Is it okay if I pick you up?” You question the boy softly, earning you a shy nod as an answer, and you carefully haul him up to the chair in front of your desk, keeping a hand pressed to the back of his shoulders to keep him steady, should he stumble, “If you want to hold your hand out to sniff it, it’ll be a sign that you want to be her friend.”

His eyes widen a little more and you can’t help but to grin as he holds a shaking hand out for the rocky vulpine to sniff eagerly, his other hand pressed shyly to his cheek in anticipation. A tiny, childish giggle meets your ears and warms your heart as the vulptex licks his palm, though he is quick to pull his damp hand back and wipe it on his beige tunic with a scrunched up expression. When he smiles up at you, you’re certain your heart is going to melt into a big puddle of goo in the pit of your stomach and you offer him one in return, smoothing his dark, unruly curls away from his forehead.

“See? She knows you’re brave and likes you now.”

He gives you a toothy grin and you feel a lovely warmth in your soul knowing that you were able to provide some emotional reprieve for the sweet child.

“Did you sneak away from the nursery, little one?” You ask him gently, not wanting him to think you’re upset with him at all; he simply drops his head in shame and you continue to stroke his curls in an attempt to comfort him, “It’s okay! You’re not in trouble, I promise. I just want to know why.”

For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to answer as he keeps his head lowered, but then he eventually peers up at you and whispers his response in a tiny, meek voice.

“Y-You were singing,” He explains quietly, and you realize he must have heard you humming and followed you all the way here, “‘M sorry.”

“Hey, no, none of that,” You crouch down in front of him so he’s taller than you while he stands on your chair and you give him a kind smile, “It’s okay, but how about next time you just ask the caretaker on duty, alright? They’ll come find me, wherever I may be.”

He gives you a shy nod, seeming thoughtful for a few moments as he presses a chubby index finger to his pouting lips, “Do I have to go back?”

You should say yes and you know it, but his eyes are all but pleading with you to say no and he looks so hopeful that you’ll let him keep you company. You think he must feel just as out of place as you do, not knowing who to talk to or who to trust, though you seem to be the one person he finds solace in.

How could you destroy that tiny amount of trust he already has in you?

You give him a tiny smile and shake your head, “You may stay for a little while, but I fear I do not make for the most exciting company, little one.”

The boy doesn’t say anything to that and you blink your surprise when he reaches out to clumsily touch the thick braid wrapped around your crown, along with the few flowers that you had strategically placed throughout the weaves that morning when Paz had been watching you. He seems curious by the vibrant flora, his eyes blinking and flickering with awe and you bow your head a little so he can get a better look at them.

“Do you like flowers?” You ask him quietly when he eventually ceases his exploration, and you look up to see him giving you a shy little nod, “What’s your favorite kind?”

You expect him to not know many, especially if he’s spent his few years of life on Nevarro, though he surprises you when he speaks in a barely there whisper, “I like roses--like the ones my ‘gramma used to paint.”

You’re desperately inclined to ask more about his grandmother--if he had any parents and what planet he had been saved from, but if he’s the covert’s newest foundling, the wounds on his heart and mind must still be so fresh and you do not wish to infect it further with your invasive questions. Instead, you force yourself to give him a warm, big smile and somehow manage to keep the tears out of your eyes when his chubby fingers find the little blue flower that Paz had tucked behind your ear earlier in the morning.

“Yeah? I bet they were beautiful,” You grin and he gives you a fervent little nod to confirm your thoughts, “What color roses did she paint?”

And what you thought was only going to be a ten or twenty minute interaction with the boy ends up to be more than an hour and a half long meeting where the two of you talk about harmless topics like flowers, favorite animals, different types of stars and constellations. Though for once, you do most of the talking and you are more than satisfied to describe the beautiful hot springs and caves that Paz had taken you to, sparing all the mushy details that you knew would probably gross out a child.

“He’s scary,” The boy murmurs as you tell him of the story, at least the clean version, of how Paz had stood up for you the night you first found your vulptex, “They all are--they don’t smile.”

“Well of course they do,” You inform the little one, curling a finger against his cheek and earning a tiny giggle, “Everyone smiles, you just can’t see it because they wear their helmets to honor their creed. It does not mean they are robots or incapable of feeling the same emotions we do.”

He’s perched on one of your thighs, seeming comfortable as he softly pets the sleeping vulptex and you smile down at him sympathetically upon realizing he’s still apprehensive of the armored warriors, “I was scared of Paz at first too, but he turned out to be one of the kindest, most honorable men I have ever met. These people are not cruel, but I understand why you are afraid, little one. I have only been here for three days and I am still learning how to fit in as well. Perhaps we can figure this out together.”

He gives you another toothy grin and nods, seeming comforted by your words as he leans back into you and your heart aches at the trust he shows in you; a part of you wonders if it’s because he can actually see your face. You’re not entirely sure of what to say as he continues to pet the sleepy animal, smiling whenever he hears the soft squeaks that the vulptex lets out every now and then.

“Do you have a name little one?” You ask kindly--tenderly--hoping that the question won’t overwhelm him as he tilts his head to stare up at you.

You truly don’t think he’s going to answer you, but then after a few moments of silence, he lowers his head a little, not looking you in the eyes.

“Odisian.”

“Odisian... what a lovely name,” You repeat it with a grin, earning a shy smile from him, “Is it okay if I call you Odi? Or do you prefer your full name?”

Suddenly, he beams up at you and kicks his legs a little, as if having a nickname makes him feel more at home, “I like Odi!”

Your cheeks nearly hurt from how big you’re smiling at him and you nod, deciding it’s best not to dwell too much on his own name or what nicknames he might have had before being brought to the covert. You straighten your spine a little and reach out to pet your little vulptex who keens under all the adoration and attention she’s suddenly receiving from you and the little one.

“Would you like to pick out a name for her?” You ask him softly, tilting your head to the side when he gives you an expression filled with awe and wonder, like he can’t believe you are asking him to do such a thing, “She needs one and I do not think I am creative enough to bestow her with such an honor.”

Odi swings his legs nervously and you can’t help but to grin as he seems to seriously contemplate this huge decision, his tiny hand squeezing his cheeks together in great concentration. You remain patient with him as he turns his head a little to stare at all the flowers on your desk and the colorful vines that are draping off the edge of the shelves attached to the wall with admiration.

“Rosie?”

He says it more as a question, like he’s nervous for your response, so you offer him a warm grin when you realize this sweet child wants to name your vulptex after his own favorite flower. You wonder if he somehow knows just how much your flowers mean to you, just as Paz does, or if the flower simply has some sort of deeper meaning to him and you playfully ruffle his curls, earning you a little giggle from him.

“That is far more lovely of a name than I could ever come up for her,” You inform him, your cheeks hurting from how big of a smile you’re wearing on your face and he perks up at your reassurance, no longer seeming quite as nervous, “Her eyes are red like roses too! Is red your favorite color?”

“I like yellow,” He bashfully admits, and you nearly chuckle at the way he pronounces his ‘L’s as ‘W’s, “It is a happy color.”

You agree with him as you begin to collect some flowers for the little boy, though a part of you lamely thinks he probably doesn’t even want them. You’re in the process of pointing out all the different flowers that Paz and Ima had been so kind to plant for you in anticipation of your arrival when the drapes to your alcove shuffle to the side a little.

You’re completely unaware of how long your blue warrior is standing in the entryway, simply observing you and the little one perched contently on top of your leg who seems utterly interested in what you have to tell him about the healing properties of violets and lavender.

“Oh! And then this one right here, if you just grind it up and add it into--”

“Cyare.”

Immediately, you and Odi both turn to face where Paz is standing just feet away in front of the rounded entrance, though the little one in your arms is quick to lower his head in fear of the massive warrior. Wanting the youngling to feel more comfortable, you simply smile up at Paz, who suddenly seems frozen to his spot as he stares at you with a cocked helmet, his shoulders tense as his pauldrons inch closer to the bottom of his helmet.

“Is something wrong, Paz?”

“No, it’s just--” His helmet slightly jolts to the side and he’s acting odd as you gently heave Odi off of your lap, offering him the little bundle of flowers so he won’t feel so lonely without you by his side, “It is time for the younglings to sleep and the caretaker on duty got scared because he was missing. I thought you might know where he is and it seems as though I was right.”

Odi is staring up at you with the saddest expression, as though he’s pleading with you to not return him back to the nursery and you gently cup the back of his curls, giving him a kind smile in return. Nervously, he fiddles with his hands as you stand up, easily scooping your vulptex into the crook of your elbow, all while the little one stares up at Paz with the most frightened expression you’ve ever witnessed, hiding behind your leg.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere and you’re more than welcome to visit me anytime,” You offer him a reassuring smile as he gazes down at the little bouquet of flowers and he is quick to grab your outstretched hand with an eager expression, “C’mon, I’ll walk you back. Besides, he likes flowers too--I bet he would like it if you gave him one.”

You say the last sentence in a low whisper, as though you’re sharing some sort of gossip with him and you instantly notice the way he perks up as Paz holds the drapes to the side for you, his helmet still tilted to the side as he observes you two. Odi is still quiet and thoughtful as he stares down at the little bundle of colorful flowers you had gifted him, all while holding your hand as Paz slowly leads you through the dim tunnels.

Shyly, the child gazes up at Paz and warmth blooms in your heart and soul when he lowers his helmet to regard Odi with what you’re certain is the utmost kindness, most likely wanting nothing more than to earn the boy’s trust. Without saying anything, the little one holds up the colorful bouquet of flowers for Paz to see and you grin at the adorable interaction.

"Those are... pretty,” Paz comments in a softer voice and you can tell he’s trying to appear as placid as possible to the nervous boy, “Which one is your favorite?”

Odi lets go of your hand to press his index finger to his bottom lip in severe contemplation and you nearly chuckle at what must be a cute little habit that he does unknowingly when he’s thinking too hard. After a moment’s consideration, he points a chubby finger at one of the many violets that you had tucked in the center and you instantly grin.

“Those are my favorite too,” Paz says quietly, and you’re too focused on the way Odi is smiling down at the little bouquet to notice the Mandalorian’s visor trained on your face.

Odi seems conflicted as he gently tugs one of the violets from the middle of the colorful bundle and offers it to the huge warrior with a hopeful gaze, not saying a word throughout the entire exchange.

“What an honor,” Paz sounds like he's grinning as he accepts the little flower and Odi immediately seeks out your hand again, “Thank you.”

The youngling peers up at you with a cheerful glimmer in his eye, as though he’s proud of himself for showing such bravery and selflessness in the presence of a powerful warrior. Once you offer him a knowing smile and a gentle squeeze of his hand, Odi turns to gaze down at his colorful bouquet with a tiny grin on his face.

Content upon realizing the little one no longer seems sad or fearful, you tilt your head up to beam happily at Paz, your heart still full of love and admiration towards both him and Odi; immediately the warrior lifts his hand to tenderly stroke your cheek. The cold bite of leather nearly makes you flinch and suddenly you’re remorseful that both of your hands are occupied by your littlest companions as you now long to touch the lighter blue in the hollows of his cheeks.

It’s not until you make it back to the nursery that Odi’s smile drops and his lips form into a little pout. Paz presses his gloved hand to the small of your back to guide you further into the nursery and through a short tunnel leading the four of you to where the younglings must sleep and take their naps.

“Hey,” You whisper after the four of you enter a dimly lit room with several beds lined up; you notice the tiny lumps curled up underneath the fuzzy blankets and smile as you crouch down in front of Odi, “Remember what I said, okay? You ever want to come see me, just ask one of the caretakers. I’ll always be here for you.”

He nods, and before you can even think about standing up, he steps forward to wrap his tiny arms around your neck and you’re quick to return the sweet gesture, your free hand coming up to gently cup the back of his head. You feel his chubby fingers curl into the hair you had left unbraided that morning and smile when he holds onto you a little tighter; you can tell he’s still afraid of you leaving as an idea pops into your head.

“Since Rosie seems to like you so much, why don’t I leave her here with you for the night?” Immediately, he pulls away from you, his starry eyes wide and filled with disbelief as you gently shuffle the lazy vulpine into his awaiting arms, “She may be small, but she’s a fierce little thing that will protect you from any nightmares you may have, I promise.”

He holds the animal closer to his chest, grinning when she lifts her head to lick at his cheek and Odi instantly giggles in response. He gives you one last shy smile before making his way to his little bed and you stand up to your full height as you watch him shuffle underneath his blankets, all while holding Rosie close to his chest. It’s not until you watch his eyes close that you let out a deep exhale and you wonder when you had stopped breathing; tears nearly escape your eyes when you watch Rosie curl herself closer to the child, head tucked underneath his chin as he smiles sleepily.

“Ner cyare,” Paz whispers and you jump a little, nearly forgetting that he had been standing there this whole time; you turn to face him and you give him a questioning look when he threads his fingers through the valleys between yours, “There is something I want to show you.”

You think when he says ‘something’, he most likely means ‘someone’, and your heart thrums wildly in anticipation as he leads you away from the younglings’ sleeping quarters. The alcove he’s leading you to is the one he had popped out of a few days ago after you confronted him after the fight, you realize, and you wonder what could possibly be in the room that he seems so excited to show you.

You blink owlishly at him as he politely holds the drapes to the side for you and you hesitantly enter the warm room; instantly, another Mandalorian with black and yellow armor turns to face you and Paz. Before you can offer the stranger an affable greeting, a soft whimper cuts you off and your heart instantly freezes over when you spot a wooden crib in the corner of the dim room.

An infant…

There is an infant in the covert and the thought simultaneously terrifies you and breaks your heart.

Paz quietly says something in his mother tongue when the caretaker on duty tenses as you step forward to try to get a better look at the distressed infant, your heart now pounding so wildly that you hear it in your ears. Whatever Paz said to the caretaker immediately seems to calm them down and they simply watch as you observe the fussy baby that is kicking its little feet wildly and growing even more distressed. The infant is wearing tiny white socks and a long, dark brown tunic that falls to her ankles; her little head is adorned with a white beanie, but you see dark tufts of hair poking out from underneath.

“I… I cannot get her to stop crying,” The Mandalorian’s deep, filtered voice is coated with exhaustion and despite the tears burning your eyes, you fixate your attention on the defeated Mando, the vibrancy of the yellow stripes painted on his black armor nearly hurting your eyes, “What am I doing wrong?”

You wonder if he’s ever had to take care of an infant before, but judging by the way the black and yellow Mando shuffles around nervously makes you think it is not all too common of an occurrence in the tribe.

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, shaking off your fears and insecurities as you remind yourself that you were brought here to take care of others, “O-Okay, how old is she?”

“I only found her a few weeks ago, cyare,” Paz informs you quietly, not wanting to disturb the baby even more, and you turn around to gaze up at him with wide, watery eyes; he must see the confusion etched on your features because he immediately explains himself, “I was walking back from seeing you one night and found her abandoned behind one of the vendors in the marketplace. I can’t… I can’t imagine what kind of monster does such a thing.”

You know all too well of the monsters that are capable of leaving a helpless creature behind to die, most likely feeling no guilt when they close their eyes at night.

You nod again and let out a shaky exhale as the caretaker turns his body to the side and allows you to lean over the crib, your chest aching something fierce as you carefully scoop up the tiny creature into your arms. Instantly, she lets out with a piercing, shrill scream and you heave a small sigh at how fussy of a little thing she is, though you think you already know what her problem is.

“What are you--?”

The strange Mandalorian jolts forward a little as you shuffle the crying baby around in your arms until her chest and stomach is resting against the inside of your forearm, her arms and chubby legs dangling lazily around in the air and her cheek tucked against the crook of your elbow. It takes a few moments of tenderly stroking her back to get her cries to soften into something less ear shattering, and you let out a relieved sigh when her whimpers turn into little coos and grunts.

“I think she might be colic,” You inform the caretaker with a shaky whisper, his helmet tilted to the side with what you think is either curiosity or shock as she dribbles, “I’ve uh, I’ve seen this before and read about it. Are you making sure to burp her after each feeding? Or perhaps she should be using a different formula if she has a sensitive tummy?”

“I--” He drops his helmet a little, staring at the cooing infant that you’re bouncing a little, “She wasn’t spitting anything up and I just thought… I wasn’t sure how to do it, how to burp her.”

You give the black and yellow Mando a sympathetic expression and nod, your eyes still burning with tears, “Babies can be pretty fussy sometimes, but once you find out how they like to be held and handled, it makes things a little bit easier. This tends to be a good trick at calming a lot of babies, but you need to make sure she gets burped after every feeding or else she’ll be really uncomfortable and even fussier than normal.”

“Thank you,” The caretaker nods his gratitude as you continue to stroke her back and you give him a weak smile in response, “Could you maybe get her to go to sleep? I should check on the others and I--”

‘Need a breather.’

He doesn’t say it out loud, but you hear it in the way his deep voice drops and his shoulders fall at the mere thought of having a few moments of peace and relaxation.

He fidgets when you hesitate, though Paz places a gentle hand on your nape and he must realize that something is wrong as he squeezes the warm skin there; it’s something he only does when he’s trying to comfort you. Afraid that your voice will fail you, you offer the caretaker a jittery nod and he wastes no time in leaving the nursery that’s dedicated to this tiny infant.

You find it difficult to even look at Paz as you make your way over to the rocking chair that seems far too small for any Mandalorian and slowly sink down until you’re sitting comfortably with a cooing, sleepy baby tucked in your arms. A soft sigh escapes your lungs when you feel a little bit of drool soak through the material covering your elbow and you risk a glance at Paz when he gets down on a knee next to the rocking chair, his gloved hand moving to gently squeeze your bicep.

“What happened?” He questions as quietly as possible, warranting a tiny grunt from the irascible infant, “Why are you so sad all of a sudden?”

The way he asks such a question so softly instantly leaves you feeling painfully raw and vulnerable and you are quick to shoulder away a tear before he can wipe it away for you; you shake your head viciously, “It’s nothing.”

“Cyare--”

“I will explain later.”

The Mandalorian gives you a curt nod and retrieves a piece of cloth for you as you move the calmed baby to burp her against your shoulder. You can tell he wants to say something as you pat her between the shoulders, but he remains silent and tilts his helmet to the side upon hearing the infant gurgle and do her business against the cloth draped over your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep once she’s burped up all the air and spit from her meal and you let out a grateful sigh when you watch her eyelids slowly droop, somewhat eager to get her out of your arms and into her crib.

Once she’s comfortable in her cradle and fast asleep, you are quick to exit the little alcove, Paz hot on your heels as you practically storm past the exhausted-looking caretaker who’s sitting on a stone ledge in the main play area.

“Hey thank you for--”

You’re out of the nursery before he can fully express his gratitude to you and you hear Paz mutter something to the caretaker before rushing after you. Halfway down the tunnel leading to his private quarters, Paz catches up to you and carefully wraps his leather-clad fingers around your bicep, turning you around to face him.

“Cyare! What’s going--?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You don’t even realize you’re sobbing until you hear your own voice and Paz’s other hand comes to squeeze your shoulder in a comforting manner, “Wh-Why didn’t you tell me there was a baby and why would you make me…? I didn’t know and... Maker, she was so much like--”

Your chest is heaving, tears streaming from your cheeks like raging waterfalls and Paz gently pulls you to the side and covers you when another Mandalorian passes you two, giving you what you’re certain is a curious gaze. He cups a massive hand to the side of your neck and leans down as you continue to sob and babble incoherent pleas at him, wondering why he’d put you through this, though he truly had no idea what he had done to you.

“I-I am sorry, cyare,” He breathes, squeezing your bicep firmly with his other hand, “You seemed to love the little ones so much and I thought… I thought you would love to see the baby, but I didn’t think…” He shakes his helmet in a jolting manner as you viciously rub at your eyes and cheeks, “What happened? What did I do wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” You ignore his frantic questions as you try desperately to stop the tears escaping your eyes, along with the horrific memories from flooding your mind, “I didn’t mean to be so rude! I thought I was over it and I could forget, but seeing her...”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” He hushes you in a kind manner, shielding you from any wandering eyes that might see your tears, “Why don’t… why don’t we go back to our room and you can tell me what’s going on? That’s what you said the other day, right? That we should talk about the things we feel?”

You nod your answer, not trusting your voice in that moment, and you try your hardest to force down the massive lump in your throat.

“Will you tell me why you are so broken up over seeing the baby?”

He’s quick to pull you in close, hunching over to hold you easier and you immediately stuff your face into the crook of his neck as you give him another jittery nod, “I fear you will hate me upon hearing what I’ve done in the past--how I have failed the ones I was supposed to take care of.”

“I… I could never feel such a thing towards you,” He promises with a deep exhale, sounding just as heartbroken as he reluctantly pulls away and leads you closer to his private quarters, keeping a firm hand on the small of your back, “Whatever it is, I could never hate you, I swear.”

Your chest aches more and more the closer you get to his private quarters and once you finally make it, he’s quick to sit you down on the foot of his bed, kneeling down as he collects your hands in his leather-clad ones.

“What is haunting you, ner cyare? What makes you cry so much when you sleep?”

You pray that once you tell him, the horrific memories won’t weigh heavy on your conscience any longer.

Translations:

Ner cyare=My beloved

Mesh’la=Beautiful

Ori Kebiin=Big blue

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum=I love you (lit. I know you forever)

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Verd’ika= Little soldier

Di’kut=Idiot, useless individual, waste of space (lit. someone who forgets to put their pants on)

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aerynwrites @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @peqchynero @haloangel391 @awhiskeywithawinchester @aliciaxglasgow @bonesaldente @kawaiitimecharm @karaabove @clydesducktape @misssilvertongue @heartxheat @pazvizslasgirl4ever (Please let me know if I missed you or you’d like to be taken off!!)

Author’s note: As always, thank you all so much for being as patient and kind as ever <3 I don’t know why this chapter was such a struggle for me to finish, but I’m so glad eventually managed to get all the words I wanted down lol. I was worried it might seem like there’s a lot going on in this chapter, but I just wanted more interactions with our nurse getting more settled in with the tribe and meeting others, so hopefully this chapter doesn’t seem like it’s all over the place :( Anyways I love you all and thank you so much for all the support y’all continuously give me <33

#paz vizla x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #Paz vizsla x you #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #my writing #IDK WHY I'M SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS CHAPTER OML #I hope you guys enjoy it tho <3 #also now y'all know why christina and I were fighting over wearing socks to bed lmfao

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justimajin · 3 years

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Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.8

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (4.5k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphical descriptions of blood and violence, depictions of physical torture, character death

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, February 9

The sound of heavy steps echo into the air, footsteps gliding against the surface of the ground.

He frantically swings the door open, eyes darting back and forth. Seokjin is seated on a chair with his orbs glued to the screen in front of him as Jimin leans forward, attempting to scrutinize the details displayed before him.

Namjoon lets out a huff, racing over and attempting to catch his breath, “Any luck?”

Jimin looks up and shakes his head, only for Namjoon to deeply sigh in retaliation. He rubs a hand against his temples, brows contorted.

“I don’t understand.” Seokjin proclaims, drawing his attention. “Where could she have possibly gone?”

“You don’t think‒” Jimin instantly bites back his words, not wanting to pull into question the integrity of Namjoon’s decision in regards to you.

Namjoon shakes his head, “There has to be something….” He paces over to the screen Seokjin was observing, “Did you find any clues in her correspondence?”

“There’s not much I can tell you.” Seokjin lets out a sound of dismay, “Y/N actually seemed to be covering up for herself, and she didn’t leak any important information out.”

Namjoon leans back, resting his weight on the sole of his feet. The situation in the most basic form for him, is utterly baffling. He isn’t able to comprehend why you would disappear so suddenly, what your intention or motive behind it was, or the worst of thoughts, if the reasoning has something to do with him.

That’s when his eyes widen, a mere flash that captures his entire attention.

His feet automatically propel him forward, halting right beside one particular screen in the far corner. Namjoon slowly crouches down with narrowed eyes as Jimin turns around, beckoning to Seokjin right away.

“I think I might have found the answer.” It doesn’t take another second for Seokjin to immediately rise from his seat, inspecting the monitor Namjoon is referring to.

“It’s been turned on…” He mumbles, craning his head right and left as he examines it.

As if reacting to him, it flickers for a split second, before remaining active and showcasing details that have his eyes widening.

“I usually keep an eye out for anyone trying to trace us….” Lifting his head, Seokjin’s brows are knitted together, “and this computer looks like it was turned on by mistake.”

At the sight of Namjoon’s puzzlement, he continues, “My best bet is that with Y/N delaying her activities and coming up with excuses, the L/N’s weren’t convinced and attempted to figure out her location without her knowledge.”

Namjoon looks up in alarm, glancing in between Jimin and Seokjin.

“How could they have reached Y/N then?” Jimin ponders, “Sure, her location must have been traced, but there’s no way that explains how she just disappeared.”

“Unless they were keeping a close eye on her.” Namjoon suddenly glances at Jimin, “Are we so sure that this place is safe?”

Something sparks in the latter’s irises, his form instantly revolving towards the door.

Seokjin turns to him, crossing his arms.

“Any idea if this is linked to whoever was after you?”

He shakes his head, “This is personal. Y/N hasn’t been in contact for a while and her latest mission…” There’s a glint in his eyes, lips pressing together, “Well, we can just say it didn’t go as planned.”

He rather not delve deep into the details of what conspired during the time you didn’t know he was aware of your identity, deciding to leave out the pieces of information that involved what you were being ordered to do.

Seokjin quirks up an intrigued brow at the vagueness in his tone, but remains silent nonetheless.

Jimin returns, out of breath with rounded eyes.

“It might interest you to know that the floor above us has a broken window.” He quickly says, “But it’s not one that you can easily break into.”

“Someone knew.” Seokjin immediately whispers, facing Jimin who shares his look of realization, “Someone knew on the inside and got to Y/N once they confirmed her location.”

Jimin hums, eyes connecting with Namjoon’s. “This also means we’re not as safe as we would have hoped.”

He nearly curses at himself, the whole catastrophe of needing to escape casting a thick veil over his eyes. However, he knows the current circumstance won’t allow for him to mull over his misfortune, rather it simply brings attention to what he needs to do at the moment.

“We need to figure out where Y/N is.” Seokjin nods, “It doesn’t matter to me how you do it, just find her.”

The latter doesn’t make a move to respond or coax him, instead he observes the screen and types frantically on the keyboard. Namjoon watches him from behind, his fists tightening.

He can only pray that through this nest of a mayhem, you’re somehow alright.

A deep groan escapes your lips.

Sweat drips down from your temples as your head lulls to the side, lids wearily blinking. A strained cough leaves your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to focus your vision.

Once the room ceases to spin, the first thing that greets your pupils is the distorted sight of metal bars.

You bolt upright, scrambling towards them and wrapping your hands around the icy alloy. Peering around wild-eyed, a sudden jolt tugs you backwards and you can only stare in horror at the chain of metal that constrains you from behind.

“You’re finally awake.”

You swivel around, a man standing before you.

Irises immediately enlarging, your breath hitches in your throat. You’re not sure if you should run, scream or stagger away, but as his footsteps begin to grow louder, all you can muster is barely concealing the need to cower behind the bars.

He crouches down, staring directly at you.

A smile curls at the corner of his lips.

“It’s been a while, Y/N.”

Your terrified gaze is locked onto his, “I heard you’ve been compromised.” His eyes narrow, “Do you recall what happens to spies that willingly expose their identity?”

There’s a dead silence lingering in the air and he raises himself up, walking away from you. Lurching forward, your grasp on the metal bars tighten as you spill out the first thought in your mind.

“I-I wasn’t compromised!”

He turns around, a proud look radiating in his eyes, “You’re telling me Kim Namjoon doesn’t know who you really are?”

You furiously shake your head, voice quivering, “My husband doesn’t know anything!”

Although your actions and pressing need to prove yourself is evident, your words seem to spell out a different message.

“Oh, so it’s your husband now?”

Your stomach instantly sinks, mind becoming numb. Furiously blinking, you fumble around for a coherent response.

He states the obvious, “You’ve been compromised, Y/N, and now we’ll need to target the Kim family in some other way.”

You swallow hard, already knowing the implications behind those words.

You’ve failed, meaning that they will need to send someone in that can successfully infiltrate this time around to replace you, perhaps with a different link that you can only assume would be Namjoon’s sister.

But in doing so, they’ll need to dispose of you.

The sound of metal startles you, and you suck in a deep breath.

Eyes squeezing shut, you can only pray that you’ll somehow make it through the night.

Namjoon can’t decide between if he’s extremely fortunate or downright out of luck.

Extremely fortunate because Seokjin actually found you, managing just enough to trace back to your responder in time and securing a location that the latter is confident will lead to you.

But downright out of luck, because you’re situated in a place that he truthfully has been wanting to avoid.

It’s one of the central buildings the L/N’s have left, and the perfect place to shoot on sight if discovered.

Trespassing into the area is similar to walking on a trail of blazing hot stones, but thankfully the three of them are able to successfully infiltrate. He acclaims Seokjin’s firm belief that you’re being stowed away underground ‒ a place that suggests to them otherwise not to get involved or bother searching areas aside from it.

Seokjin speaks in a fast-paced ramble, whispering to them about an entryway. “The door shouldn’t be visible if you walked along the corridor, but there should be something that we can access th‒”

He swiftly sinks down to the ground, a bullet glinting right over his head and creating a chip against the wall.

“There they are!” A voice angrily shouts as a sigh slips out of him.

“Ah, what a magnificent time to have some company.” Seokjin wistfully mutters, pulling out a gun from his suit’s jacket in an instant. Cocking the trigger back, he rapidly fires in the direction of the voice, barely flinching as more bullets whiz by him.

Another gun joins him in the crossfire, eyeing him with a smirk, “You don’t think it would be especially considerate of them if they could assist us too?”

Seokjin returns Jimin’s smile and promptly ceases his firing for a moment. A man suddenly charges towards them, but he’s immediately knocked over and pushed against a wall.

Namjoon glares at him, tightly holding onto his hands before roughly shoving him closer to it.

Jimin aims his gun, cutting to the chase, “There’s a floor underneath us that we need access to.”

It’s not an inquiry, rather a demand. The man appears petrified, shakingly gesturing towards one certain hall the three had passed by earlier.

Seokjin’s eyes light up in recognition, and he inches closer, sending a nod in confirmation to the two. Namjoon makes eye contact with Jimin and in an instant, the man is released and thrown to the side.

He carefully maneuvers to the implied hall as Jimin resumes his gunfire, a series of staircases being revealed once Seokjin pushes against the door. Upon getting a signal from Jimin, he dives in with the former.

Seokjin immediately clasps a hand against his nose, hovering over it. Namjoon scrunches up his nose, failing to disregard the putrid smell leaking into the area.

A large door obstructs their pathway, and Seokjin moves forward in haste to see if he can tap into it. However, Namjoon simply jabs his shoulder into the heavy metal, widening it enough for them to pass through.

“Let’s go.” He mumbles.

If he assumed the scent at the entrance was foul enough, he wasn’t prepared to experience the route through the passageway. Layers and layers of mold stick to the walls, growing expeditiously all the way over to the dampness that forms near the ceiling. Rather than being part of the building, his natural instinct is to assume the appearance to be akin to a sewage way, and it’s something he tries not to dwell on as he makes his way through it.

“Hey Namjoon...”

After moments of simply treading and trying to get through the ill space, Seokjin calls out to him from behind. His voice is oddly hesitant, but curious, “I tried not to pry into it too much, but how are we certain that we can trust Y/N?”

It’s a question that he has many reassuring answers for, but as his mind spins, there’s one particular instance that he hasn’t been able to shake from his thoughts. He recalls the time he had pieced together what led to Taehyung and Eunjoo’s demise, and it was something that in the sincerest way, shook him to the core.

The memory is far too vivid, rendering him unable to forget the way it seemed like you were being endlessly tortured throughout the night. It was as if the nightmares were haunting you, drowning you within their terrors, all while you were pleading for it to be over.

At the mere thought of it, chills run down his spine. He wonders if the memory somehow even plagues him to a certain degree, your suffering almost attributing as if it were his own.

Life spreads through his orbs again, his lips moving to state the firm words.

“Because she’s a tool.” He breathes, “Just like I am.”

Seokjin simply stares at him in silence, a sigh slipping from his lips.

“Of course you had to go ahead and fall for a L/N.”

Moving forward, he brushes past Namjoon who unabashedly smiles at the hint of amusement in his voice. As Seokjin advances, his gaze latches onto the door before him and he pulls against the handle.

“It’s locked.” He exhales in frustration, a sound of dismay leaving Namjoon. He darts his gaze around, the sight of mold stricken walls clouding his view. Suddenly freezing, he slowly treads forward, his surveying eyes latching onto a large metal container above him.

It’s like Seokjin can read his mind right away, roughly pushing against the material until it completely crumbles and collapses onto the ground.

A lopsided grin surfaces on him, “Do you think you can get through?”

Namjoon nods and Seokjin crouches down, aiding him as he hauls himself up into it. He manages to crawl through the narrow vent, wincing at the sharp pieces of metal that tear through his jacket, before wrapping his hands firmly around it and propelling himself forward.

Metal crashes onto the ground as Namjoon nearly topples down, but he’s quick to dust himself off and chuckles at Seokjin’s astonished expression on the other side of the door.

Leaning closer, he quietly yet hastily speaks, “I’ll find Y/N, try to keep them off my trail and figure out if you can get this door unlocked too.” He pushes against it roughly again, but to no avail does it open.

Seokjin nods in confirmation, but there’s a slight twinkle in his eyes as he takes out his gun.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely not going to let Jimin have all the fun to himself.”

The corner of his mouth lips up and Seokjin flashes him a smile. After bidding him good luck, Namjoon begins to increasingly quicken his pace, plunging into the centre of the mayhem.

***

His chest is rapidly heaving, a sheen of sweat steadily building up on his temples and a hue of red colouring his skin. The gun in his hands stays firm within his hold, as if simply letting it go would cost him his life. His back is pressed against a wall, eyes sweeping back and forth, carefully surveying every inch of the area.

He’s earnestly lost count, memory becoming fuzzy at the amount of times he encountered resistance in the midst of his sprinting, having either to forcefully create a path or a trail of blood in his wake. The liquid has splattered and exploded all over his suit, and save for the gun he grips, his entire attire is messy and tousled.

But hope sparks within him in the search for light, carefully inching closer without revealing or compromising his position. Slightly leaning over, his scrutinizing eyes come to an immediate halt, breath hitching in his throat.

In the far corner of the room, there is a small cell. And in that cell, is you.

Although relief immediately cascades through Namjoon from your faint appearance, his orbs roam around and it’s only then does he realize the condition you’re in.

Your form is slumped against the metal bars, resembling a limp doll whose strings have been pulled far too much than anything. Bruises litter the length of your arms, the scent of freshly spilled blood wafting through the air. Dried pools of the liquid stick to the ground beneath you, and shallow breath escapes you by the minute, barely hanging onto any thread of strength.

His throat tightens and even though he desperately wants to look away, he forces himself not to.

Death would have been a better option.

The thought hauntingly echoes in his mind, and it’s only when the sound of heavy footsteps against the tiled ground that he breaks out of it, head snapping ahead and attempting to capture a glance of who did this to you.

“So are you going to tell me, or not?” He taps against the bars for your attention, but you barely move. He crouches down, showcasing the gun within his grasp, “Your insight is important to us, Y/N.”

Namjoon knits his brows together. It’s almost like a warning ‒ uncannily somewhat similar to a teacher scolding his student after they’ve misbehaved.

Suddenly, his eyes widen as a thought flashes through his mind.

You’re thankfully still alive, but why? Why even have the need to keep you like this, dangling on the slim chance of survival instead of ending it all?

The answer is confirmed for him when the man taps against your bars again, this time more aggressive. “Tell me, Y/N.”

They need information about him from you, but you’ve refused to cooperate.

Another shallow breath leaves your lips and you crane your head to the side, as if not even wanting to spare him a glance. The increasing frustration on your capturer’s expression is evident enough, but the action seems to break his late fine strand of patience as he rises to his heels, cocking the trigger back on his gun.

Namjoon’s eyes shoot up in alarm when your arm is tugged and the gun is pointed against your temples, swiftly moving forward without another thought.

His gun is raised and there’s a forceful tone in his voice that screams of rage, “Take your aim off of her.”

The man swivels, clearly taken aback with the sudden intrusion ‒ but Namjoon sees it so transparently. The way his mouth drops down with astonishment, the way his eyes light up in recognition and the way the gun still points towards you, recognition forming into resentment.

He chuckles, like Namjoon’s actions were a joke to him. Peering down at you in amusement, he grins.

“You’re protecting her? The Kim Namjoon?” He laughs again, stating the fact as if Namjoon is completely oblivious, “This pesky snitch is a spy created by the L/N’s.”

Namjoon’s eyes trail down, coming straight into contact with your own. They’re filled with utter relief and somber gratitude, your orbs practically brimming at the sight of him as he feels his chest tightening all over again.

He grits his teeth, not moving the slightest, “I won’t ask again.”

The man before him furrows his brows, displeased with his response. Before he can shift his aim over to Namjoon, the latter barely hesitates in plunging a bullet into his arm.

A scream leaves his lips and Namjoon charges forward, slamming his elbow straight into the wound he’s created. The man continues to grimace in pain, but his hands abruptly shoot out, wrapping around Namjoon’s neck.

Namjoon gasps, the gun in his hands slipping out from his hold. He’s pinned to the ground, the man’s strength being a compelling force against his air supply.

The sound of chains jingling alerts him right away as he chokes, his teeth gritting as he sharply jabs his knee into the man’s abdomen, resulting in him wincing and freeing Namjoon’s throat. He barely takes a moment to recover, grasping onto his gun instantly and taking aim.

One bullet. Two bullets. Three bullets. Namjoon can’t remember how many times he’s fired, the faint blur of blood spilling and metal piercing into the man’s skin barely hindering his cold hardened gaze. The man eventually collapses onto the ground, lifeless as crimson continues to drip out and coat the steel floor.

Namjoon remains frozen in place, chest rising and falling.

The clatter of metal results in him snapping his head up, dark gaze falling onto your horror stricken one in a matter of minutes. He begins to walk closer to you and for a moment, you can’t help but stagger back, heart racing so fast that you feel like it might burst.

He breaks the silence with a hushed whisper, “You know, no matter how you look at it….we’re very alike.”

A cracked smile surfaces on his lips as he passes by you, rummaging through the table opposite to your cell.

You swallow hard, continuing to listen.

“Our families, they’ll never allow us to live for ourselves.” Swiveling around, he paces towards your cell, “Slaves, tools.....I can’t even come up with a kinder word to describe it.”

He chuckles, but it comes out too strained as he crouches near your cell, slotting the metal piece in.

“But one thing that won’t ever change,” The metallic frame reels open, “is that you will always be my wife.”

His hand reaches out, a warm tone residing within his eyes. You can’t tell if it’s the way he gestures towards you, or the way your heart keeps feeling like it might rupture any moment, but you crawl and staggers towards him in a frenzy, tears bursting from your eyes as once you topple over into his arms.

He embraces you with a sigh of relief and you believe the action is exactly how you feel in that moment ‒ content and utterly relieved. You don’t recall how long it’s been since you’ve been in his arms, harsh sobs escaping you that he doesn’t immediately coax, instead allowing you to alleviate yourself.

It’s not until you break apart that Namjoon swipes away the remaining water with his thumbs, smiling at you softly as you attempt to calm down. He carefully holds your hand, rising up to his feet as he attempts to help you up.

You clasp onto his suit right away, pulling him down anxiously. Namjoon stares at you in confusion, but the words that tumble out of your lips are enough to stir terror in his orbs.

“I-I can’t move….” You whisper and that’s when he notices. The way you remained on the ground as you were being interrogated, the way you inevitably staggered as you desperately tried to crawl to him, the way your legs are soaked with red, long gashes marked all over your skin.

Namjoon can’t explain how petrified he is, how you simply choose to look away, distinctly aware of the pain and the horrifying appearance they’ve taken on.

He doesn’t respond or make a comment on them, instead choosing to simply lean over and putting his neck within your reach. After a moment of struggle, you loop your arms around and he presses a hand against your back and knees, effortlessly lifting you.

You remain silent as Namjoon carefully guides you back to the path he had taken, being mindful of your immobile legs as he walks through the narrow ends. He soon reaches the door that he and Seokjin had gotten stuck on, and the latter is present with Jimin, their rumpled appearance being on par with Namjoon’s.

Unlike him, Seokjin and Jimin seem flabbergasted with your appearance, “What happened?”

Namjoon simply shakes his head as you remain quiet, gesturing towards Jimin, “How is it up there?”

“There’s still plenty of them,” He breathes, “We can cover for you.”

Namjoon nods and the two of them stand in front of him, pulling out their guns and cocking back the triggers. You notice Namjoon stiffens and his hold on you suddenly tightens, but you realize why exactly once you make it from underground and get back onto the ground floor.

Bullets are flying left and right, the sound of shouting threatening to tear your ears in half. Seokjin quickly gestures to a pathway, and Namjoon follows through, frantically sprinting.

In an instant he crouches down at the sight of someone, covering the two of you up. A hiss leaves your lips and he leans in closer, concern twisted in his features.

“Y/N?” He whispers and you shake your head, bringing a hand to your temples. It’s almost like your head is burning, a painful blazing sensation radiating and pulsing through from all corners. It blurs your vision for a brief moment, drawing out unconscious tears.

“M-My head, I‒ ah.” You wince again and Namjoon presses the back of his hand against your forehead, expression contorting into a mixture of worry and confusion at the scorching temperature.

His hand instantly drops at the sound of a voice, but it disappears just as quickly and he peers around, noticing the coast is clear. Hauling you up again, he rushes through the pathway, heading out the building in time.

After finally meeting up with Seokjin and Jimin, Namjoon takes you back to the house. Seokjin ponders over your absence and you reveal the knowledge of how you were suddenly cornered by a handful of servants, something that draws concern to his eyes and that he attempts to diffuse right away. Jimin takes it upon himself to treat your wounds as you hiss and wince in retaliation, sending you apologetic smiles in the midst of the process.

He gladly informs you that your wounds don’t appear to be too severe, but that it would take time for you to fully recuperate from the injuries. There’s still a faint throbbing that lingers in your head, but you starting to think the constant agony your body has gone through is resulting in your body demanding for some rest.

You’re seated on the edge of the bed as Jimin departs, long strips of gauzes wrapped around your arms and legs. Namjoon, who has been idling by the door during the process, instantly walks over to you once you’re finished being tended to.

He sits right next to you, hand reaching out on instinct to intertwine with yours. A smile arises at the corner of your lips from the gesture, but you notice his gaze is fixated on the tight bindings on your limbs, and you’re compelled to coax his concerns.

“Namjoon, I‒” You don’t get the chance to continue, his lips brushing against yours in an instant.

You practically melt into his embrace, his lips fervently but delicately moving against yours with haste. As your lips part, a content sigh leaves him, evoking small butterflies to flutter and dance around within your chest.

His hand presses against the small of your back and you steady yourself, your hands resting against him. It’s only when his head tilts that you can feel the gratifying warmth of his skin, a blissful ray casting over you.

It intensifies; his mouth probing more and growing bolder as you let him, desiring nothing more. But that’s when the searing pang shoots through you, clouding your vision and snatching you away from the ecstasy.

Namjoon is suddenly pushed back with a shove, lips swollen and eyes captured in a daze.

A splatter of red coats the white floors.

Namjoon’s confused gaze is all over you, pupils dilating and frantic. Your scarlet hands shakingly hover over your mouth as a rapid cluster of wheezing coughs thrum through your ribcage.

He reaches out for you, but it’s too late as your feeble body suddenly crashes onto the ground and all he can do is desperately cry out your name.

124 notes · View notes

mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

Text

Ticking Photobomb, T, 1.6k

Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley & TK Strand

TK loves Carlos, and wants their relationship to work out. Before they can recapture even a semblance of the bliss they shared, Carlos needs to fix his mistake and properly introduce TK to his family. Until then... Carlos deserves at least some punishment. He only hopes Buck will forgive him, for involving him in his and Carlos's first big fight as a couple.

Only it's not Buck's forgiveness he'll need.

ao3 link

based off of this post

He’s wary. He and TK are supposed to be enjoying a delicious meal outside at a nearby park, sun high in the sky, bright but not too cruel, as they sit together on a thin, yellow blanket, and Carlos cannot enjoy any of this beautiful date because a tiny voice in the back of his mind warns him that TK’s silence is a cover for something more sinister. His boyfriend’s smile, aimed at his phone as it has been since they arrived, means trouble. The small, continuous giggles that eke free sound like alarms. Giggles offered with every bite, where he’d type a short message and then set his phone down; only to grab it halfway through its jingling ringtone – TK never usually keeps that on. Carlos remembered him complaining how he hates ringtones, prefers having his phone vibrate. Why is it on now? And why is he texting while they’re on a date? And why does his laughter make Carlos cringe?

“Who are you texting?” he asks, finally, Carlos pushing the plastic container with his half-finished sandwich to the side.

TK glances up from his phone. “No one.”

“No one?”

“Just a friend,” TK says, pinning Carlos with a strange expression that squeezes his heart. It makes the sweat pricking his temples relocate and journey down, rolling towards his chin. Carlos wipes at his face as TK adds, “seriously, you don’t have to worry.”

It’s the way he said ‘you’ that does Carlos in. That has him dredging up what he already considered resolved since before they sat down. Discussed, at length, over the phone, with Carlos apologizing repeatedly. TK assured him they were good. “I thought we were good?”

TK sighs, “We are good.” Then, he mumbles, “As good as any two friends can be.”

Carlos’s frown deepens, mouth resembling a severe gash carved into his face. “I knew it!” Carlos cries, pointing at him. “You’re still mad at me.”

“I never said I wasn’t!”

“You said it was settled –“

“Because it is,” TK insists, a heavy glare drawing all breath out of Carlos’s chest. The façade he wore for their date has been pulled away, and Carlos sees exactly how distressed TK remained after he introduced him to his parents as his ‘friend’. Even with Carlos promising that he would remedy the situation soon, gather his boyfriend and family together and explain the truth of his romantic life, TK clings tight to the pain Carlos caused by letting fear sway his choice, both at the farmer’s market and when he let TK walk out of his home, relationship dangling from a fraying cord. It frays ever closer to breaking. “It’s settled until you work up the nerve to have that dinner you were talking about.”

Carlos splutters, “That’s not – you know, with the pandemic how hard it’s…”

His excuses further irritate TK, who retreats into his phone. He texts someone else. Perhaps the same person he’s been texting this entire time. “Then it’s settled.”

“If it’s so settled,” Carlos asks, “why even bother agreeing to our date today?” He gestures at their unfinished meals, probably cold and stale. If they weren’t, it’s not like Carlos feels like eating anymore.

TK stops texting, smirking at Carlos. Usually, it riles Carlos up in that he wants to kiss it off of him. Right now, Carlos swallows the urge to shove his boyfriend onto his ass. “A date?” TK asks, words languid and breezy, spaced out by palpable sarcasm. “Why would you think this was a date,” he continues, phone tapping against his chin, “we are just friends after all…”

Anger and disappointment converge violently inside Carlos, fighting for release. Neither can, as his vibrating phone pulls his focus from TK. He opens the message on autopilot, confused since it’s from TK. Confusion then drops into the cesspool of his emotions, like Mentos in Coke, and Carlos explodes.

“Why did you send me this?” he demands, showing TK a picture he sent to Carlos of himself. A picture they took, together, when visiting a lake one weekend long ago during the summer. A picture taken after they spent the entire afternoon swimming, bathing suits forgotten on the pier. A picture where TK’s chiseled physique was on display, skin dazzling as fading sunlight turned water droplets into diamonds, and TK’s sunglasses rested low on his nose as he smiled to the side where Carlos was. Was. As in not anymore. Only his arm, slung around his boyfriend’s shoulder, remained. Saved by being impossible to crop out. “Well?” Carlos asks again.

TK sighs, “Oh, I must have sent that by mistake.”

“You wanted to send me something else?”

“No,” TK clarifies, “I sent that to you by mistake. It was supposed to go to Buck, see?” TK shows Carlos his message thread, with the picture he sent Carlos, timestamped, showing he forwarded it to Buck first, then Carlos.

“…Buck.”

“Yeah, Buck,” TK continues, leaving his texts and diving into his photo album. He selects a group shot of the 126, plus a few extra members. He zooms closer on one face, Buck’s, enough that Carlos can distinguish the two birthmark spots above his eyebrows. “I’m sure I told you about him.”

“You did,” Carlos nods. He tears his gaze from Buck’s smile, fuming. “The firefighter who flirted with you.”

“I mean, he also helped me save my dad,” TK says, “but, yeah… he also flirted with me.” TK lowers his phone, chuckling, “We’ve just been chatting back and forth – as friends do – when I realized… y’know, I told him I wasn’t interested, because I had this really awesome boyfriend who I love, but since that’s not the case anymore, we’re only friends apparetly, I figured I might as well shoot my shot. Find out if he’s still interested. Maybe once quarantine is done, I can take some time off and… see what Los Angeles has to offer.” The eyebrow wiggle was completely unnecessary. TK communicated exactly what of Los Angeles he intends to see, regardless of how his eyebrows moved.

He’s better than this. Carlos knows what TK is doing. What the picture, and its delivery, was supposed to accomplish. What it’s succeeding at. He can win this, simply by ignoring TK’s teasing.

Except.

“You are not going to Los Angeles.” Carlos scowls, “Not without me. And especially not if Buck is gonna be there.”

TK scoffs, “What are you, my boyfriend?”

“…Yes!”

“Says who?” he asks, “Your parents?”

They’re outside. In public, surrounded by people who keep their distance. Unfortunately, their voices carry wide enough they draw a sizeable crowd. Carlos doesn’t notice until TK storms off and leaves him with the blanket, the abandoned food, and their audience.

Carlos blushes, hiding behind his hands. He wishes he never fumbled back then, in the farmer’s market. He also, briefly, wishes he and Buck switched places. At least then TK would be treating him to risqué pictures. At least Carlos would be having a good time, if he were Buck. He’d be receiving sexy photos from a certified dreamboat instead of suffering because of his own mistakes.

---------------------------

Buck stumbles over his words, stuttering, rushing out his explanation to a stone-faced Eddie. “Seriously,” he says, “I don’t – I don’t know why TK sent me that picture of him! It’s not like I asked! One second we’re talking about movies and the next thing I know – shirtless TK!”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie huffs, arms folded across his chest, “I saw.”

He shouldn’t have. If Buck hadn’t left his phone on the table to help Bobby in the kitchen. If he didn’t hear his phone beep with an arriving message, almost vibrating off the table from it. If Eddie, along with Hen and Chim, weren’t climbing the stairs at the moment, and if he ignored Buck’s plea to hand him his phone. To punch in the code – which he knew, of course Eddie knew – since Buck was wrist deep in a turkey’s hole.

Buck washed his hands immediately, drying them on his pants as he chased Eddie the few feet towards the couch.

“So,” Eddie continues, “you and TK…”

He and TK? “We’re friends,” he says, repeating himself after Eddie’s disbelieving stare. “Okay, I mean – he did turn me down once, when we were leaving Texas. But he said he had a boyfriend –“

“He turned you down?” Eddie asks, “You flirted with him?”

“No!” Buck shrugs, running his hand over his forehead, frowning at the sweat that pooled there. “Well, I didn’t think I was. But he did? And – and he left before I could say anything, but I didn’t think it mattered since he, y’know, had a boyfriend!” He stomps his foot, irritation bubbling from the pit of his stomach and out his mouth. “Besides! Why does it matter if he sends me pictures?” Nice pictures. Distracting pictures that made Buck question exactly why TK misunderstanding his friendliness was a problem. “Why are you so angry?”

“Because… because…” Eddie looks past Buck, at the peanut gallery assembled by the kitchen. Hen and Chimney watching with interest while Bobby pretends cooking a turkey involves his whole focus. None of the seem keen to jump in and help. “Because… you…” Suddenly, Eddie stands. Buck recoils, stepping backwards. “You know what,” Eddie says, digging into his pocket, “I’m telling Marjan to unfollow you on Instagram.”

“What?”

“And!” he yells, phone free and on, “I’m telling her to block you!”

“What? No – Eddie, no! Don’t!” Buck follows his friend, pleading, “C’mon, she hasn’t even liked any of my photos yet… Eddie… Eddie!”

Eddie ignores him, furiously typing the end of Buck’s most famous connection online. In his haste, Buck forgets his phone on the counter. Eddie takes precedence over his phone.

Later, Buck will return to it. He will respond to TK’s picture, sending a tidal wave of texts at the Texan firefighter ranging between the immense trouble that picture landed him in and how TK can repay him by convincing Marjan to follow him again.

But that’s later. Now Buck slams his fist against the firetruck, yelling for Eddie to unlock the door.

Eddie doesn’t.

#911 on fox #911 lone star #carlos reyes #tk strand #evan 'buck' buckley #eddie diaz #tarlos #buddie #tarlos fanfic #buddie fanfic

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exquisitley-obsessed · 3 years

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Finaces, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 9

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault/abuse/rape + abusive families

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Nine: A Sight To See

Elain frowned down at the dress.

“I’m not sure if-”

“It’s perfect,” Nuala said firmly, glaring at her through the mirror. The surprisingly stubborn lesser fae was currently attempting to pin a handful of gemstones into Elain’s hair.

Elain just gave the fae a curt nod before looking back at herself.

Today was the day of the weekly meeting at Huckleberry Hall, i.e. Elain’s debut in the mortal realm as an emissary for not just the Night Court, but all the fae lands. How she’d gotten to this point in her life, she had no idea.

Yesterday she’d spent her time in the gardens chatting with Bartholomew, the Manor’s chief gardener. He was a sweet man that reminded her of her father, especially given all his travelling to the Continent and his collection of rare plant species in his greenhouse. He’d even promised her a few books on the matter and explained in great detail how plants can be useful for a number of things: healing, food, poisons.

He’d even pointed out the aphrodisiacs with a dopey grin, to which Elain had blushed furiously and moved quickly onto the exotic specimens.

She hadn’t seen Lucien that day.

Elain didn’t know why she was so aware of his absence given that she’d done just fine ignoring Lucien’s existence for two years. But yesterday, not seeing Lucien had thrown her balance off. When she was in the garden she kept looking up at the windows of the East Wing where his room supposedly resided. If only to catch a glimpse of red hair and a scarred face, just so she’d know he was okay.

Eventually, she’d turned in to the library to give one final assessment of her notes, and had spent the entire time trying to ask Nuala if Lucien was in the house without technically saying the words.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.

“I…I don’t know what he does with his days.”

“Me neither,” Nuala shrugged.

“I haven’t seen him yet today…”

“Oh…shame…” From the glint in Nuala’s eye, Elain knew she had caught on to her not-so-subtle questioning.

“Yes…I wonder if he’ll be back later today.”

“Probably, considering he lives here.” Nuala was grinning now. And as Elain’s cheeks turned pink, she bit her tongue and stopped her questioning.

***

“Where did you even get this dress?”

“The Lady Morrigan gifted it to you before you left for the mortal lands, she was too late to say goodbye in person so she gave me the package.”

“Oh,” Elain nodded absent-mindedly. “How does Mor know my measurements?”

Nuala just grinned.

“Mor isn’t…talented in gift-giving, but she understands textiles like no other.”

Elain just nodded once more and shifted slightly upon dressing stand.

The dress was unlike anything Elain had ever worn before. The middle Archeron sister typically favoured dresses with full skirts and corseted bodices, all bedecked with lace, ribbon and silk, and paired with fresh flowers in her hair.

The dress she was wearing today just…wasn’t.

“Why am I wearing this again?”

“Because the mortals must understand that whilst High Fae and humans may look similar, you’re not. If you were to go in one of your standard dresses, the humans would see it as an attempt for you to ‘humanise’ yourself. Whilst common ground is important with the mortals, they must still understand that we are different. Do you see this fabric?”

Nuala took a finger and ran it along Elain’s covered shoulder, who nodded in response.

“This fabric is called Didache. It’s only found in the fae-lands, particularly the Autumn Court. It comes from the Dida-bugs of the Burning Caves who produce a fine silk-like fabric that is woven into sheets. It will remind the humans that we are different and yet-” Nuala grinned at her, “-beautiful.”

Elain blushed and nodded. The fabric was a deep forest green and yet, it moved like water. It seemed to always be shifting with the smallest of movements and sometimes, in the light, she could see not one but hundreds of shades of green flowing together, interspersed with threads of gold.

Mor’s ingenuity was shown in the choosing of this dress, as it both demonstrated a stylistic change between fae and mortal wear, and yet Elain was still able to maintain a comfortable modesty that would not outright alarm the humans.

The dress, unlike the flouncy human design, was a tight fit. It began high on her neck and covered her entire body, connecting to her hands via a tie on her middle finger. It cascaded down her body like a second skin, accentuating every dip and curve. Most strange of all was how it clung to her thighs (a sensation Elain was not yet used to) before the fabric flared ever so slightly at the knees and left a small trail of watery, emerald fabric to follow her as she walked.

It was simple, yet a statement.

Elain would’ve hated to wear such a tight dress if, well, she didn’t look so good. She’d been taught her whole life that covering up was natural for women and whilst she certainly wasn’t prepared to wear the kinds of dresses Feyre sported to the Court of Nightmares, this dress seemed to call for her.

“I think Mor had this prepared for you for some time,” Nuala said, pushing the final pin in. The hairstyle hailed from the Day Court Nuala explained as she had coiled Elain’s mass of hair on top of her head whilst leaving large strands to dangle down her shoulders. Brown bands were wrapped around her head and interwoven into her curls were dark green gems that glittered in the light and made it look as though her hair was made of starlight.

It was…beautiful.

“Thank you, Nuala,” Elain said quietly when her friend stepped back to survey her work.

“No problem,” Nuala smiled, “I know it’s not your usual dress, but you truly look like a Fae princess, perhaps even a High Lady.”

Elain reddened and surveyed herself once more in the mirror.

“The others are waiting for you at the stables,” Nuala said suddenly as shadows began to coil from her hair and she extended her hand to Elain.

After peering one more time at her notes on the table, Elain turned and glared at the female she saw in her reflection. With her hair pinned back, her pointed ears were on display, slightly pink at the tips from all her flushing. The dress, the hair, her dark eyes, the flawless skin – Elain was undeniably beautiful. And undeniably fae.

With a sigh, Elain turned and grasped Nuala’s hand before she could think too much about how she looked and all that had changed.

Even if she didn’t know how to play the part of fae, she might as well look it.

***

There was a small bustling crowd around the stables of Lockhart Manor. The stables were placed near the entrance to the woods and the small trail they would follow all the way to Huckleberry Hall.

Letting go of Nuala’s hand, Elain turned to survey the small crowd. There were stable boys and a few guards, and she could even peek Bartholomew speaking rapidly to a woman in a fine dress who was nodding along with interest, Jurian a few paces behind them, looking bored as ever.

No Lucien.

The thought shouldn’t have made Elain’s heart sink as it did. She’d been awake since sunrise, having breakfast in her chambers as Nuala began the prep work for getting her into the dress. And maybe as she watched herself slowly being transformed into a fae princess; she could only think of her mate’s reaction to seeing her in such an outfit.

Turning back around, Elain’s eyes once more fell on the gardener and the woman, now pointing down at the strawberry plants that lined the pathway. It took a few more moments of staring for Elain to realise that she was, in fact, looking at Queen Vassa.

Looking over her shoulder, Elain threw a stare at Nuala who only shrugged in response. Elain turned back. How was Vassa out? The sun was at a midpoint between East and Mid-day, she should be well past her transfiguration by now.

Sighing, Elain practised walking as she made her way over to the Queen. The dress was surprisingly practical, easier to move in than any of her corsets. Instead of restricting her movements, the fabric simply glided over her skin and moved with her, no doubt catching the light as it did and reflecting a thousand shades of green.

“Queen Vassa,” Elain greeted with a small curtsey.

The Queen turned from the gardener to nod at Elain, and Elain saw how Vassa’s eyes caught on her appearance, her eyes flicking up and down her body for a brief moment, her figure seeming to still.

“You look magnificent, Vassa,” Elain smiled, hoping that her compliment was seen as nothing other than a peace offering.

Vassa was sporting a traditional human queen’s gown. The colour was a deep gold with a panel of green and crimson embroidery running up the centre of the dress. There was a low tie hanging on the queen’s slender hips and a heavy crown upon her forehead. She was the image of strength and power, and next to her, Elain felt as though she looked like the evil-fae seductress.

“Forgive me if it’s a crude question but, how are you…”

”Here?” Vassa said drily, raising a brow. Elain forced herself not to flush with embarrassment and just nodded.

Vassa sighed as though she were bored and raised her hand. Elain was unsure what she was supposed to be looking at, there were two rings on her hand and a nice set of manicured nails but-

Then she realised. The ring on her fourth finger was made of black metal and was far too heavy and brutal to be worn by a Queen.

Looking at the ring, Elain felt something coil in her gut. Turning fae had attuned her senses to magic, and thrumming from that ring was a magic that smelt like sickness.

Suddenly, Elain felt herself drifting out of her body, able to look down on herself and Vassa. As she did, she had the distinct feeling of something falling into place.

”It’s a new addition.”

Jurian's voice snapped Elain back into her body with a small gasp. He was slowly stalking up to them, cutting into a fig with his knife as he moved with a predator-like grace. “It seems that Vassa’s keeper sent us a house-warming gift. He’s only two years late.”

“Jurian…” Vassa sighed tiredly, as though she’d had this conversation several times before.

”It seems like our death-Lord, from his lakeside manor, has decided to give our dear Queen the ability to see daylight.”

Elain could only glance between the two, barely able to keep up with their bantering. She was still feeling overwhelmingly nauseous and was trying to avoid looking at the ring directly.

”Don’t worry,” Vassa turned to Elain with a sneer, “I’m not fixed just yet. The ring comes with a cost. Each hour I put off my transformation adds 24 for later.”

”Why not leave it on?” Elain said in a quiet voice, still feeling the earth move underneath her.

”Oh yes, of course, I’m sure Koschei just skipped over that in his master plan,” Vassa snarked. Elain, to her own surprise, rolled her eyes.

“Well, hello princess,” Jurian spoke before Vassa could. He talked as though he hadn’t seen Elain before.

Elain’s skin couldn’t help but prickle as she watched his eyes lapping up her figure with a complete disregard for anything else.

“Jurian,” Elain nodded, trying to drag his eyes up to her own.

“What did we do to deserve this?” His eyes met hers with a wink and then, again, ever so slowly, Jurian’s eyes ran up Elain’s body, lingering slightly on the fabric that was straining over her bountiful chest before meeting her eye. Elain didn’t deem the comment with a retort.

“Leave her be Jurian,” Vassa rolled her eyes before turning to Elain with something that looked like a coy smile. “It’s fun to see them drool, isn’t it?”

Elain, to her surprise, found herself grinning widely and nodding. If she wasn’t mistaken, she and Vassa had just shared a pleasant interaction.

Today was full of surprises.

“And they say we’re the weaker sex.”

Vassa tipped her head back and laughed, and when Elain turned back to Jurian she found him watching the queen intently, something enigmatic in his stare.

“When you’re done with girl-talk, we really must get going,” Jurian rolled his shoulders. Even he appeared dressed in his finest, and Elain wondered just who it was that must’ve pinned him down to drag a comb through his scruffy hair, now flopping back from his, rather handsome, face.

“Last time I checked Jurian, I’m the Queen, I say when we leave.” Vassa pointed a look at the man who only seemed to smile wider at her retort.

“Of course, your majesty…” Jurian rolled the word around in his tongue, “When you’re ready, my queen, I’ll be waiting for you by the gate…possibly awake, possibly napping.”

And with that Jurian turned and strode away, the woman and the female watching his retreating figure strut across the pathway.

“Idiot,” Vassa cursed under her breath before turning back to Elain. “Lucien told me this morning he’ll be arranging your transport. Apparently, we’re not arriving together, Jurian and I will be one unit, you and Lucien another. Just so you know.”

As the Queen spoke her voice steadily grew colder and colder until she was back to how she usually was with Elain, her voice monotone and her eyes bored. Elain just gave a nod and that was enough for the Queen to deem the conversation over as she turned and followed Jurian down the path. As she moved, Elain couldn’t help but notice how she tipped her head back seemed to drink in the sunlight.

Elain was left standing in the middle of a small bustling crowd, many of the guards moving to follow their Queen and keep her safe. And so, Elain went back to her search for her mate.

After searching the crowd, she allowed her eyes to close and for her focus to turn within. It didn’t take long for her to find the bond, as soon as her eyes were shut it was there, glowing bright and gold, a single thread leading from her out ahead.

Angling herself, Elain followed the bond until she heard his heart, strong and steady, filling her ears like the most beautiful drum. Opening her eyes, she saw him.

Lucien was talking to a rather nervous stable boy and Elain was rather thankful for the small chance to ogle him without his awareness.

For one thing, Elain understood the stable boy’s nerves. Lucien looked…powerful.

He was wearing the finest of his fae attire, with fine brown boots and pants, a crisp shirt, a waistcoat and then a riding jacket. Across his chest was a bandolier with an assortment of eccentric knives, all sharpened to deadly perfection. On his hip were two swords, his autumn blade and another blade but made of gold. His hair was unleashed and cascaded down his shoulders and back, and his scar made his fierce expression even more lethal.

Two years ago, Elain would’ve been petrified at such a sight. It was a reminder that Lucien wasn’t her fae prince, that even though he had the makings of a perfect husband there was something darker and more alluring that hung around him.

He was a courtier, a disowned son, a silver-tongued fox. And Elain saw that everyone underestimated him, and that’s what made him most dangerous of all.

But while any fae prince might make Elain’s heart flutter, the sight of Lucien in his most professional, intimidating glory, roused some feeling deep within her gut. It was like her entire body turned electric, and the air between them seemed to crackle as the bond tightened.

Elain watched as Lucien’s brow furrowed and his hand reached surreptitiously to his ribs. Lucien’s eyes were no longer on the stable boy and his rambling, he was looking around – he was looking for her.

Elain saw the moment Lucien laid eyes on her. He stilled, the hand rubbing his ribs going stagnant.

The world seemed to fade away as Elain watched Lucien’s eyes take in her dress. He started by looking at the neck and then, at a tortuously slow pace, his eyes wandered down and down like Jurian.

But where Jurian’s gaze had made her tired and comfortable, Lucien’s seemed to set every nerve in her body alight.

She watched him as he watched her, and she could see him pause on certain parts. Taking in the first full display of her chest, the way the fabric ran seamlessly down her waist before flaring with her hips, and then again at her thighs.

Some part of Elain dared her to turn around, to show him how the dress barely fit over her behind, how the fabric seemed to stretch as it tried to contain the slopes and swells of her body.

She didn’t know where it had come from – but she didn’t want the voice to stop.

Then, Lucien’s eyes were reluctantly dragged upwards and just before they met eyes, Elain saw Lucien’s tongue dart between his lips to wet them. For some reason, Elain had the strongest urge to clench together her thighs.

Lucien moved forward like a predator stalking prey, with a lithe grace that was reminiscent of a snake.

Elain didn’t care for the rest of the world; she just saw him. Maybe it was not seeing him yesterday, but all Elain knew was that now he was nearby, she wasn’t taking her eyes off him for the foreseeable future.

Every step was torture. Every inch closer made the bond thrum and sing with delight.

Lucien came to a stop barely a foot away from her. There was a pause of silence.

“Elain,” His voice was low, gravelly, restrained.

“Lucien,” Elain’s own voice was breathy.

And then Lucien was bending down, leaning in close almost as though he were going to kiss her and Elain – Elain didn’t recoil. When Lucien’s face was inches from her own, his eyes searing into hers, she felt his palm slip into hers. His hand was warm and much, much larger than her own, and Elain felt raw electricity jolt through her at the contact.

With a deliberate, torturous slowness, Lucien raised Elain’s hand to his mouth and placed a single kiss on her knuckles.

Many men had kissed Elain’s hand before, from old to young, bachelors to fiancés. But it had never been like this.

Lucien’s lips on her knuckles was like a promise. It was just lips on the back of her hand – it was entirely inadequate, it was nothing – and that is what made Elain’s body sing.

Lucien’s eyes never left hers, and as he straightened, he didn’t let go of her hand.

“We’re planning on riding to Huckleberry,” Lucien’s voice sounded a bit clearer, but his eyes were still dark and glittering.

“Okay,” was all Elain could manage. But her body was in overdrive, her entire existence being concentrated into the feel of Lucien’s hand in hers. One small touch and she was consumed.

“Oh look! Lucien-” Jurian’s voice swam from somewhere off to the side.

“Vassa, Jurian, you best be headed off now, you don’t want to be late to miss the guards at the northern checkpoint,” Lucien spoke without looking away from Elain, and his voice was full of such a natural command that another pulse of heat ran through her.

Elain distantly heard as Vassa, Jurian and a few guards saddled up and trot out through the gardens into the forest. The world seemed to thin around them, stable boys returning to the Manor, even Nuala evaporated into the air, until all that was left was a grey-haired horse and Lucien, with his hand in Elain’s.

“I thought we might ride together, to present a united front. But if your uncomfortable there’s another horse in the stables saddled and ready to go.” Elain could’ve sworn that as Lucien spoke, his thumb ran across the back of her hand. “It’s also just a way of me making sure your safe.”

“Are you expecting there to be danger at the meeting?”

“No, very few even know of your arrival and the mortals are in too weak a position to attack a visiting fae. I just…for my own peace of mind.”

Remarkably, Lucien seemed bashful as he spoke, his eyes breaking from hers for a moment as he shifted on his feet.

“Oh…alright.” Elain smiled up at him, and it was a peace-offering. The world seemed to still for a moment as Lucien noticed, and his gaze lingered on her lips.

Then he was clearing his throat and turning to lead her to the saddled horse, but he didn’t release his hand, instead, he used it to tug her along, as though he were entirely reluctant to let go.

“The journey is significantly shorter on horseback; we should be there in around 15 minutes.”

Lucien eventually reluctantly let go of Elain’s hand as he hoisted himself up and onto the horse.

Elain could only watch. Watch as he set himself astride the saddle, watch how his thighs – how had Elain never notices his thighs before – clenched as he seated himself upright. Watch as he flicked his hair back over his shoulder, his muscles somehow flexing through the layers of his shirt and jacket. Watch as he extended his hand to her.

Elain frowned down at her dress as a thought struck her.

“Oh…I don’t think I’ll be able to ride anything in this dress.”

Elain felt rather than saw Lucien go still.

Looking up from the green fabric, she allowed herself to assess him. Lucien’s muscles seemed to be standing on end, his delicious thighs clenched so that the tendons stood to attention. His hands were fisted into the reigns and his knuckles had turned white with his grip.

Most intoxicating of all, was Lucien’s eyes. They were glazed over and distant, as though Lucien were thinking of something intently. Or rather, picturing.

And then Elain saw it.

It was from a distant perspective and the first thing she saw was Lucien, with his browning skin on display as he laid on his back across pale sheets. His beautifully muscled legs were exposed and tensed, his torso nothing but streamline muscles, his arms bare and glorious as they tightened as he gripped onto the figure astride him. He looked so…undone, with his red hair spilling across the sheets, his face furrowed, and his mouth parted with pleasure.

The female astride Elain’s mate had her head thrown back, her golden-brown curls bouncing along with her breasts as she bobbed wildly on top of him. Elain couldn’t hear them – couldn’t hear the moans that she saw rippling from her own mouth.

Then, the pace changed, instead of desperate jerky movements, Lucien and the female’s body slowed into an easy rhythm, each of their bodies rolling together with a trained precision. She could see Lucien’s mouth moving as he spoke breathily to the female, pulling her down so their foreheads touched. She watched as his eyes grew hungrier, how the rolling gave way to thrusting, how he took two fingers and pushed them into the female’s mouth and how she sucked enthusiastically before releasing them with a ‘pop’, how Lucien then dragged those two fingers down her body, slowly, before pushing them down to where they were joined and beginning to rub against her in slow, languid circles-

The horse grunted, and Elain jumped.

All of a sudden she came back into her body, it was as though someone had been holding her windpipe and abruptly let go. Her knees felt weak, her mouth dry, and for a moment, she could barely remember her own name, never mind where she was.

“We’ll winnow.”

Lucien was in front of her now, having gotten down off the mare whilst her mind was elsewhere. He was now fiddling with the buckles on the straddle before a stable boy took the reins.

Elain looked up at him dry-mouthed. Did he know what she’d just seen? Was she even…had there been a shift in her scent? Fear tinged with excitement plunged through her.

“You okay?” Lucien murmured; his eyes concerned as they roved over her face. It looked like he almost reached for her hand again.

Elain didn’t trust her voice and could only nod in response. Lucien seemed to assess her for another moment before he held out his arm, ever the courtier. The female looked out at the stables as she wrapped her hand around his bicep, trying to ignore how the muscles shifted and tensed under her fingertips.

“Right, well…let’s go.”

As Elain closed her eyes and held her breath to prepare for the twisting sensation of winnowing, she could on think of one thing.

Elain had just had a vision; she still had her powers.

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yslkook · 3 years

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#customer centric (4)

#corporate masterlist summary: you arrive in tokyo and spend a few days catching up and reminiscing. jin comes as well, with a few old friends that you haven’t seen in years. Or, you wander around the city visiting familiar places and go to a club with people you haven’t called friends in years. word count: 8656 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, lots of alcohol a/n: this is part 1/2 of being in tokyo!! this is the top i envisioned for oc lol

You missed Tokyo, and Tokyo missed you. The city itself brings bittersweet memories to you, memories of your childhood with your dead father and grandmother passing through your mind as if you’re watching a movie.

Your dad had brought you to Tokyo every summer when you were young, until you were about seventeen or eighteen. Tokyo had become more of a second home than a vacation place for you. You haven’t been here since college, about two years before your dad passed away. But despite that, it feels like home.

You can read, write, and speak Japanese fluently, which is part of the reason why you’ve been such an integral part of the team so far. The company’s sister branch is in Tokyo, and it’s not your first time visiting the branch, or interacting with your team members based in Tokyo.

You’ve wondered often, quite bitterly, if your fluency in Japanese is the only reason you’re even still on the team. Your boss and his boss at least trust you enough to be the responsible party for your team- there’s only one other member of your team here, Sana. But she’s relatively new, so the responsibility has fallen onto you.

That’s alright. You operate well under pressure.

You’re joined by your small knit team, Sana, Namjoon and Jungkook. Namjoon had managed to finagle with the budget enough that you could arrive a day early, on Friday, and spend the weekend in Tokyo before the workshops began on Monday.

And Seokjin would be flying in on Saturday morning with some of his friends. You’re grateful that at least Jin was coming. Whenever Jin makes these spontaneous types of trips, they’re bound to be eventful.

Monday and Tuesday will be filled with workshops, proposals and pitch meetings. You made Jin promise that he’d spend time with you during the weekend, so that you could show him some of the treasures you remembered from the city. Despite your many years of friendship, you had never been to Tokyo with Jin and you want to show him some of the places Appa used to take you to.

You’re excited. Even if Jungkook, with his big, sparkling eyes and his natural curiosity is coming along. Seeing him, even though it’s been well over three months that he joined the company, sends you down a dangerous path that isn’t fair to him or to you.

You have to constantly remind yourself that it’s not his fault and you shouldn’t be mean to him. It’s not his fault that your boss and his boss are out for your blood and refuse to give you recognition. But you can’t help but feel like he’s part of the problem that has faced you for the last three years. Part of the same awful old school, conservative mindset that so many of your peers were part of as well.

The leadership at your company needed a drastic overhaul, but you would be the last person to voice those thoughts out loud. Unless it was to Jin.

You know Jungkook doesn’t deserve your unspoken rage. You can admit that, but you’re not saint enough to channel it somewhere else. You’ve mellowed out considerably from the initial few months, but you could stand to be a little warmer to him.

After all, the way his bunny smile takes up half of his face when he offers it up to someone so worthy… that means nothing to you.

You arrive in Tokyo with your team at around eleven AM, and you check into your hotel rooms about an hour later. Jungkook and Sana had planned the logistics of the trip, from the hotel to the taxi service to lunch, dinner, and the company sponsored happy hour on Monday and Tuesday.

Because you were in Tokyo for work, you fully planned on using your company card to the fullest for the next few days. This company could kiss your ass, and you would be more than willing to spend as much as you needed to as a subtle ‘fuck you’. It was your version of flipping off your boss, for when he would have to approve your expense report sheet.

Namjoon had given you Friday to yourselves, to get acquainted with the hotel room and the area itself. Sana and Jungkook had done a good job with choosing the hotel- it has a wonderful view of the city from the rooftop, and being inside the sophisticated hotel with it’s hues of black and white and pops of color and elegance. This regal building screams opulence and you’re bathing in the luxurious feel of it all.

The diamonds of the chandeliers hanging high above you glint in the dim light of the lobby, bouncing off of the sleek, black piano and adding to the romantic air. Was this a love hotel? You scoff to yourself, keeping your head down as you exit the hotel and head in the direction of your favorite park, the Happo-en Garden.

When you had told your therapist that you’d be coming to Tokyo for the first time since your father’s death, she had immediately picked up on your hesitation-

“It feels weird to be there without him. Almost like the place doesn’t exist if he doesn’t,” You scoff, wringing your hands together.

“It certainly exists without him. And you do, too,” She says kindly, “Maybe you’ll feel close to him when you go there.”

And she was right, as she usually is. You sit alone at a freshly painted red bench with a box of street snacks, including some of Appa’s favorites. The sunshine glimmers against the still lake in front of you, hues of green fading to orange and red reflecting in the murky water.

This park was a favorite of Appa’s-

“We’re still in Tokyo, but it feels like we’re so far away. Right, sweetheart?” He asks, dark eyes shining. Appa’s hand tightens around yours and you nod excitedly.

“Yeah! Like we’re close to the princess’s castle!” You gasp.

“That’s right, but the only princess I see here is you,” Appa smiles and you beam at him, all smiles and sunshine.

The memory is from when you were maybe seven or eight years old. Everytime you came to Tokyo with Appa, you always came to this park. Specifically to this area, where Appa claimed that the sun shined on the leaves and the water in a specific way that made everything feel like magic.

You had always scoffed at him, especially as you grew older and the lines around his eyes grew deeper. But you still entertained him. You never saw that magic that Appa claimed to see, but now, you wonder how you could ever not see it.

A breeze ruffles through the trees, whistling as it threads through your hair and running over the water. The clouds part for a moment, allows a burst of sunbeams to spread over the water and you gasp at the sudden golden filter over the surroundings in front of you.

Another breeze, one from your left side, presses against your shoulder and your cheek. Almost like it’s whispering to you. You whip your head to the side, only to find nothing next to you. You feel like you’re floating, with the gentle caress of the wind to keep you company.

You eat your snacks in silence, embracing the way that it feels like the wind is Appa’s caress against your skin.

By the time you return to the hotel, the sun is beginning to go down and a bittersweet sort of happiness settles in your heart. You feel closer to your dad than you have in a long time- this city was bound to feel like home with its welcoming arms curling around you warmly. You had spent the better part of the day visiting old sights and places that you had frequented to with Appa.

It was peaceful, like a walk down memory lane. You could almost see your younger self bursting at the seams with joy at all of the new places. You could almost see her so eager to learn and demanding that Appa teach you Japanese immediately.

You wonder where that girl went. She’s lost, buried beneath layers and layers and maybe someday you’ll find her again.

Stopping by one of your favorite restaurants, you order all of your favorites times three. For your colleagues to have something to feast on when you returned from your day trip. You hadn’t been on your phone for most of the day, choosing to mute the group chat with your colleagues so you could truly be alone.

Once you approach the familiar blue neon sign of the restaurant, you send them a text:

you: evening all. dont worry about dinner, Im bringing lots of food back sana: look who woke up from her coma namjoon: did you put it on your card? you: of course i did. you dont have to remind me joon ;) you: want to have dinner together? jungkook: ya where should we eat Namjoon: come to my room, it’s room 1804 you: ok, be there in about thirty min

With your heart feeling full, brimming with fondness for your teammates, you pay for the heavy bags of food and make your way back to the hotel. You can’t help but smile as you walk with a little pep in your step.

“You should have asked one of us to help you,” Jungkook says reproachfully, taking half the bags from you.

Your arms ache, not that you’ll admit your stubbornness. You only smile sheepishly, “It was only a fifteen minute walk.”

“And this is a lot of food,” Jungkook muses, peeking inside as his doe eyes sparkle in anticipation.

“It’s our first team dinner in Tokyo. We deserve it,” You shrug.

“I also bought a few bottles of wine,” Sana chirps, dangling two bottles of red in her hands, “We deserve it.”

You laugh and she winks at you. Namjoon is already setting up the many boxes of food on the mahogany wooden desk in the corner of the room. The curtains are pulled back, affording you of a breathtaking view of the city lights and the now hanging moon high in the sky.

“The boss has the best view, huh?” You tease, nudging his shoulder.

“Jungkook picked it,” Namjoon shrugs, “I just wanted to share the view with you all.”

“How sweet of you,” You say sincerely, “Dinner with a view. That’s pretty romantic. And Jungkook has good taste.”

Jungkook’s ears flush at your praise and he covers his ears for a second. Not that you notice. You sit on the floor, across from Jungkook and offer to scoop food onto everyone’s plates for them. You ignore their protests and do it anyway, quietly asking how much of each they want. Sana fills up plastic cups with wine and labels everyone’s cup with a black marker so you can all keep track of them.

“How classy of us,” Namjoon snorts but says thank you to Sana.

“Did you bring wine glasses in your luggage?” Sana shoots at Namjoon, “I didn’t think so.”

You stifle your laugh behind your hand and shake your head. “Feels like college, if only those cups were red,” You joke.

“My roommate still uses red cups sometimes, for casual purposes,” Jungkook says softly, “It drives me up the wall. Like, can you drink out of a normal cup or what? I get flashbacks to beer pong almost every morning.”

You laugh a little harder at that, and the sound is sweet in Jungkook’s ears. He wants to see if he can get you to laugh like that a little more.

“I mean, we’re grown now. I can’t believe Taehyung sometimes, having his morning orange juice in a red solo cup. It’s heinous.”

Your eyes are overflowing with mirth, the sound of your genuine happiness echoing in Jungkook’s ears and he can’t help but smile in return.

“Morning orange juice,” You mutter, “That’s adorable. Taehyung? That’s the name of your roommate?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook replies, “We did undergrad together and he’s an aspiring art gallery curator. He’s actually coming here tomorrow-”

“Wait, hang on,” You say after chewing through a mouthful of noodles, “Is this Taehyung, as in Kim Taehyung who you snuck into that bar with and he ended up getting absolutely hammered and stealing three bottles of alcohol? Before getting kicked out and Jin and I took you both home? That Taehyung?”

The fondness with which you speak of Taehyung unnerves Jungkook.

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, “That Taehyung.”

“Sounds like a real class act,” Sana says dryly.

“Wow, I haven’t seen him in years,” You exhale, “I think Jin’s bringing some friends from college tomorrow, too.”

“Yeah, he mentioned a Jimin and a Hoseok,” Namjoon adds.

“Damn, Sana, maybe we should’ve brought our friends, too,” You murmur, teasing but honestly, you don’t really have anyone you would’ve asked to bring, “Can’t wait to see what this boys weekend brings.”

You fully anticipate that Seokjin will rope you into whatever shenanigans they have planned, and you don’t even feel bad about crashing. You make a mental note to let Sana know of whatever plans they invited you to, so that she wouldn’t feel left out.

They don’t ask where you were all day, and for that you’re grateful. The lines of professionalism are beginning to blur for you, and you don’t want to burden them with your feelings and problems. You don’t want them to think differently of you for trying to catch a glimpse of Appa in your memories.

Jin would say you were being silly, but you can’t help it. Maybe someday, but not today.

But Jungkook does wonder. Where were you all day? When the group chat was going off, you were silent. It was none of his business, but he’s curious. And he’s curious about you. You hadn’t changed out of your day clothes or taken your makeup off. He can see the nearly gone darkened stain of your gloss on your lips and the curl of your lashes. Jungkook keeps his eyes above your neck, knowing that if his eyes begin to wander he would be even more of a goner than he already was.

It’s September in Tokyo, meaning that it was warm during the day and somewhat chilly in the evenings. Your dark green long sleeved shirt is tucked into your shorts, complete with a black belt, leaving your tanned thighs on display. Jungkook thinks he catches a glimpse of a tattoo peeking from your shorts, but he thinks he imagines it.

Until your shorts ride up just a little and he sees an array of colors and the fleeting sight of a flower on your upper thigh. Jungkook swallows nervously and stuffs his face full of udon noodles without hesitation. If his mouth is stuffed with food, then nobody will look twice at him and he can keep his thoughts to himself and ogle at you in peace.

The logic makes sense in his head.

Your voice carries over to Namjoon, telling him that you’ll be picking Seokjin, Jimin and Hoseok up in the morning with the rental car.

“Hey, if Taehyung is arriving at the same time, do you want me to pick him up?” You ask, turning your gaze to Jungkook.

“Huh?” Jungkook asks. You roll your eyes.

“Taehyung. If he arrives at the same time as Jin, Jimin and Hoseok, do you want me to pick him up?”

“Er,” Jungkook says eloquently, “He’s actually been here for the last week. Thanks, though.”

You want to say that Jin would cause a scene and whine at you if you didn’t pick him up from the airport, the prince that he is. But you keep it to yourself- after all, he’s somewhat of a boss to Jungkook and Sana.

You nod in understanding and shove more noodles and meat into your mouth. You stretch your legs out in front of you and Jungkook doesn’t look away, instead allowing his eyes to rake over you shamelessly. Nevermind that Namjoon and Sana are right next to him, probably wondering why he’s staring you down so intensely.

The four of you spend the rest of the evening discussing your plans for the weekend, avoiding the topic of work altogether. It’s nice, you can almost believe that you’re all just four friends making a weekend getaway without the confines of work looming over your heads.

Namjoon offers to split the remaining food amongst the four of you and puts equal amounts of everything into each container for all of you to take back to your rooms.

And then Sana pours more wine for each of you and you feel yourself beginning to get more and more relaxed with each sip you take. You want to open your stitched together lips, tell them how it’s been so long since you’ve had alcohol with anyone who wasn’t Jin. You want to tell them that you like red wine more than white wine, but nothing beats soju-

“What’s your favorite kind of wine,” Jungkook asks. He comes to sit next to you on the floor, stretching his legs out. His shoulder brushes against yours and you feel something like electricity at the soft touch.

“Um… I like reds over white wine. But I haven’t had that many reds to say which kind is my favorite,” You muse.

“Guess we’ll have to try some more red wine, huh?” Jungkook says, his eyes sparkling and bunny smile on display.

Your heart warms and sputters at the same time.

“Yeah,” You nod breathlessly, “What about you? What do you like?”

“I’m not picky. I don’t really like cabernet,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “Too bitter for me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” You giggle, unable to believe that such a noise is coming out of your mouth. Despite Sana and Namjoon having their own conversation on the other side of the room, it feels like it’s just you and Jungkook for a minute in your own bubble.

“I like a good chardonnay, too. Nice ‘n crisp.”

“Me too, I love that crisp taste of a good white wine,” You reply, unable to keep your eyes off of him for longer than a second. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are a pretty pink and you wonder if his cheeks are as warm as yours are.

“Thought you didn’t like white wine?” Jungkook murmurs, head tilting inquisitively.

“I prefer red, but if there’s white wine in front of me, I mean,” You shrug, “It’s not like ‘m gonna say no.”

“Oh? We’ll have to test that out, too,” Jungkook smiles, “I like soju the best. Nothin’ beats soju.”

“Yeah, peach and green grape,” You say knowingly, “The only flavors with rights.”

“Exactly. You get me,” Jungkook nods with wide eyes. He asks you about Tokyo, if you come here often. You answer him somewhat vaguely, but tell him that you grew up reading, writing and speaking Japanese. He looks impressed by that and the fondness in the lines of his lips startles you.

You chalk it up to the romance of this city making you soft and pliant to his doe eyes and the warmth of his smile. He’s so easy to get lost in- you find yourself leaning closer to him to hear what he has to say about his own travel dreams. He wants to go to New York City and Bangkok and Athens- the way his eyes light up constricts around your heart.

Every part of him radiates warmth and you want to be draped by it. He says something that makes you smile and laugh, and you swat at his shoulder reflexively. Jungkook only looks at you in that way. The way that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. He’s good at that.

He has hearts and stars in his eyes for you and it makes you choke.

Maybe you had imagined it all because you remember where you are. You’re in your boss’s hotel room and he’s standing right there. Jungkook sees the spark in your eyes disappear immediately and you pull away just as quickly, as if the moment had never happened.

He won’t deny the sting, but you’re so easy to get lost in. The fog in his mind clears, and while it’s only been a few minutes that you’ve been alone. It feels like much longer. But Namjoon and Sana are still deep in conversation, his dimples on display and her smile bright.

You pull away but your dark eyes are still wide and focused on him, stars swirling in your irises and Jungkook thinks he might fall into this wonderfully brown abyss held in your pretty face. Finally, you move away from him on the floor, almost immediately missing his warmth. You look back at him as you move to get some water, the same curious look on your face.

Your face is burning, and you’re surprised you’re able to keep this cool for this long. The urge to bolt from Namjoon’s hotel room and back to your own is one that you have to fight. But instead, you stay planted where you are. Jungkook confuses you, you hardly even know him and you had let him get so close to you. It’s not something you usually do, but what unnerves you is how nice it felt. The closeness of him, his eyes on you and only you. Are you bothered by it?

No, you realize. No. You quite liked it. You’re supposed to hate him- he represents everything you hate. A young kid, a boy, raising quickly through the ranks of your corporate world, while you grasp at straws.

Does he? Does he represent everything you hate? What a load of bullshit.

You swallow again. You need to leave.

“Hey, Joon,” You say softly, touching his elbow, “I’m going to head out. It’s getting late and I’ve gotta head out early tomorrow.”

Jungkook’s heart drops. He’d made you so uncomfortable that you were abruptly cutting your night short. Because of him. He needs to make this right.

“I’ll walk with you,” The words tumble out of Jungkook’s mouth before he can stop them. His heart is pounding in his ears- he needs to apologize before you hate him even more.

“Okay,” You reply with a smile, “Here are your leftovers.”

“I’ll walk with you both,” Sana says, taking her bag.

With that, you say your goodbyes and leave Namjoon’s room to the elevators. Your head feels like static, a wave of thoughts congealing into something impenetrable. The doors ding shut, all three of you standing on opposite ends of the elevator. You can’t look at Jungkook, you can’t see his doe eyes. Not right now.

Sana calls your name, “Thanks for the food.”

“No problem, Sana,” You murmur, “See you tomorrow.”

And then it’s just you and Jungkook in the elevator.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says immediately, “I made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. If you don’t wanna talk to me outside of work, I get it-”

“What?” You ask, finally looking at him. You take a step forward, close enough to him that you’re in his orbit. “You didn’t… You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Jungkook. I would have told you if you did. You just… confuse me.”

The last bit comes out as a vulnerable whisper and all Jungkook can do is nod.

“Goodnight, Jungkook,” You say clearly, casting him a look over your shoulder as you exit the elevator. Your eyes are guarded once more, as if the night hadn’t happened. As if he hadn’t fallen for you even further. You wash him away from your bloodstream quickly and Jungkook feels his heart aching once more.

By the time you pick up Jin, Jimin, and Hoseok from the airport and arrive at the hotel, it’s nearly noon. The car ride back was fun, dare you say it. It amazed you how Jin still remained close in contact with people you went to college with. It felt natural, talking to Jimin and Hoseok. As if years hadn’t gone by.

They were hot, and that was your first assessment when you had met them at the airport. Jimin and Hoseok had both embraced you in tight hugs, without any regard for whether you wanted one or not. You found that you didn’t really mind.

You didn’t know how you were going to survive this weekend surrounded by these many attractive people.

“We should celebrate. For this reunion,” Hoseok says.

“Jungkook is here, too,” You reply, “A great big university reunion right here in Tokyo, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting you guys work together now,” Jimin says.

“Wait, you guys are friends still?” You ask.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” Jimin says, genuine confusion in the handsome planes of his face.

You suppose everyone else is better at making and maintaining friendships than you are. It stings a little, having so many people from university in the same place. In the city that already holds so many memories for you. But you’ll embrace it, because that’s what you’ve been working on. Embracing change.

And of course, what was a boys weekend without a night out at the club? Jin had all but demanded that you come, in true dramatic fashion- I can’t go out without you, you know. I can’t believe you’re considering leaving me like this. I’ll die there without you.

It didn’t take much from you to roll your eyes but agree and tell him that you were inviting Sana.

“Go pregame and get ready with your boys,” You had urged him, “It’s so rare you all are together like this. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Are you sure?” Jin asked with uncertainty and you had only smiled warmly at him.

“Yes, Seokjin. I’m sure. I’ll be crashing the party soon, don’t worry,” You reassured him and he left your hotel room. He promised to text you when to come and you just nodded, shooing him away.

That had been nearly two hours ago, and you’re putting the finishing touches on your makeup with Sana getting ready in the bathroom. Music is playing through your phone and once you’re done with your lip gloss, you make drinks and prepare shots for you and Sana.

“You’ve gotta tell me how you’re friends with so many hot men,” Sana says, taking a seat on the bed.

You scoff, “I’m really only friends with Jin. The rest of them come with Jin, we’re hardly friends.”

“Oh?” Sana asks with a skeptical raise of her eyebrow, “You all went to school together, right?”

“Yeah… Something like that,” You say lightly, “Jin kept in touch with all of them. I didn’t.”

You leave it at that and Sana knows not to press further.

“They’re all nice guys. I always had fun with them,” You say fondly, “You will, too.”

“Cheers to that,” Sana grins, “We look hot. Let’s take a picture.”

“Should we send it to our boss,” You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, that would send him off the deep end. He’d be here in five seconds, dragging us out by our ears,” Sana rolls her eyes as well with a laugh.

You try your best to make Sana feel as comfortable as she can with you. At least so that she’s comfortable when you go meet up with the guys later. You know it can be intimidating being around people who are so close, but they’ve always been welcoming.

It begs the question- why did you let them all go?

You don’t have time to unpack all of that. By the time Jin texts you, telling you to come to his suite on the eighteenth floor, you and Sana are three drinks and two shots in.

You’ve drank more in the last two days than you have in the last year alone. At least that’s what it feels like.

You make sure to take your hotel card, phone and wallet and ensure that Sana does as well. Giggles erupt from the both of you when you enter the elevator, and excitement thrums in your veins. The liquid courage bouncing around in your veins makes you feel relaxed and you tug Sana’s hand out of the elevator once the steel doors open.

You text Jin from outside his door, you can already hear the loud peals of laughter and the beat of music through the walls. You wonder if they’ve gotten any noise complaints yet, but probably not- his room is the only one on this side of the hotel. He probably did this on purpose.

When he doesn’t answer your text, you decide to knock obnoxiously and Sana giggles at your impatience. On your fifth knock, the door swings open and you see Jin’s tipsy face complete with reddened cheeks and his broad smile.

He hugs you like he hasn’t seen you in years, he even lifts you off of the ground a little bit. Your heart flutters with affection for him as you whine for him to put you down.

“Jin!” You shriek, “At least go inside, dummy- stop embarrassing me-”

He finally puts you down and holds you by the shoulders to take you in. His eyes are sharp and he says nothing as he assesses your outfit, apparently deeming you as acceptable as he waves you inside. He says hello to Sana, who returns his mellowed out hug graciously.

Jin hands you both full cups, and you trust Jin enough to know it’s a yummy but strong drink. You grip your cup tighter and allow Sana to go in front of you. The last thing you want is for her to feel left out, so you want the guys to be introduced to her first.

Besides, they all already knew you.

Jin does the introductions quickly, the guys all warming up to Sana and bringing her in for hugs as well. Her cheeks are flushed, and you knew she’d feel flustered. They’re intense in their friendliness and it would make anyone feel flustered and warm.

And then their eyes land on you and you wish you could melt into the floor. Six pairs of eyes stare back at you- apparently Yoongi had also decided to come as well.

College reunion indeed.

You stay close to Jin, offering them a weak wave of your fingers and a smile.

“Hello boys,” You say dramatically, “Long time no see.”

“Jin’s been hiding you all to himself, hasn’t he?” Jimin says, not bothering to hide the way he’s looking at you. And you don’t mind, not really- you know you look good.

“I just saw you this morning. When I picked your sorry ass up from the airport,” You reply and Jimin pouts at you as everyone around you laughs at his expense.

“Still so mean,” Jimin murmurs and you roll your eyes.

And with that, alcohol continues to flow as the chatter continues on.

You cast another glance to Sana, making sure she’s not by herself. You relax when you see her talking to Yoongi and Hoseok, smiling to yourself at how quickly she takes to them.

“Hey pretty,” Jimin says, seeing you near the alcohol and joining you.

“Hey you,” You parrot back and he smiles at you in that sweet, disarming way, “Want a drink?”

“You always made the best drinks,” Jimin says, handing his cup over to you. You ignore the way your chest tightens at his use of past tense.

“Maybe you just never knew how to make drinks,” You murmur, “Probably still don’t, huh?”

Jimin laughs lightly at that as a silence falls between you both. “You look good,” Jimin exhales, “You doin’ alright?”

You never know what to say to that. “Yeah. You look good, Jimin. You doin’ alright?”

“Yeah. I’m still in Seoul at the dance school. Don’t be such a stranger,” Jimin murmurs and before you can protest, he pokes your forehead affectionately.

“You’ll ruin my makeup,” You complain but give him a small smile, “Jimin. ‘M glad to see you. All of you.”

Jimin looks like he wants to say something more. But he bites his tongue. This isn’t the place to pick a petty fight, so he lets it go. Jungkook approaches you both, resting his arm on Jimin’s shoulder. Jimin groans dramatically and Jungkook only offers him a smile and a giggle.

“Cup’s empty,” Jungkook says, wiggling his cup to both of you, “Stop hoggin’ the alcohol.”

“Blame Jimin. Everything’s his fault,” You tease and Jimin rolls his eyes at you both.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jungkook grins and Jimin slips out from under Jungkook with another roll of his eyes. “Hey, you met Taehyung yet? My roommate? You ‘member him?”

His eyes are slick with alcohol, and yet they still sparkle at you like you hold all of the answers to the universe in them. He has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the world. It unnerves you, like many things about him do.

“No, where is he?”

Jungkook shouts for Taehyung to join him and you wince. All of a sudden his sandy haired roommate pops up from the direction of the living area and joins you at the drinks table. He looks a far cry from the boy you had driven home that night many years ago.

You knew being in the presence of so many attractive people was going to kill all of your brain cells by the end of the night.

Taehyung calls your name and nerves seize you inexplicably.

“You remember me?” The words escape your lips before your brain has a chance to stop them.

“Course I do? The pretty girl who saved Kook and I at that one bar that I’m still banned from?” Taehyung grins, his eyes sweet and sincere.

“Jin was with me too, don’t forget him,” You say dryly, “Nice to see you again after all this time. And you’re Jungkook’s roommate?”

“Unfortunately,” Jungkook chimes in, earning him a laugh from you.

Taehyung is magnetic when he speaks to you, honey dripping from his tongue as he tells you about his journey as an aspiring art museum curator. Passion lights up his dark irises, his smile matching the intensity of it and you’re certain he has this effect on everyone he speaks to. They’re both so close to you, in your bubble and the scent of their cologne wafts into your nose.

You drink more. You don’t know how to cope with all of this. So you drink.

Jungkook tells you that they’ve been roommates all through graduate school and they had recently moved into a new, bigger place. Now that they were both making a little more money. You find yourself benignly jealous of the life they live- two close friends living together and living for these kinds of nights with their other close friends. The bond they built and strengthened over the years is obvious in the way Taehyung holds Jungkook close, the way Hoseok lights up the entire room and makes everyone smile just because he’s smiling, the way Yoongi and Jimin bicker like an old married couple… Namjoon has already slotted himself within the group. Jin probably introduced him to them a while back, you realize.

Jungkook excuses himself to use the bathroom, leaving his cup next to Taehyung on the table. Taehyung’s gaze makes you nervous- the shift in his eyes is apparent as he lazily rakes his eyes over you.

“Kook told me he was workin’ with you again,” Taehyung murmurs, “What he didn’t tell me was how pretty you are.”

“What a line,” You say flatly and roll your eyes. To your surprise, he laughs, his smile making you smile as well.

“Just bein’ honest,” Taehyung shrugs, “‘Snot everyday you see our hot grad school girl after five years.”

“You’re full of it,” You roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully, “‘Our?’”

“Jungkook was-” Taehyung starts but he’s interrupted by the man himself. Jungkook was what?

“You talkin’ about me?” Jungkook says, elbowing Taehyung. Taehyung only shakes his head and hands him his cup, before excusing himself. He throws you another charming smile and if you weren’t so on edge, your knees might have buckled.

“He’s…”

“A pain in the ass?” Jungkook supplies, “Yeah.”

“No, I was gonna say he’s interesting,” You laugh. A short silence settles between you both, giving you a moment to really take him in. You itch your chin nervously before pushing your lips to the rim of your cup and watching him.

You’ve always known that Jungkook was somehow handsome, sexy and cute all at the same time- wide, doe eyes, pinchable cheeks, pretty smile, and then his body… His thighs strain against the tight material of his pants and you’re certain it’s deliberate. His button up shirt is loose but still molds to his muscles in that way where it leaves you wanting more. His shirt is buttoned at the elbow, giving you a peek to the smattering of tattoos on his forearm. His dark hair is parted in the middle, all soft and shiny, and a little long. It settles over his forehead, almost in his eyes, effortlessly. Two hoops in each ear glint in your direction and you swallow nervously.

Jungkook catches you looking at his tattoos- how ironic, considering he’s doing the same of you. The satin black top you’re wearing has a plunging neckline, giving him a view of the tattoos stemming from your upper arm to your clavicle.

It also offers him a teasing hint of your bare chest where if you turn to the side just a little, he catches a glimpse of even more. It makes him swallow, just as nervous as you. The top itself is loose, only cinched a little at the waist but your pants are tight, your strappy heels adding even more dimension to your legs.

You nervously twist the layering of gold necklaces around your neck. Jungkook has always thought you were beautiful, but he’s never seen you like this. Not even when he knew you years ago.

“Your cup’s empty again,” You laugh nervously, offering to make him another drink. You don’t know what to do with your hands, wanting to keep busy.

“Oh,” Jungkook breathes, “Yeah.”

He tries to keep his eyes on your hands, really he does. But you bend forward just a little and his eyes immediately flit to your plentiful chest.

Jungkook thinks he might die, and what a way to go.

You pull away from the table, handing him his drink and he thanks you quietly. Jungkook ignores the way your eyes shine curiously at him, and he buries himself in the confusion fuzzing up his mind.

Jin, to your relief, pulls you away from Jungkook before you can do something incredibly stupid. Like let him burst through your carefully structured walls even further than he already has.

Typically, clubs are not your favorite place to be. The intense crowd, the neon lights, the smoke… It’s all over the top. Usually, you can’t even hear yourself think over the music. Though, you don’t mind the sense of anonymity in such a crowded place. Besides, you’ve heard great things about IBEX, so you’re curious about it.

It’s a huge place, easy for everyone to split up, but still small enough that you can easily find your group. You urge Sana to go have fun with the guys as you order a round of drinks for everyone. As one of the oldest of your friends, you felt that sense of responsibility for them. Even if you hadn’t called them friends in years.

You signal them over once the drinks are ready, catching Namjoon’s eye and beckoning him over. They slowly begin to surround you, shouting thank you’s over the music. Jimin slings his arm around your shoulders as if it’s nothing. As if he’s known you for all this time.

It makes you feel warm. He gazes at you with crescent eyes and a full smile. It makes your heart thump heavily in your chest.

“Cheers,” Jimin says, tearing his eyes away from you and towards the group. His toast elicits a sequence of ‘cheers’ from everyone. You scan across all of them before your eyes inevitably land on Jungkook. He’s looking at you with a smile, the kind of smile that makes you wonder if it’s a smile only for your eyes.

Your smile matches his in intensity, neither of you pulling your gazes away. Until Jin pulls you away from Jimin, exclaiming that he needs to dance with you. His best friend.

The moment passes, and you make sure Sana is okay. She’s conversing with Yoongi now, and he’s laughing at something she’s saying. It makes you feel warm. Again.

You allow the music to pump through your veins as laughter bubbles from your lips freely at Jin’s antics. You entertain him, copying his coordinated movements with his same enthusiasm. You can tell he’s drunk, from the fiery flush in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He abruptly pulls you close to him for a tight hug and holds your face in his hands.

“Jin,” You giggle, “What you doin’?”

“I love you,” Jin giggles, “Y’r my best friend, ‘n I love you.” He always got like this when you were drunk, so affectionate. You wonder how he knows exactly what you need to hear, when you need to hear it.

“Can’t wait for you t’meet Yuna when we get home,” Jin slurs.

“I’m excited, too-”

“She’s nervous y’know,” Jin continues as if you hadn’t said anything, “Knows y’r my best friend.”

“Jin,” You exhale, “Even if she doesn’t like me, you clearly like her. I shouldn’t matter-”

“No,” Jin says sharply, “Why d’you think you don’t matter? You matter to me.”

“Jin-”

“Stop it,” He silences you and you comply with a sigh.

“She doesn’t have to be nervous around me,” You finally say.

“You can be a little scary when you want to be,” He teases.

“That’s exactly how I want to be known,” You scoff and Jin laughs, swaying with you offbeat to the music. You stand with Jin like that for a few minutes, sipping on your drink and giggling at his antics.

“Seokjin,” You murmur, voice a little shaky, “I never say it but… I-I love you. So much. You’re my best friend and my rock. I don’t know who I’d be without you-”

“You’d be you,” Jin says without missing a beat, “You’d be scary, intense, kind, genuine, petty, funny and beautiful with or without me, sweetheart.”

Jin sees wetness in your eyes and pulls you in for another hug. “None of that,” Jin murmurs, “Hey, let’s take a picture ‘n send it to Grandma. She’ll get a kick out of that.”

You stand in Jin’s arms, in the crowd of people surrounding you and not paying attention to you. Despite the throng of people around you, it feels like it’s just you and Jin, and your friends in the club.

“Let’s get back to our friends,” You say, “They probably think we’re making out-”

“You would be so lucky,” Jin scoffs, “Only Yuna gets this handsome face.” You pinch his cheeks affectionately and coo at him.

“Hey, by the way,” Jin says, “Not to be totally unprofessional here. But I’m pretty sure Jeon Jungkook has the hots for you. Kid won’t stop lookin’ at you. Not that I can blame him, I mean look at your tits.”

With that statement, Jin walks away from you, leaving you confused and curious- two words becoming increasingly common with your thoughts of Jeon Jungkook.

“Hey pretty,” comes a sweet voice to your right side. You already know it’s Jimin before you meet his sincere eyes.

“Hey you,” You reply, “Wanna dance? We used to always be in sync.”

If Jimin is surprised he doesn’t show it. He only takes your drink and finishes it, placing it on a high table near you. He walks behind you, a hand on the small of your back as you weave through the crowd easily. Bodies push back into you but you only dance along with them to move past. Jimin pulls you closer to him once he finds a spot, pulling you into his side. He turns you so that you’re facing him, the lights of the club illuminating the sheen of his lips and the shine in his eyes. You push a stray strand of his silver hair back behind his ear.

“I meant it you know,” Jimin murmurs, for your ears only, “You look good.” You lean into him at his praise, a hand on his chest. Your nails press into the soft material of his dress shirt and he tightens his grip around your waist, thumbs rubbing circles.

“You do, too,” You reply easily, “You always did.”

Jimin scoffs but you look at him earnestly. “I mean it,” You say with a smirk, mimicking his words. He says nothing, only holds you and rolls his hips into yours to the beat of the music. He watches you carefully, trying to gauge your reaction. You snake a hand to the base of his neck and lightly scratch as he presses his nose to your neck. You’re lucky he’s holding you tight- you’re certain you’re knees would buckle if it weren’t for him.

It’s been years since anyone danced with you like this. You let out a soft sound into his skin and Jimin groans, pressing his hips into yours even more slowly if possible.

“Why’d you leave,” Jimin breathes into your skin, “Missed you. Missed my friend.”

“I was a mess,” You mutter, “I’m still a mess.”

“You’re here now?” He asks, looking at you with big eyes. Jimin cups your face tenderly, and you’re not sure how many of these kind touches you can take for one night.

“Yeah,” You say faintly, “I just… couldn’t. I still can’t.”

You won’t apologize for mending your own cracks the way you needed to. And Jimin knows that. “Don’t be a stranger,” Jimin says and pulls you in for a hug.

“Jimin,” You mumble, “I missed you, too.”

Barely stifling a yawn, you look around for your group. They’re all within eyesight of you- Sana and Yoongi were still engrossed in conversation with each other, Namjoon with Jin, Hoseok and Jimin and Taehyung with Jungkook. Taehyung casts a look over to you and immediately whispers to Jungkook. It shouldn’t surprise you that they both saunter over to you, standing on either side of you. Taehyung wraps an arm around your shoulders and leans against you as if you’re old friends. At this angle, you can see the expanse of his tanned, golden skin since the top few buttons of his shirt are popped.

“See somethin’ you like?” Taehyung asks coyly with a wink.

“No, just wondering why you’re wearing tinted aviators inside,” You mutter, pointing at him, “You look like an asshole.”

Taehyung laughs, throwing his head back good-naturedly, “You clearly don’t know fashion. You must think you’re hilarious.”

Before you can retort, a yawn overtakes you. “Are we boring you?” Jungkook teases.

“No, ‘m just tired,” You blink to force yourself to stop yawning, “Hey, you guys wanna get ice cream?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says instantly.

Taehyung nearly snorts but agrees. By the time you and Jungkook say your goodbyes, and you ask for the tenth time if Sana wants to come with you (she declines, opting to stay with Yoongi), Taehyung is nowhere to be found. Jungkook rolls his eyes, his phone vibrating with a text from him-

taehyung: you’re welcome

“Tae’s not coming,” Jungkook says slowly, wondering if you might change your mind if it’s just you two getting ice cream.

You shrug, “His loss. I know a great place.”

Taking Jungkook to one of your favorite ice cream places that you used to come with Appa to feels intimate. But it feels right and you’re not bothered by it. Once you buy your respective cones (you pay for both before Jungkook can even fumble for his card), you head back outside for a short walk towards the hotel.

The ice cream place itself was close to the hotel, though you had to Uber here from the club. It’s a nice night for a walk, a little chilly but not uncomfortably so. You and Jungkook fall into an easy conversation, talking about the silliness of your shared friends.

He looks nice under the moonlight, you decide. A light breeze lifts his hair up briefly before it flawlessly settles over his forehead.

“I can’t keep up with you,” Jungkook whispers, his words carrying into the night air.

“What do you mean?” Your heart picks up immediately at the anguish in his tone. The air between both of you shifts immediately. What was easy becomes hardened, the space between suffocating you. You can physically see him pulling away from you. Months, or maybe years, of frustration seems to be coming to a head right here. Right near your favorite ice cream shop.

“One sec you hate me. The next, you’re asking me to get ice cream with you,” Jungkook says, something familiar and icy curling in his brown irises. It always looks so off-putting, the callousness in his eyes. It seems to be directed at you so often these days.

“I don’t hate you-”

“You avoided me for 2 and a half months. You’re only talking to me now because you have to!”

“That’s not true-”

“Oh, really? You telling me that you the last two and a half months was all in my head?”

You stay quiet, because he’s not wrong.

“That’s what I thought,” Jungkook says to himself, tearing his eyes from you. The cold look in his eyes has returned and it makes your heart ache. He can’t look at you like that, you can hardly bear it.

“I’m fucked up, I get it. Don’t think I don’t get it-”

“You left. Without a goodbye and now fuckin’ five years later- my dream girl’s my colleague and she hates me.”

A sudden, chilling epiphany douses you- he has no idea why you left. You know him well enough to know that he’ll feel awful once you tell him. Apparently none of his friends had told him. Maybe they thought it was your story to tell. It’s not much of a story, not really. It’s the story of a heartbroken girl with commitment issues.

Your face drops. Maybe he’s hurting you the same way you hurt him. But it changes nothing.

“You can’t even look at me now!”

“You listen to me, Jungkook,” You hiss, “I’m not your dream girl. I’m nobody’s dream girl, so let’s get that straight. I’m awful a-and terrible and mean- and…

“My dad died,” You finally whisper, “Appa died and I couldn’t handle grad school so I dropped out. Dropped off the face of the earth. Got the first job I could, for Grandma and me.

“I fuckin’ dropped out, my daddy died and I can’t look at you sometimes because it fuckin’ reminds me of when I was happy and I can’t chase that feeling because I don’t know what it feels like anymore!”

Jungkook’s eyes are wide, pretty pink lips parted in speechlessness. Fuck. You’ve ruined any chance at friendship with him, you know that. So you bury the dagger even further in whatever this is and you turn on your heel and run. Because that’s all you’re good at. Running. Your eyes are blurry with freely falling tears and the sound of your own heaving sobs are loud in your ears.

You leave your heart out on the streets of Tokyo, near your favorite ice cream shop but you don’t even hear the sound of Jungkook chasing after you.

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts x reader #bts fic

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lumosinlove · 4 years

Text

Coast To Coast

(Sweater Weather spin-off)

Read part one here

Read about Wolfstar in Sweater Weather here

(warning: Worrying about coming out. I’m not sure how to tag it, but I know some people wanted warnings about these types of issues and I want everyone to feel comfortable and aware <3)

part ii

Harvard University, 2016

Logan sat on Finn’s bed, the mattress bare. The walls were stripped of all signs that Finn had ever been there—the Speed Limit 55 sign he had found in a parking lot. The pictures tacked on the wall of him and his brother, his family, the team winning Championships, and Logan’s favorite. He stared at the place on the wall where it had been. He could still see a bit of blue tack there, forever hardened into the white paint. It was a picture of Finn and him, taken by someone else, one of their teammates, at the party the team had thrown after they won. They were both grinning like all hell in the picture, and Finn’s arm was thrown over Logan’s shoulders, standing behind him a little, his hand pressed to Logan’s chest. Logan could still feel it, Finn warm all along his back. He remembered hoping Finn couldn’t feel his beating heart.

“Lo, can you stop looking so mopey for two seconds, please?”

Logan blinked, snapping out of it to look back at Finn. He had his ray bands pushed into his red hair and was chewing his gum loudly, as usual. The summer sun had already made his cheeks a little pink at the top. He looked lean and strong in his NASA-logo t-shirt and jean shorts, sweating a little from moving boxes all morning in the new-summer heat.

Finn was leaving, was the thing. Finn wasn’t a senior anymore, he was draftee of the Gryffindor Lions. Finn was going, going, gone.

“I’m not mopey,” Logan said, picking at a mattress thread.

Finn huffed out a laugh, zipping a suitcase closed. “Could’ve fooled me.” He snapped his gum and hauled the suitcase and his hockey bag up by their straps easily. He pulled his sunglasses down over his eyes. “Alright, last two. Hold the doors for me, eh?”

Logan took one last look around the room as he stood. “You’re not even going to say goodbye?”

Finn laughed, “You’re so fucking sentimental. I’ve got the party tonight, and I’ve got one more night here.”

“Yeah, in my room,” Logan said.

“Exactly,” Finn turned to the side, and Logan could just a sliver of the brown eyes some of the boys called him bambi for. It wasn’t enough to read his expression. “Plenty of time to say goodbye,” Finn finished, and then turned all the way towards the door. “Come on, I don’t want to carry this all by myself.”

“That’s because you’re lazy,” Logan said over a catch in his throat. Finn had a way of making him feel perfectly at home and blazingly nervous all at once. It gave him whiplash. He couldn’t get enough of it.

“Facts,” Finn hiked his stick bag up onto his shoulder with a grin and opened his door.

They loaded the car and made sure they would be able to pull out easily the next morning without having to wake up any of the other guys. When they were done, Logan left it as a problem to face the next morning. He didn’t want to think about Finn leaving. He didn’t want to think about spending next year, his senior year, without him. He wanted to get a little drunk tonight, hang out with his friends, and have Finn in his bed—maybe not in the way he wanted, but it was something.

“I am going to miss this shit-hole house,” Finn sighed as they walked back up the stone steps of Omega Kappa Nu, or the hockey-house as the rest of campus called it, together.

Logan scoffed, gesturing up at the ionic columns and the double-decker wrap-around porch. “Hock-house is anything but a shit-hole.”

Finn laughed. “Easy for you to say, you got the best room in the place.”

Logan smiled thinking about his corner room on the top floor, windows covering both walls. “She’s a beaut, eh?”

“Yeah she is, but only because I get her for one night.”

The reminder made Logan’s stomach flip. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, you better not kick in your sleep.”

“Even if I didn’t, I’d kick you.”

Logan shoved him as they reached the house, the heavy wooden double-doors propped open by one of Logan’s socks shoved beneath it as a door stop.

“Gross,” Finn said, pointing.

“You told me to help you with the doors.”

Finn rolled his eyes, but threw an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “Alright. Let’s take your car to get the booze, yeah? You got your fake? Oh, that’s right, no one ever believes yours.”

“Fuck off,” Logan groaned, and Finn laughed, tossing Logan his keys.

The party was in full swing, the sun down and hanging lanterns lit, and Logan was pleasantly buzzed. He had a red cup in his hand full of rum and coke, and he could see Finn across the patio, feet dangling in one of the blow up pools that one of the boys had bought and filled. He was laughing, a Harvard hat flipped backwards, keeping his hair out of his face. Logan sighed and drained the last of his cup, ducking back into the house for some more. He got a few slaps on the back along the way and smiled back. The kitchen was actually pretty empty, everyone having gone outside to escape the heat, but the liter coke was empty, too. Logan sighed, picking up the bottle by its cap and bouncing the plastic on the counter a few times, as if that would fill it back up.

“Wingardium-coke-osa,” said a voice in his ear and Logan snorted before spinning and smacking Finn with the bottle hard on his arm.

“Fuck me,” Finn hissed, rubbing his arm. His own drink had sloshed against his shirt, leaving a dark stain on the hem. “Tremzy.”

Logan laughed, pushing himself up to sit on the counter beside the sink. “There’s no more coke, it isn’t funny. Where’d all these fucking,” he gestured around, “people come from, drinking my rum and coke.”

“Here,” Finn said, and suddenly Finn’s cup was pressed against Logan’s lips.

Logan’s eyes widened in surprise for a moment, then narrowed suspiciously.

“Drink,” Finn said softly. They were closer now, Finn almost between Logan’s thighs. He was taller than Finn like this, level with his soft brown eyes. “Go ahead.”

Logan could smell the sickly sweet soda, and he let Finn tilt the drink into his mouth slowly. There was only an inch or so left, and Logan drank easily, the bite of the rum hot on his tongue. Finn pulled it back at the last second and drained the last centimeter himself, mouth where Logan’s had been.

“So, you’ve been drinking my rum and coke,” Logan said hoarsely.

“Guilty,” Finn replied, and Logan thought he saw his eyes dart to his own mouth. His own did the same instinctively.

“Facts,” Logan parroted, and pretended, to himself, that he could lean in right then and kiss Finn on the mouth.

Finn’s nose scrunched, then he smiled and looked behind him. “Promised Kourt a game of pong, eh? See you later?”

Logan’s heart did a little twist. Kourt. Kourtney Bleaker. Logan would do anything to poof that girl out of existence, her hands all over Finn all the time.

“I’m not sleeping on sheets you fucked Kourtney Bleaker on,” Logan said, looking down into his empty cup.

Finn’s smile dropped, surprised, then he raised his eyebrows. “Jesus, Logan. Who said anything about that? I said I’m going to play beer pong.”

“I’m just telling you. You might be sleeping in my room but don’t do that.”

“What, you got plans?” Finn bit back.

“What if I do?”

Finn’s mouth formed a hard line. “Well, have fun, then.” He turned and went into the living room without looking back.

Logan threw his cup in the direction of the trashcan, maybe too hard, and let the screen door bang behind him as he went back outside.

He didn’t want them to fight on their last day together. It was three in the morning and people were filing out to other parties or going home. Logan could still hear the music from downstairs, but he’d learned how to sleep through it a long time ago.

Finn was still in the house somewhere. Logan pulled off his sweaty shirt, his necklace bouncing, cold, against his chest, and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and brush his teeth. He rinsed his mouth out twice, and pushed wet hands through his hair. He was hot, and upset, and he couldn’t decide if wanted Finn to appear or not.

He didn’t have long to worry over it. He flicked the bathroom light off and there was Finn, closing the door behind him. They stared at each other.

“I thought I should probably sleep,” Finn said. “Got a bit of a drive tomorrow.”

He took his sunglasses from where they were folded into his shirt and set them on Logan’s dresser, along with his hat. He toed off his navy blue vans and then stood there, unsure of what to do.

Logan picked up the t-shirt he had discarded earlier and threw it into his hamper without a word. His shorts he left on the floor to be worn again tomorrow.

“Pardon,” he mumbled, maybe one of four phrases Finn knew in French, and Finn all but jumped out of the way so that Logan could get to his plaid pajama bottoms in his dresser.

He thought he heard Finn sigh as he walked into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door when he used the toilet. Logan ran his hands over his ribs and neck, trying to calm himself down, before crawling into the far side of his bed by the wall and moonlit window, leaving Finn what room was left—which wasn’t much. Logan had had a few girls stay over and it was always a tight fit. He could only imagine what it was going to be like to have two hockey players, all six feet of Finn, in the bed with him.

“I’m using your toothbrush, I packed mine,” Finn said from the bathroom.

“Fine,” Logan replied. They’d done it enough times on roadies. One of them was always forgetting something. Toothbrush, underwear, phone charger.

Finally, Finn flicked the light off and came to the edge of the bed. He looked down at Logan for a minute. Logan could feel his eyes on him, but he kept his towards the ceiling.

Finn sighed, and reached behind his head to pull his t-shirt off. He unbuttoned his jean shorts next, kicking them away. He left his socks on. Logan watched the muscles in his chest from the corner in his eye. Finn pushed the covers back and slid in. Instantly, the bed was warmer, verging on too warm in the June heat, but Logan kept very still.

After what felt like an hour of both of them lying there stiffly on their backs, Finn let out a sigh and pushed himself up onto one elbow, leaning over Logan. Logan kept his eyes towards the ceiling and the stripes of moonlight. He could guess how Finn looked in the moonlight, all pale skin and sharp lines. He didn’t know what would happen if he actually looked.

“I’m not leaving tomorrow with you mad at me,” Finn said softly.

Logan felt his chest tighten at the words. His throat felt very suddenly tight with tears, surprising him. He blinked hard and then turned on his side, back towards Finn. It was another few moments before he thought he could speak. Even when he did, the words came out thick. “Guess I’ll have to stay mad at you, then.”

Finn sucked in a breath. Whether it was at Logan’s meaning, or the sound, Logan didn’t know.

Finn was quiet, but then Logan felt his hand on the bare skin of his back, thumb rubbing over his spine. “Lo…”

Logan squeezed his eyes shut.

“Tremz, come on, look at me. Logan.”

“Non. Tu dors,” Logan rasped.

“Door?” Finn’s hand pressed against his shoulder. “Don’t speak French, I can’t—”

“Go to sleep,” But Logan’s voice broke, giving him away. He cursed, turning his nose into his pillow. “Go to sleep, go to sleep…”

“Logan—”

“Je ne veux pas parler,” Logan began, voice hitching up at the end. His cheeks burned, his head hurt. If he talked about it, it was real.

Finn groaned and then suddenly Logan felt him throw a leg over his hips, his full weight settling over him for a moment as he wedged himself between the wall and Logan’s body. Logan was too surprised to struggle for a moment, but before he could think about it, Finn’s hand was wrapped around his neckless, the small fleur-de-lis, and it was like a tether. Logan couldn’t find it in himself to look away. They were chest to chest, skin against skin, and their heads were on the same pillow.

Finn’s face dropped in surprise.

“Don’t,” Logan said, wedging a hand between them to wipe at his face angrily. “Don’t, Finn.”

But Finn caught Logan’s hand around the wrist. “No, I want—I need to talk about—”

Finn cut off though. Logan knew what they were both thinking. That kiss, almost a year ago now. More than a kiss. Logan still thought about it, too much. How Finn had felt in his hand. The feeling of Finn kissing him back, holding him close.

“No,” Logan said. “You don’t.”

“Yes,” Finn argued.

“Why?” Logan said, voice hushed. “You’re leaving. You’re going to the NHL. Name one player who’s…whatever you are. Whatever—whatever we are.”

Logan wasn’t quite sure. He liked girls. He liked boys. He liked Finn. He’d burn worlds for Finn.

But Finn was leaving, and it wasn’t up to Logan whether he could follow or not.

“You can’t,” Logan said. “Because there aren’t any.”

“Maybe I could be the first,” Finn said.

“You want that?” Logan fired back. “No one will give a shit about how you play. Maybe it’ll be too much for the organization. No one will want you because you’re too much trouble. We’ve both heard the things said on the ice, in the stands…the slurs. Imagine how bad it would be if they knew it was actually true.”

That seemed to make Finn think twice. Logan had let it spew out of him, all of the horrors that kept him up at night. He expected Finn to pull away. He waited for him to pull away.

Instead, Finn made a sad, low sound in his throat, and pushed their foreheads together. Logan let out a shuttering breath and let Finn slide their fingers together. His heart pounded, and he could feel Finn breathing against his chest.

“Well, I’m not there yet,” Finn said. “I’m still here. With you.”

Logan’s hands were shaking and he knew Finn could feel because Finn squeezed his fingers.

“Lo, please. I’m gonna be all alone with no one I know. I’m going to…” Finn gave his head a little shake, pushing harder against Logan, like he did after a goal, on the ice. “I’m gonna miss the hell out of you, okay? I already do.”

Logan’s breathing hitched again, tears hot in the corner of his eyes, and he leaned forward and kissed Finn. He brought his other hand up to clutch desperately around his back, nails digging in.

Finn kissed back hard, licking into Logan’s mouth like he needed it. His hand wandered down to Logan’s lower back, ending in a press to his thigh. Logan took the hint and wrapped his leg around Finn’s, heel against Finn’s calf. Finn pressed a hand to Logan’s cheek, thumb wiping any wet away, and Logan clutched harder to him. He was trying to remember, and trying to forget, at the same time.

The music had finally stopped downstairs, and neither of them noticed.

Logan woke up to quiet. The sun had replaced the moon and it was bright. Too happy. He looked over at Finn, who was on his stomach, sleeping with his face mashed in the pillow and full lips parted. He had one hand curled around Logan’s bicep lightly, holding on. Logan could barely stand it.

Logan looked at Finn again on the side of the road. Finn was wearing the same shirt as yesterday, stain and all. The same shorts, the same hat, the same shoes. He wore a different expression. His eyes were sad, conflicted.

Logan wanted to make it easy for him. He wanted him to go and live his dream.

He put his hands into his pockets and smiled a half smile. “Ne m’oublie pas, d’accord?”

Don’t forget me. Please, please, please.

Finn sighed, like he always did. “I can’t understand you.”

Good. Logan looked down, then back again.

“Call me when you get there. Send me a picture of Gryffindor,” Logan took a deep breath, and smiled. “Meet a nice girl.”

Finn’s expression cracked. His lip even quivered, just for a moment. “Lo…”

“Call me when you get there. I want to hear about everything. This is your dream.” Logan said, and turned away from the curb. If Finn spoke, Logan would get into the car with him.

He made it inside, he made it up the stairs and into his room, before he pressed a hand over his mouth, shaking. He leaned back against the door. Out the window, he watched Finn drive away.

He tried to remember, and tried to forget, at the same time.

#coast to coast #sweater weather spin off #Logan tremblay #finn o'hara #wolfstar #fic #ocs #lumosinlove ocs #sirius black #Remus lupin #lumosinlove #hockey au #hockey story

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ranger-jedi-knight · 4 years

Text

This Little Angel

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24201565 Tagged: @chocolate1721 @tiny-goddess-of-chaos

Ok, so my Discord buddies caused this one, great idea. Just had to do it. Hope you guys enjoy it! Especially you Choco n AAAAAAAAAAAH.

Harley heard the crying first. When she looked over and saw the man standing over a couple with the child between them sobbing out. She couldn’t have been older than 3. The mugger ran as soon as he saw her. She ran over and kneeled down next to the little girl and placed a hand on her shoulder. The girl sobbed as she dove into Harley, burying her face into Harley’s shoulder.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m so sorry,” she mumbled looking at her parent’s bodies before looking where the mugger had left. It seems he was content to leave her to die alone. “Come on, sweetie, I’ll give you a good home.” she picked up the little girl, holding her close as she balanced the girl on her hip and walked back to her and Joker’s place. “Puddin! We have a child now!” she called and Joker looked over at her, his usual grin falling in confusion.

“What? What do you mean, sweetheart?” he asked looking at her and the little girl in her arms.

“Well, Puddin, this little cutie’s parents were mugged and killed. The mugger left her for dead when he saw me,” she explained sitting down and bouncing her legs hoping to get the girl to laugh.

“Well, that is unfortunate,” he said and Harley gave him a big smile.

“But I figure we could raise her n give her a happy home!” she explained and Joker started nodding and smile grew on his face.

“Sounds good, Doll Face.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧~~~~~~~~~~~~

No one knew Joker and Harley were raising a child. Well, that’s not totally true. Harley’s friends Ivy and Selina knew. But they weren’t ones to snitch to others. So it was a big surprise when Joker brought along a 6-year-old child with him the child was wearing a mix of red and blue inspired Harley dress with a deep purple tux jacket over it. Harley still wasn’t active which was confusing but they couldn’t question it. “Lookey here Batsy! I have one too!” Joker cackled happily and the little girl beamed in her arms. “Hello, there mister Bats! Would you like to smell my flower?” she asked and Joker pouted turning the dangling little girl to him.

“Mari darling, that’s not the script,” he said gently and Mari tilted her head. “I just want him to smell my flower,” she said softly, pulling the flower out of her jacket’s pocket and Joker placed her on the ground and patted her head.

“Batsy, please smell her flower and compliment it,” he said and Batman and his companions just looked very confused.

“Please?” she asked with a pout and Joker leveled a look behind them. Nightwing nodded and leaned over to smell the flower to not risk Joker’s wrath.

“Smells lovely,” he said and Mari beamed at him.

“He likes my flower, daddy!” she beamed and Joker smiled.

“He’d be an idiot not too, Mari darling,” he replied with a nod. “I’m not smelling the flower. What are you planning, Joker?” Batman asked with a glare. Joker frowned and pulled the plastic flower from his jacket and pointed it at Batman. Batman started reacting only to stop when he felt liquid hitting him.

“You’re a meanie, mister Bats!” she said pouting.

“You’re lucky its only water,” Joker said picking up the little girl.

“Daddy, can I please remake your suit now? It’s bad and Riddler shares the same color green,” she said and Joker had an offended look on his face.

“I will not share a color with that dimwit. We’re heading to the fabric and craft stores,” he said walking away and the bats were able to hear another part of their talking.

“And pay for them. I’m not using stolen goods,” Mari said with a frown, and Joker groaned.

“Ok, Mari darling. I’ll pay for the items,” he agreed. Batman and Robin(Tim) followed after Joker and Mari. Meanwhile Nightwing and Red Hood went to the base to get answers from Harley.

“Harley! You didn’t say you were pregnant!” Nightwing shouted as they entered to see Harley cooking while humming. “That’s easy, it’s because I wasn’t pregnant,” she replied turning to them and the two looked at her confused.

“Then where did the child come from?” Red Hood asked and Harley looked down at the pan sadly.

“You see, I came across her when I was heading back after hanging with Ivy and Selina 3 years ago. Her parents were killed in a mugging, the mugger ran as soon as he saw me, leaving her to be killed or something. So I took her home and Puddin n I decided to raise her. She’s doing so well, is she not? She’s even making Puddin act better!” she said beaming at the last part.

“That is good, we’ve been seeing the improvement,” Nightwing said and Red Hood had to nod agreement. Joker stopped targeting kids and teens, well excluding Robin and anyone helping Batsy, and his Joker Venom was only used if he did a big attack. Hell, he even apologized for how horrendously he killed Hood. That had Hood frozen in shock at hearing it. Granted Joker wouldn’t stop trying to hurt or even killing them, he just said he wouldn’t be as disturbing at it. Cause he can admit that that was a disturbing way to kill a kid. This wasn’t even the first time he’s heard of the flower now just spitting water! That little girl was an Angel sent from heaven, the two, well three counting Harley, were sure of it.

Meanwhile over with Batman and Robin, they were shocked to watch as Joker and Mari entered the fabric store. Everyone dove to the ground and the employees were shaking. But they did nothing but browse before taking it to the counter to get cut then heading to the front to pay for it, the needles, threads, scissors, sewing machine, and pattern for a new suit.

Mari was happily holding the bag of bought goods as they went to the craft store to get some other things such as a sketchbook, pencils, colored pencils, buttons, and the like. It was the same there as well. The customers fell to the ground and the employees were scared. Thou one employee didn’t look scared which confused the bats. Until they realized that the employee, a high school girl, was fighting to stay awake. After paying and leaving Joker was laughing at how the girl didn’t even blink as she fought to stay awake. When they glanced back, another employee was talking to the girl but the girl just leaned against the counter and fell asleep and the other employee looked terrified and got on the phone.

The two then went home and Nightwing and Red Hood caught up to Batman and Robin and told them what they knew and Batman sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three Years Later

Mari wasn’t happy when she earned her daddy hurt a kid. Someone a year or so older than her. But she also knew it was an accident, and accidents happened. The boy was trying to get to safety and someone else was the main problem hurting the boy. It was just cause Joker was attacking that the boy was running. She had brought the two sisters of the boy some sweets when she learned he went missing.

After doing that, with all of her other deeds, earned her the name of Gotham’s Sunshine Angel. Purely from how bright of an outlook she has when talking with people, brightening their days, and helping people out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧~~~~~~~~~~~~

One Year Later

Mari had been excited when she met the new boy in her class. A 10-year-old boy named Damian had just arrived in Gotham to live with his father Bruce Wayne. When he arrived he was very closed off to everyone. He thought of himself as better which was ridiculous in her mind.

But slowly, ever so slowly, she got him to open up and become friends with him. It took over half a year to do that and she was proud of doing that. He was opening up slowly and actually acting like a child instead of an adult trapped in a child’s body. He was excited to introduce her to his family which she was excited too. She wanted to introduce him to her daddy and mommy!

She waved happily tot he shocked family. Tho from their faces she inched back nervous. “What’s the matter, father? Why are you acting like that to my friend?” Damian demanded, glaring at his family as Mari hid behind him slightly.

“Do you know who she is, Damian?” Bruce asked softly and Damian looked between him and Mari, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s Joker’s daughter, adopted, but daughter nonetheless,” he said slowly and Damian whipped around to glare at her. A whimper left her as she backed away from her friend.

“You’re Joker’s child? And you didn’t think to tell me?” he demanded and Mari bit her lip, holding back a scream when her back hit the door as Damian and his family looked at her. His family was shocked still, but Damian?

Oh.

He looked furious.

“I-I thought you knew,” she stammered out, shrinking under his gaze. “E-everyone knows it since I was 6.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” he demanded.

“She’s telling the truth, Damian. Joker and Harley adopted her after finding her crying. It was a mugging gone wrong,” Bruce explained and Damian turned to him with narrowed eyes before turning back to Mari once more.

“How do I know she doesn’t have some evil plan? She’s the child of Joker,” he spat and Mari couldn’t hold back the tears. With a cry, she pulled the door open and rushed out of the manor.

What she didn’t see as she ran thru the rain and foggy street back to the city, Damian being glared at by his family.

What she did see tho?

It was too late.

A van screeched to a halt in front of her and a couple of men leaped out and grabbed her. She screamed out in fright, hoping someone would hear and help, but alas, it wouldn’t matter. They got her into the van and duct-taped her mouth.

When they got to the warehouse they got her changed into clothes all the other kids inside wore. Within a few hours, she and the others were on a supply plane toward Paris, France, sold to a sleazy orphanage.

Joker and Harley were in a frenzy that night. The Bats did what they could to calm them but it was difficult.

You shouldn’t mess with the Joker’s daughter.

That’s how they learned that she never made it home. The sweet angel would never do something like that to her parents. If she had a problem like a fight that happened, she would talk to her mommy and get advice. They didn’t learn until it was too late thou.

They were told she would be staying a few hours with her friend Damian. After those few hours, she was gone, already on a plane, leaving behind devastated parents and a guilt-ridden friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~(⋟﹏⋞)~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mari was jostled awake by one of the women running the orphanages. “Name?” she demanded and Mari opened and closed her mouth a few times trying to think, her face screwing up as she did.

“I-I think my name is Marinette,” she said after a bit and the woman’s face softened a bit.

“You think?” she asked and Mari nodded.

“I-I can’t remember anything,” she said and the woman nodded understanding.

“Well, it sounds like you have amnesia, Marinette. You’ll be lucky if it returns soon,” she replied writing some things down. “Get up, we need to get you cleaned up, some lovely people are coming by to see if there are any children they would like to adopt.”

Mari nodded and got up slowly, following behind the woman.

~~~~~~~~~~~~(⋟﹏⋞)~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mari was tired. She’s been with Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng for five years now. They were fine. They treated her well, but worked her hard. They had her helping in the bakery a lot. When that wasn’t happening, they talked to her only when eating together. When not doing either of those, she was sewing, but only sewing things her classmates, used to be friends, wanted. And when she wasn’t doing that, she was doing her Class Rep duties.

But oh.

On top of all that!

She was Ladybug, the hero of Paris.

Ya, she was tired. Her partner Chat was useless. He flirted constantly and didn’t know how to take no as an answer. Then there was also, Lila, a super liar who got her class to turn against her. Ya. she’s not having a good time in Paris.

She also wanted to remember her past. She keeps remember fuzzy figures that bring comfort, but she just can’t remember.

And it’s driving her nuts.

She slumped at her desk looking at her teacher who once more overlooked her. But then glared at her once Lila claimed something. Chloe sat down next to her and patted her back in comfort. She was glad to have made a friend with Chloe. She had been prepared to deal with Chloe, but she didn’t know how she was prepared for it. Just that she was.

“Have you head from WE?” Chloe asked and Mari shook her head. “Not yet. Any day now,” she replied and Chloe nodded.

“And your parents?”

“Couldn’t care less. They only care that I won’t be able to help them out,” she answered with a sigh and Chloe shook her head.

“Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous,” she said with a flip of her hair.

“Class, I have a special announcement!” Bustier called and the class looked up at the teacher. “Our class is going to Gotham for a week to tour Wayne Enterprises!” she said happily and the class started cheering.

“Oh, I just knew my Damiboo would come thru for me!” Lila said and that had the class looking at her.

“Really girl!? Tell me the deets!” Alya said and Lila beamed as the rest of the class agreed.

“You see, I’m dating Damian Wayne, heir to Wayne Enterprises. When he heard that m-our class was fighting to win the chance to go, he promised to pull some strings and he pulled thru!” she said happily to the camera Alya whipped out and Alya started talking to it but the two girls in the back ignored it all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mari squealed next to Chloe as the exited the plane.

Alas, she should have known.

Nothing good ever stays.

She had to walk to the school they were visiting since her class left her behind. As soon as she got there, gasps rang out. A tall teen with tanned skin, black slicked-back hair, and the most intense emerald gaze walked over to her. Whispers rang around the halls about the Ice Prince, wondering what he was doing. The whispering got worse when he placed his hands on her shoulders and you could see him holding back tears.

She looked at him confused, she recognized him but couldn’t place it for the life of her.

And it pained her not being able to.

The teen pulled her into a bone-crushing hug with a soft gasp. “I’m so sorry, Angel,” he whispered. That brought tears to her eyes. He pulled back to look her in the eyes and looked concerned about the sad expression in her eyes.

“I-I’m sorry, I….I don’t remember you,” she whispered and his expression turned pained as they heard a shout and a blonde teen ran into Mari giving her a hug and looking at him sadly.

“I’m sorry. If you’re from her past, she doesn’t remember anything from before 6 years ago when she was adopted,” she said and the boy nodded understanding. “Chloe Bourgeois,” she introduced and the teen shook her hand. “Damian Wayne. Thank you for telling me,” he said and she nodded. “If you allow it, may I accompany you and tell you how we first met years ago?” he asked and Mari gave a slow nod.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she answered and Damian gave the barest smiles and the three headed off to classes, just in time to hear Lila boast about ‘Damiboo’.

Oh, she’s going to regret that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week consisted of Damian and his friends Jon and Xander, hung with her and Chloe telling them about the year she disappeared, the year she and Damian met and became close friends. He didn’t go into too many details about the fight, just staying they had a horrible fight because he was an idiot and how sorry he was about it. He wanted to make sure she knew he was sorry.

And it did help, she could remember a bit more but still had trouble.

But it was progress.

And Mari is happy about it.

When it was time to leave, Damian was there to see her off, but they were both surprised to see Bruce walking up to her with Joker and Harley with Commissioner Gordon helping watch them.

The whole airport froze at the sight of them, remembering the terror they brought years ago when their daughter disappeared. Damian went over to Bruce, the question clear on his face.

“I got Mari’s class this trip because I recognized her. I thought her parents would appreciate seeing her,” he whispered and Damian gave a soft smile as he watched Joker and Harley freezing up when they saw Mari.

“Mari darling,” Joker whispered and they watched as tears gathered in her eyes as a recognition went over her. She knew them, she wasn’t sure how, but she knew them. Chloe was looking at the three with wide eyes. “H-how do you-?” she started and cut herself off but the two knew what she was asking.

“Because, you’re our daughter, pumpkin,” Harley whispered and a ragged breath left her as she held back a sob.

“D-daddy? M-mommy?” she whispered and the two nodded. “I’m so sorry!” she sobbed, remembering everything, out running to them and the two pulled her close and started crying themselves.

“It’s ok, Mari darling. We know you didn’t mean it. We’re just glad your safe now,” Joker whispered as they collapsed onto their knees to the ground.

“S-still, I should-I should have called for you and-and waited!” she sobbed out and the two gently shushed her.

“It’s ok, pumpkin. We don’t need to dwell on the past. You’re here now,” Harley whispered and Mari nodded into their shoulders.

“I’m glad I found you again,” she whispered and they nodded themselves. They slowly pulled back when Mari heard Chloe cough. “I-I’m sorry, I have to go back now,” she whispered and the two looked sad at that.

“Uh, You’ll get longer actually,” Chloe said annoyed and that had everyone in the airport confused. “They left without us,” she scoffed jerking a hand back to the empty gate and terminal.

“What!?” Gordon shouted and Chloe nodded as the man ran to the gate’s desk and spoke to the pilot angrily.

“Marinette,” Bruce began and Mari turned to him and tilted her head.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to come back and live in joint custody of Joker and Harley?” he asked and Mari started nodding before stopping.

“Joint?” she asked looking between the two.

“We, split after you disappeared, pumpkin. We couldn’t stop arguing, but don’t worry, we aren’t arguing anymore, and won’t ever if you stay with us,” Harley said and Mari nodded slowly.

“And, Mari darling, don’t blame yourself. Ok? We’re both happy with where we are, your mommy is in a great relationship with Ivy now and is very happy. And I am enjoying the bachelor life!” Joker said happily and Mari beamed at that.

“I’m glad you’re happy now, daddy, mommy,” she whispered and the two nodded back with smiles.

“We are too, Mari darling.”

“I can speak to the officials in France about this as you were taken from your parents,” Bruce said and Mari smiled at that.

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne,” Mari whispered.

“The plane is too far away for them to turn around. But once they land, you’re teacher will be in trouble and investigated for leaving two students in Gotham,” Gordon said walking over to them after finishing the radio call.

“You should also have her adopted parents investigated,” Chloe said thru a scoff and that had the small group looking over at her while Mari shrunk.

“What do you mean?” Gordon asked confused.

“They neglect her daily and force her to work in the bakery or make things for her ‘friends’ even though they know she doesn’t think of them as such,” she explained and Gordon slowly nodded at that.

“I’ll tell them that,” he said walking away.

“While that is figured out, why don’t you two stay at Wayne Manor until it’s all done,” Bruce suggested and the two teens nodded agreement.

“I’ll take your bag,” Damian said and Mari smiled at that as she stood up and her parents squished her between them.

Yeah, she’s happy to finally be home.

Ok, I hope you guys enjoyed this!! This was pretty fun to write. If enough people ask, there MAY be a second part. But we’ll see. Anyways! Hope you enjoyed this long fic! Until Next Time!! -Love Willa<3<3<3

#fanfic #A Little Angel #ALA #my wriing #good joker #joker is a dad #ml x dc #maribat #daminette #amnesea #remembering #long fic

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mc-doppomine · 3 years

Text

Day 20 Bonus: Bad Ass Temple vs Matenrou

I’m just going in order of the battle dates at this point. And I’m just going to go from the music to the character stuff again because I feel it would just get long again. Look, I wanted to go for Bad Ass Temple. Sometimes you want to hope for an underdog. However when it comes to style...I just couldn’t get into BAT as much. Which is a shame because they have the same foundation of their team as MTR and going in the fight a similar way. But in terms of the individual songs, they’re actually pretty even. I didn’t have many songs that I really liked from either side besides One, Two, Law and Black or White.

I feel this is also the time that I have to say, with music a lot of the time, I’m basing it only as music. It’s lyrics and the like are secondary and mainly used to like inch any song forward if I was truly stuck. So sound wise, it’s been all over the place. Between having flashbacks to high school with Jyushi and feel like I’m being taken to church by Jakurai...it’s been a time. But of course the ones I like are the ones that are ultimately the ones about more mundane stuff I guess?

And with the group songs...I had to grow to like Kaigen. It’s just a personal thing with slow build up songs, I don’t usually have patience for them which is why I usually like fast paced songs over ballads (there’s always exceptions). But when you get to it though, it is good. I won’t deny that. (Yosh, Jyushi part and then him going off, is such a fuck yeah moment!) Well, Kirei, Kaigen is more fast paced than Tomoshibi, what gives? There’s always exceptions. One is that Tomoshibi doesn’t have as slow a build and that it caught my heart without me knowing what’s going on. Like a lot of my initially crying over Tomoshibi was over how it SOUNDS, not their lyrics. Also it’s slow but not ballad slow.

Which then brought us to the actual battle. And they would not make us wait. I was gut punched when they let Jakurai and Hitoya go from right out the gate. Anyone else notice how they mirrored each other’s final line of defeating the other with everything they have? Shivers! I initially wondered why these two were put together to fight but it makes sense after Light & Shadow because they have essentially the same ultimate desire of finding safety and growth with their teams but how they go about it is very different. Neither of them are wrong but it’s a matter of the clash between those difference.

If I had one thing that threw me so thoroughly in this battle though was Hitoya. Like I bet he was the real threat of BAT and I don’t feel I was wrong. But his angle was way different from what I was expecting. Like it seemed like his perspective changed before the 2nd DRB happened. Which ends up coming up really strange, at least for me, in this battle. Because HE is the one that initiated a fight with MTR by challenging Jakurai and was determined to take him down. Not that he still isn’t but he’s already had his chance of reflecting and changed why he’s fighting Jakurai from wanting to drag him down from his high horse to wanting to do this as a challenge against himself. Which isn’t bad, it just makes for a strange dynamic when it felt like it was set up for settling this grudge and he settled it himself before even getting on stage.

As for the rest of the battle, I don’t have as many memorable lines as they go so fast in this one. It’s a lot easier to lose them but considering this track was designed like a final boss encounter, I guess that’s to be expected. But overall...I just felt like Kuko and Jyushi were too...not that they didn’t take it serious but too green to this kind of scene? Like it reminds me of Jiro and Saburo in War War War except I think Kuko and Jyushi delivered some great lines such as ‘you’ve been so shaved off by society, there’s nothing left of you.’ But they also didn’t seem to hit with me? Although I guess there is a small bias there as like...I feel weird hearing them say ‘middle-aged men’ when I’m not that much younger than Hifumi or Doppo. And know that it’s really not that old...it reminds me of my younger sister.

Lyric wise, it felt like they were fighting two completely different ways and I don’t know how it worked out honestly for me. Like I’m really glad for the sound because a lot of it...wasn’t nonsensical but just didn’t feel like they were going at the same thing. Like MTR didn’t even seem to really focus on beating down on their opponents whereas BAT did. And it makes for such a weird confrontation. So I basically defaulted to what I usually do with the music and go with how I feel from the music and I felt MTR through it. To me, I felt more passion from their delivery and also I’d be lying if I I was living through Hifumi’s haughty laugh, Kuko’s roll of words and Doppo’s screaming (how does Itou-san do it???).

So yeah, MTR got me with music.

I said I did the character thing because it’d be shorter to do the music...I didn’t realize I had to so much to say about the music until I was writing. I’m so sorry that this just ends up being super long as I add the character/story aspects...which honestly I guess would be shorter because in the grand scheme both BAT and MTR just have a lot less to lose of going against other teams. Which could be argued is their charm but I don’t know if that alone could save them from future shenanigans to happen in this DRB. But let’s get to the team stuff

BAT vs DH would have to be the most even chance music wise for both teams because they’re new to this battle season. Although I am absolutely terrified of what kind of sound would come from mixing their sounds together. I’m sure all the talented folks behind the DRB music can do it...I just can’t imagine it. I can’t really think of the conflicts here since for the most part they don’t know each other outside of Kuko and Sasara being in MCD for a time.

BAT vs BB would be a chance to make the ‘koi yo Bad Ass,’ ‘Ou yo Bus Bros’ from Division Battle Anthem+ come true. I’ve hung onto that direct call out since I’ve heard it. There should be answers to their fall out. Ichiro didn’t forget it and feels like Kuko had to have some kind of revelation with it. This would be the chance to resolve this. Meanwhile I also entertain that this iust good hearted fun of like Ichiro, Kuko, Jyushi and Jiro all being around the same age and just being boys having fun. All the while, Hitoya is groaning as he pulls out another set of adoption papers.

BAT vs FP...I can’t think of anything really since they haven’t had any real connection outside of Ramuda--and I think it was OUR Ramuda--thinking Kuko was too irrelevant for his plans. What a kick that’d be for Kuko to be like ‘so, I heard you were talking shit!’

BAT vs MTC, I also have a problem seeing as much of an issue. Outside of Hitoya trying to not have a whole ass conniption. He needs to bring like most of these bastards to court. And also dadtoya because he would not want to drag Kuko and Jyushi around these guys. I fear of Jyuto eating Jyushi alive. Although there could be a slight chance of anger from Samatoki towards Kuko because he’s one of the few people that know the extent of Kuko’s abrupt departure left with Ichiro and even if he doesn’t forgive Ichiro, I don’t think that erases that nasty taste in his mouth.

And then to reverse around with MTR vs DH, I still think of it being more light-hearted of Hifumi and Doppo being like an accidental rival manzai to Sasara and Rosho. And just ending up petty over it. Watch Hifumi insult Sasara’s suit, ohmygod Hifumi can you not--And meanwhile I’m pretty sure Rei knows that Chuuoku is trying to use Jakurai’s rap ability and I can’t tell if he’s interested in how it goes or if he’d stop it. Because Rei I feel has less hesitance in doing extremes to eliminate what’s in his way. Be that incapacitating Jakurai’s ability or Jakurai himself or ruining Jakurai in a way that he can’t help...that’s all doesn’t seem outside the realm of possibility for Rei to me.

MTR vs BB would also be a lighter affair as it just seems like bros just going against each other as I don’t know, I think MTR has a softer spot for BB than all the other teams. And to BB it’s like going against dad because I will die on the dadkurai hill.

MTR vs MTC is rematch REMATCH. DEATH RESPECT PART II. Let’s get it. But yeah outside of sore feelings from last time, I don’t think it’d be as bad as last time. It’s really a ‘nothing personal but you’re in my way’ sort of thing. There is a meeting for the anti-Honobono club that goes on, maybe? Maybe there could be some bad blood if Samatoki knew about Jakurai thinking of helping Chuuoku with perfecting the thing that, at least for a long time in his head, took Nemu from him.

But unsurprisingly most that would happen is if they did MTR vs FP. Because on one hand, it’s a REMATCH and one I’d personally love because their rap battle was my favorite. But they have the most story threads. I glossed it in the previous but it’s a chance for collaboration or using the other team if Honobono came up. Such as FP throwing MTR at her to distract her from getting Ramuda. They’re cutthroat enough to do it. Or if they could see past their rivalry and work together to save both of their sides from this mutual threat. I think this would be a time for Ramuda and Jakurai to REALLY go at each other.

Because despite their disdain of each other, I don’t think they hate each other as they like to proclaim. Chuuoku seems to know this feeling on Jakurai’s end as they dangle Ramuda’s well-being in front of him time and time again. Even if he can’t get along with Ramuda, he sure as fuck doesn’t want him DEAD. And it seems to get forgotten but Ramuda IS Jakurai’s MENTOR, the person that taught him to survive in the new direction of the world. Even if this was orchestrated, that bond still exists. And it’s not one-sided because I can’t imagine Ramuda being pleased with Jakurai willingly going with the bitches that made his life hell. He’d be pissed as to how Jakurai could roll over to them (as he might perceive) and his effort to keep Jakurai from them failing.

Phew...done...with the thing. But yeah in terms of like story/character....mmm, yeah that would have to go to MTR too. I really don’t feel like it’s BAT fault. I just think they’re at a disadvantage for coming new to a battle season.

#30 days of hypmic challenge #bad ass temple #matenrou #long post #I'm so sorry at the length #and dissolving into gibberish #kuko harai #jyushi aimono #hitoya amaguni #jakurai jinguji #hifumi izanami #doppo kannonzaka

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itsblissfuloblivion · 4 years

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Torch - Chapter 9: May

enjoy hinny in 10k++ 🤩😱

THE hbp chapter of all chapters! here it is, finally & we truly hope we did it justice :)

enjoy on AO3 // FFnet too

They’re on the Quidditch pitch, fighting tooth and nail for the Cup, the mighty Gryffindor lion roaring, thundering its sheer strength and power at haughty Ravenclaw. It’s 300 to 290 for Gryffindor and Harry’d rather go down spiralling, Snitch toiling underneath white knuckles, than let those feathered gits get one more Quaffle through that post.

A feeling shared by Ginny as well, it seems, if the banshee scream erupting from her throat is any indication, her face the picture of determination as she soars through the air, splitting open the horizon, red mane of hair fluttering behind her like a ripple of blood over the deep blue of the sky.

A great, deafening lioness’ roar and Ginny pelts the Quaffle so hard it bends the goal post where it hits it before scoring -

Harry’s heart sinks instantly, his eyes bulging, fixed on a limp Ginny falling fast to the ground, apparently having fainted after her spectacular throw, and he screams and dives and jumps off his broom to catch her before she hits the cold hard ground.

Everything’s fine, he’s caught her and he’s holding her close to his...naked chest? Suddenly Harry’s without half his Quidditch gear and, oh, so is Ginny. They’re both bare chested and embracing in the middle of the pitch and Harry’s mortified to hear the wolf-whistles coming from the audience, Luna Lovegood commentating the sudden turn of events like there’s nothing unusual, asking the spectators to close their eyes at once for love making requires a certain level of intimacy.

He tries his best to keep his eyes away from Ginny’s chest, but he can’t do anything about the feeling of her breasts pressed to him, her beautiful, freckled hands rumpling his hair, her lips glued to his jaw, traveling down to his pulse point as she whispers how hot, how fit she finds him. Harry nearly faints when he feels her tongue there.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of Dean and Ron playing stone paper scissors to establish who gets to hit Harry first and his own mind screams at him to grab Ginny and run.

Only he can’t, he’s petrified and can’t possibly move any muscle in his body when Ginny’s hand sneaks inside the lower part of his gear and grabs his -

Harry’s eyes snap open and he’s brought back to consciousness (and, sadly, also to a Ginny-less reality) with a loud gasp. It takes him a moment to realise it’s his own hand gripping tightly inside his pajama bottoms, something wet and sticky spread everywhere inside them. Shit.

He silently curses everything from his hormone-controlled mind to his lack of a healthy dose of Gryffindor drama and recklessness when he actually needs it (how else is he going to ever tell her that he fancies her, eh?), pulls his battered old bathrobe around him as tightly as possible and, making sure the rest of the lads are still fast asleep, shuffles to the bathroom on his tippy toes.

May’s only started for a couple of hours and Harry can already predict it won’t unlock anything new for him besides probably some fresh, astounding levels of teenage embarrassment, sprinkled with a new found desire to crawl inside a hole and die.

After a long shower where Harry talks to himself more than is the norm, a few well placed Evanescos, and a perhaps ill-advised assist from Dobby, Harry thinks he’s probably in the best frame of mind possible after last night’s episode.

It’s been quite a while since he attempted the ‘Ginny’s like my sister’ method of internal browbeating - the repeated dreams and daydreams made him feel squeamish - but he’s still firmly in the ‘mind over matter’ camp. Yes he clearly fancies her, yes she’s cheeky and smart and beautiful and probably the plain coolest person he’s ever met aside from Sirius or Bill, but she’s off limits. At least that’s what he tells himself.

Most of the time.

Other times, he wonders what it would be like to just give in to it. To drum up some courage, act like he’s flying high on Felix Felicis, and...and do something that ends up with Ginny snogging the daylights out of him.

But those ideas only last so long. Usually crashing down with a confused look from Ron and a wondering question of when Harry became a ‘bleary eyed guppy’, ‘dead faced lemming’, or any other animal based insult that Ron uses to disguise how much he cares.

Which is really the problem. Harry’s not afraid of Ron in the ‘big brother is going to rip out your innards sense.’ They’ve had their share of arguments over the years and Harry’s grown fairly confident in his ability to hold his own in a fight - magic or no. Which is a level of bravado that may be hereditary, and also a good way to get his face punched in.

Nonetheless, if it were just about having it out with Ron about being a nosy git, it’s one thing, but Ron cares so much more than he wants to admit. He’s a protective, overly-invested Molly Weasley trapped in the body of a freckled gangly thing with an inability to admit actual feelings. And among those are the very real instincts that he has to keep his best mate and his kid sister from getting their hearts broken.

Not that Harry’s in any position to judge emotional constipation.

And even with the mess swirling around his crowded head, Harry feels he’s in a somewhat better mindset post-shower and even finds himself able to carry on a mildly coherent conversation with Ron and Hermione later on the way to breakfast.

Yes, he’s feeling quite chuffed with himself as he crunches into a marmalade-drenched triangle of toast until three things happen at once.

Said marmalade decides it much prefers his tie to crispy bread, Harry’s brain decides not to let any of his breakfast go to waste, and Ginny Weasley claims the seat across from him.

So his first non-dream Ginny sighting of May 1997 is a wild eyed glance while he’s sucking orange marmalade from his tie and juggling a half eaten piece of toast in his free hand.

Bloody perfect.

Of course, she’s a damn sight to see, two braids wrapping her hair into intricate patterns, freckles dark against sun-red skin, shirt only partially buttoned, and her tie dangling like a scarf around her neck.

Harry is a different sort of sight, but he earns gawking just as much. So when Ginny bites back a smirk and lifts one brow in his direction, he really can’t fault whatever comes next.

“I see you’ve had a bit of a morning, eh, Harry?”

God, she’s amazing.

“Er - yeah.”

She reaches for the dish piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs and Harry jolts to assist, his fingers brushing hers just barely. Ginny seems fine, completely unruffled, but his idiotic mind jumps right back to the last time they touched. Well - dream Harry and dream Ginny touched.

When dream Ginny’s hand was reaching for something other than eggs and her groan was for him -

Although, technically, eggs were in fact the first touch they shared, Ginny felt so real - but that’s certainly not a thought to be had early in the morning and especially not in the vicinity of older brothers and more or less the entirety of the Hogwarts student body.

She sighs and takes another bite. “If any of you repeat this I’ll deny it, but sometimes I think the elves make better eggs than Mum.”

Ron shrugs and pushes another forkful past his lips. “Dunno, eggs are eggs. ‘Cept those weird Muggle powdered ones Dad made us all eat for the educational value.”

“I can’t help but think about how our food ends up here,” Hermione says, shuffling her oatmeal around absently, “We eat from slave labor - I think that’s why I prefer home cooking,” she blushes and studiously keeps her eyes from Ron when she murmurs, “Especially Mrs. Weasley’s Beef Wellington.”

Apparently, this is quite effective at hooking Ron’s attention. Which anyone who’s known Ron for more than a day can tell you is a feat when seated at any meal. But Hermione’s a clever one to be sure, and she was bound to figure it out after six years.

Harry’s wondering if he’s willing to pass up the opportunity to tease the two of them on the off chance that Ron pulls his head out of his arse and actually makes a move before they’re thirty, when he feels someone nudge him beneath the table.

He glances up and finds Ginny watching him expectantly. “You’re awfully quiet - should I worry there’s a snitch among us?”

“I’m going to need compensation to cross Molly Weasley,” Harry answers, swallowing the last of his tea.

And in the first stroke of luck Harry’s had today, he’s managed to swallow by the time Ginny winks and asks, “What do you have in mind?”

He does choke on his tongue, which isn’t left open for comment because in a simultaneous moment of perfect and horrific timing, Ron decides to obliviously insert himself back into the conversation. “How about pay him back with a good offense against Ravenclaw? They’ve gotten too arrogant.”

Hermione snorts, but Ron misses it, already knee deep in a strategy debate with Ginny. Harry however doesn’t miss a thing. Not the affectionate glance she casts toward Ron before darting her gaze between Harry and Ginny, then lingering on Harry and giving him an obnoxiously knowing look.

She’s too smart to hang around sometimes.

Once Ron’s finished his third helping of eggs, the foursome rise from their seats and Ron begins prodding Hermione for tips on wand movements. A turn of events Harry really thinks he can’t be expected to ignore. It’s low hanging fruit and yet completely irresistible.

He’s about to cut in with some already half-formed jibe because really, wand movement tips, when Ginny sidles up beside him and threads her arm through the crook of his elbow. “This is such perfect material it almost feels too easy to be that fun.”

“Ron’s a bit of an idiot, isn’t he?” Harry says with a laugh.

“At least when it comes to Hermione.”

“Girls in general maybe,” Harry puts in as they exit the Great Hall, amongst the slow trickle of late crowd, “Lest we forget the Lavender trials.”

“Oh hell, that was a bloody nightmare.”

“At least you didn’t have to see it up close and personal,” Harry groans, “You were with - “ he clears his throat, “Busy.”

Ginny bites back a laugh, rolling her eyes when a few Ravenclaws elbow past with impatient looks. “Something like that.”

She grabs the strap of his bag and pulls them off toward the side, a little alcove where the corridor splits between upper and lower classrooms, while Ron and Hermione continue on their way, deep in conversation.

Harry props his shoulders against the stone, arms crossed over his chest and one foot kicked up while Ginny lifts one hand to straighten his tie.

“You know that feint last practice was pretty impressive - sometimes I think you could go pro if you wanted.”

“Only sometimes?” Harry asks, eyes twinkling when Ginny snickers.

“I said what I said.”

“Well, I’ve got to keep my game sharp. There’s an upstart Chaser who’s got eyes for the captainship and my spot on the team.”

Ginny toys with the end of one of her braids before blinking up at him, all innocence. “No idea who you’d mean. Everyone knows Chaser’s the best position. Seekers just want glory - Chasers are the lifeblood of the team and the game itself.”

Her hands are back at his tie, this time fiddling with the end, while Harry somehow finds him bracing his forearm against the wall, looming too close to Ginny for his sanity. Which is why it sounds a little strangled when he responds, “Oh really?”

Ginny flicks the silky fabric between her fingers and shrugs, “Yes, really. Who’d want to sit and watch a couple of skinny gits circling the pitch for hours on end, just waiting for something to happen. Chasers are in it from the beginning, making things happen, getting shit done.”

Harry somehow ends up leaning closer because Ginny Weasley is a damn magnet or a bloody lamp and he’s an idiot fly. Hell, she smells amazing. “Well, Seekers, they play the long game,” he clears his throat when she licks her lips and blinks up at him, waiting, “On the surface it’s like nothing’s happening but they, ah - always show up in the end.”

Ginny bites her lip, her voice almost a whisper when she asks, “Is that so?”

It takes three swallows before Harry’s voice becomes audible, “Mhm, true and plain as the nose on your face.”

Ginny’s response dies in her throat when Ron jogs back towards them and shouts across the now bustling hall - a development Harry’ll wonder how he missed later on - yelling something about being late for class.

Harry misses most of it because Ginny pulls on the end of his tie and winks right at him, before offering a cheeky salute. “See you at practice, Captain.”

Later, when Ron’s down for his pre-practice kip, Harry ends up with Hermione in the Common Room while she works on her outline for their final exam in Potions and Harry reads over his Transfiguration notes. It’s a half-assed attempt, to be sure, and Harry’s expecting this to be the subject of Hermione’s oncoming conversation.

Instead, as she slides a bookmark into place and sets her textbook aside, she says, “So you’ve never really had a girlfriend, right?”

Harry frowns, wondering whether the two worst dates of all time count as having a very short lived girlfriend. Hermione toys with one of the curls escaped from her bun and says, “Cho doesn’t count - neither does the Yule Ball. Cho was just a date and the other was a complete trainwreck of pre-pubescent attempts at wooing.”

“Thanks for the assessment,” Harry answers, dry.

Hermione presses her lips into a thin line, blows out a deep breath and finally seems to settle on what she’d like to say next. “Girls. Well, girls aren’t all the same, of course. I suppose I should just say people - there’s a thing called body language.”

“Hermione, I know what body language is.”

She grunts. “Yes, but it doesn’t matter if you know but do nothing about it. I’ve read a lot about it.”

“I’m shocked.”

Hermione jabs him with her quill. “I’ve read a lot about it and I can say with absolute certainty that we had some major signals being fired today at breakfast.”

“I have no doubt that’s true, Miss Let Me Tutor You In Wand Movements.”

Blushing, Hermione tosses her quill at Harry, splattering ink across his much abused tie. Hopefully Dobby is in the mood to help Harry bleach ink, butter, marmalade, and newt’s eyes out of silk.

“What I am trying to say - I want to help you,” she raises her palm when Harry tries to respond, “I want to help by telling you that all those bottled up feelings seem quite mutual.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes, and you’d be an idiot to let it go to waste.”

“The feelings?”

“The connection,” Hermione corrects, “It’s a special thing, to get each other. To know someone so intimately without even trying. Just, don’t take it for granted. We both know how easy it is to let it slip away, even just a little.”

Sighing, Harry nods and tucks his things away in his satchel. “I’ve got Quidditch.”

Hermione waves him off, “Of course - just think about it? Second chances are easier to come by than third.”

Harry’s tempted to parrot what she’d said but quickly changes tactics when he runs into Ginny, Demelza, and Katie giggling near the portrait hole, bags dangling on their shoulders. He flashes them a wide grin instead.

“Wait up, losers,” Ron hurries down the stairs before they can disappear without him, bleary eyed but somehow also ready for a brawl. “Your King is coming.”

Harry’s always respected Ron’s gameness, his ability to sniff a fight (or the possibility of one) from a distance and jump right into it, damn the torpedoes.

“Who died and made you king, Weasley?” Ginny scoffs, eyeing her brother with a pleased smirk. They were all very happy Ron no longer gave Slytherin that kind of power over him as he’d long since turned the meaning of the word ‘king’ in his favour.

“Last name basis is a no go for siblings,” Ron instructs as he hops down next to them, the entire team having congregated there over the span of the last couple of minutes.

“Why?”

“‘Cause it’s weird, now let’s shift,” Ron grins and Harry too feels pumped, his best mate’s energy infectious.

The team jostles their way through the portrait hole, earning a few choice words from the Fat Lady in her post-dinner wine haze. Harry offers her an apologetic smile and salutes when she lifts her glass in acknowledgement.

Katie saunters up to his side and throws an arm around his neck. “Got an eye for our good ol’ Fat Lady?”

Demelza bounces up and bats her eyes, grasping her chest with an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t tell me our gallant captain is off the market.”

“I will have you doing laps, Robbins,” Harry threatens with a laugh while Ron comes up on his opposite side and nudges his jaw.

“Ickle Harry growing up? Finally going to make good on all those hormones pulsing through his scrawny little body?”

“Shove off.”

As they break out into the golden evening, Ginny joins the group jibing Harry, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she walks backwards. “Don’t tease Harry just because none of you get anywhere with the Fat Lady.”

“I could if I wanted to,” Demelza sniffs, “Well, before she had her heart set on the Boy Who Lived over here.”

“Right,” Harry drawls, “‘Cause we all know that title has gotten me loads of action.”

He slaps Ron’s hand away as it ruffles his hair while they near the changing rooms. Ron’s already stripping his outer robes when he calls out. “That’s not for lack of trying on their part - we all know you could have as much ‘action’ as you want.”

Ginny tosses her practice Quaffle at Ron - and remarkably he catches it without a thought - before she says, “Well, yeah, Ron, but who wants a simpering fool for a girlfriend?”

She leaves it at that and disappears into the opposite end of the changing room, but not before sharing a long glance with Harry. Which he assumes is an unspoken allusion to Ron’s recently ended relationship. But there was something beneath the teasing - like she looked right through him and just knew what he was, what he wanted. Even better than he did.

Shaking his head, Harry followed the rest of the team to suit up, hoping a few hours sweating on the pitch would clear his head.

In his theoretical vision of this head-clearing experience, Harry would work hard, practice some new maneuvers, and yell himself hoarse to get himself back on track.

Instead, he spends a good portion of the evening getting beat up by his own damn team. And not because they’re that good, or because of some ‘Ravenclaw will give us worse’ training technique. No, it’s his own idiotic inability to bloody focus on anything but Ginny in the air.

She’s like nothing he’s ever seen, like she’d never been tethered to the ground like everyone else but born on a broom, born to fly as high as she desires. They’re a great team, Harry’s convinced even Oliver Wood would concede the point. But Ginny’s a class above. Everything flows naturally though he knows Ginny’s expertise is far from some kind of genetic lottery. She works hardest of any of them, spends her summers stealing out into the fields behind the Burrow to toss Quaffles, dodge charmed Bludgers, and dive and swoop through self-made obstacle courses.

And it doesn’t end once she’s back at Hogwarts. Harry’s watched her from his window - in a non creepy way, clearly - many a night as she streaked across the orange sky, bent low over her broom while her hair flew behind her like the tail of a comet.

She’s winding up for another shot at Ron’s weak side when Harry suddenly finds himself airborne in the non-broom assisted way while pain blooms across his right side.

He vaguely hears swear-laden exclamations over the screaming of the wind in his ears while he fumbles for his broom or wand or something that’ll slow his plummet towards the pitch.

What is it with May and people slipping off their brooms, fantasy wise or not.

In the end, he does manage to shout a few spells that somewhat slow his descent before someone grabs his arm and stops him from splattering on the grass below. Luckily, he wasn’t at full speed when his savior stepped in because even with the lessened velocity it feels like his arm is in one place and the rest of him traveled an extra foot.

When he looks up, still too shocked to register whether anything hurts, he finds Ginny frowning at him from her broom. “Hells bells, Harry, what was that?”

“I, er - it’s hard being in the game and being Captain sometimes.”

She furrows her brow and reaches her other hand toward him while they slowly sink to the ground. “I don’t remember it being this hazardous to Angelina’s health.”

Harry winces and rolls his shoulder, glad for the movement, and maybe preening just a bit under Ginny’s attention. However mothering it may be.

Demelza drops down next to them and smirks. “Cap, you’ve got to keep your head in the game if we’re going to beat those swotty Ravenclaws.”

“Least we know it’s not dislocated,” Ron adds as he wanders over, “Charlie’s done that so many times he can pop it in and out at will.”

Katie grimaces, “Ew.”

“Mum hates when he does that,” Ginny says with a chuckle, “But she didn’t know he used it to get Percy to do his chores for him.”

Their laughter feels like a good end to practice, and if he’s honest, Harry’s arm really is a bit sore to go much longer. So seeing as they’re already all earthbound, he blows his whistle and they begin wandering toward the changing rooms.

When Ginny falls into step at his side, Harry nudges her with his elbow, “That was a pretty impressive catch, Gin.”

She startles a little but grins as she pushes stray hairs back from her face. “Thanks. Can’t have Mum coming after me for letting her favourite fall to his death for Quidditch of all things.”

Harry snorts and shoves her shoulder, because he’s a pubescent idiot who makes up reasons to touch girls he fancies like a ninny and now he winces ‘cause of course rapid movements from injured limbs bloody hurt. To keep himself somewhat sane, he begins putting up the balls and Ginny moves to help. He’s quiet a moment before he says, “Seriously though, it was almost as good as my catch first year.”

“Mhm,” Ginny nods, thoughtfully, “I guess catching you in my mouth would have been pretty impressive.”

“You wish you could get me in your mouth,” Harry shoots back, and immediately wishes for a swift death.

For her part, Ginny simply glances up at him and lifts her brows for a moment. The rest of the team’s kept moving towards the castle at this point, with Demelza quarelling with Coote and Peakes over who’s hungrier, and Harry’s stopped dead. Frozen like he’s been stunned. Ginny bites her lip, considering. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I - ”

“Oi!”

Harry jolts at Ron’s voice and they both twist to find Ron shouting from yards away. “Planning on coming back inside before end of term?”

Ginny flips Ron off while Harry summons their robes with a flick of his wand. “I don’t particularly feel like changing again, just to head upstairs.”

They begin walking toward Ron and Ginny smirks, their previous conversation lost. Which is exactly what Harry wanted, right?

“Plus, if you’ve got an excuse to head up to your dorm, you can escape Hermione’s revision schedule for the evening.”

“I like the way you think, Weasley.”

“Learned from the best,” Ginny says, easy, “Good ol’ Gred and Forge. And ha, I knew you were off by a mile when you said siblings can’t employ a last name basis. I win!”

Tales, the truthfulness of which Harry’s not quite sure, bounce back and forth between Ron and Ginny once they’ve reunited, and shared laughter carries them up to Gryffindor Tower and through the portrait hole.

He’s feeling a bit giddy with Ron’s arm tossed around his shoulder and Ginny leaning into his side for support as she doubles over,o when Dean’s withering glare falls on the trio.

Was he waiting for them? Who does that?

...Asks the boy who’s been waiting for the same person late at night, pretending to study alone in the Common Room. Same person as in Ginny, definitely not Dean.

Ginny’s the last of them to notice, and she mostly does because Ron goes still while his entire body tenses for a fight. She’s also the first to recover, offering an unimpressed glance at Dean before she winks at Harry and wishes her best for his injury.

By the time she’s disappeared into the 5th Year Girls’ Dorm, Ron’s still in some weird staring match with Dean that Harry jostles him from with a casual jab to his arm. “Let’s head up before Hermione ropes us in for more revising, eh?”

Ron startles but complies as Harry pulls him towards the dorm. They’re halfway up the stairs when Ron grumbles. “I swear next idiot that so much as looks at Ginny’ll get my fist in his face.”

Bloody buggering hell.

______

Harry’s not sure if the near-duel with a trio of macho Slytherins is a mark of continued bad luck, or simply the universe’s complete investment in torturing him. Sure, he didn’t get detention, which definitely would have happened if they’d dueled. Slytherins inevitably report to Snape and if Harry so much as breathes wrong it seems he finds himself being punished by the former Potions Master.

Sometimes, he thinks perhaps his dad had been pushed and pushed until that day by the lake. Thinks that maybe he understands getting so frustrated, so caught up in the back and forth taunts and fighting that you forget that there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

And one day, Harry fears he’ll lose sight of that line and nobody will be there to pull him back.

He’s felt the tickle of that righteous anger before, that whisper in his ear that some people just push and push and maybe -

And maybe Harry’s more like Voldemort than he’d like to accept. Dumbledore swore there was no comparison, that his fears were unfounded. And yet -

“What’s up, Mr Sad Face?”

Harry starts as Ginny drops down next to him on the grass, hair loose and blowing in the wind skirting off the Great Lake. “I can’t really argue with that description.”

Ginny nudges his leg with the toe of her shoe, stray bits of grass falling from the patent leather. “Share with the class?”

Harry’s silent for a moment, hands twisting in his lap.

“Do you think I’m - do you think I could be evil?”

For a moment, Ginny just considers him, then she lets out a loud laugh. “I thought you might be joking. But you aren’t, are you?”

“No - I just. Today with those Slytherins. Sometimes with Malfoy or Snape. I worry where I’d go if I didn’t stop.”

“Well that’s your answer right there,” Ginny says as she loosens her tie and lounges back on her palms. While the sunlight filters through the tree, Ginny lets her eyes drift shut and waits for Harry to consider what she’s said.

“Because I think about it?”

Ginny pins him with her gaze. “Do you think Voldemort or Bellatix or any of them stop to wonder whether they’ve gone too far? Or whether they’re evil?”

“I dunno. I mean probably not Voldemort but - ”

She drops her hand into the grass so the tips of her fingers brush his. “You are one of the bravest, kindest, most loving and selfless people I’ve ever known. Sometimes I worry you forgive too much. So you, Harry James, are the farthest thing from old Moldy Shorts there can be.”

Harry snorts.

“Except maybe Dobby.”

Their attention drifts to the Giant Squid, churning about in the murky waters, before Harry murmurs, “When am I going to help you out?”

Ginny laughs like he surprised it out of her. “Remember my first year? We’re good for a bit.”

Flushing, Harry rips up a handful of grass and watches the shorn blades float away on the breeze. “That doesn’t count.”

“Well, what does, then?” Ginny says, brows raised, “I can’t imagine anything much more ‘helpful.’”

“There was no choice,” Harry shrugs, “You deciding to listen to me whine about my teen angst is an ongoing project.”

“Well that’s what we are for each other - we’re,” Ginny pauses as their eyes lock and Harry almost thinks she leans towards him, like she’s thinking about the same things he dreams about too often.

But before either of them can give the idea much more consideration, the Giant Squid’s aerobics increase in forcefulness and sends a spurt of water directly into Harry’s face.

“Shit.”

Ginny laughs while he swipes at his face, glasses dangling from his fingers, but she soon lifts them from his grasp and dries them on the tail of her shirt.

“See, even the Squid’s on my side.”

He’s content to simply watch her laugh, the thought that she might’ve sought him out today quickly ghosting through his mind before he brushes it away.

________

Harry simultaneously feels like he could break something - Snape’s neck no less - and also poorly, badly, even sorry for what he did. But how could’ve he known?

He should’ve known, he should have. All the signs were there, but Harry wanted, needed to trust the Prince. And so Draco Malfoy almost bled to death after a too easily muttered spell.

He’s about as deep as he can dive down into the pit of self-loathing when Ginny unexpectedly cuts off Hermione’s snappish, smug comments, knocks her off her high horse. It doesn’t make Harry feel any better about himself, though, but it does divert his attention for a bit, his disappointment at having been somehow deceived by the Prince.

Enough to remember that he won’t play the final match, he won’t be there for his team, to cheer them and keep their spirits up. They’d have to play without him. All those hours of hard work…

Some captain he is.

He needs to scream into a pillow.

When the day finally drags along, Harry’s careful to duck his head and disappear before he can meet anyone, miserably carrying himself to Snape’s lair, hatred sizzling above the surface. He braces himself for what’s about to come, steels himself. He can do it.

Harry can’t stop himself worrying about his team, angry thoughts mixing together with hope and fear and guilt. What if Ron’s confidence flounders? And they all somehow forget the defence tactics they’d rehearsed almost obsessively? What if Katie or Demelza get hit and they’re suddenly a Chaser short?

God, what if Ginny’s injured?

Harry battles his mind, troubled as the minutes crawl their way into hours and Snape finally relents. He springs out of there before the slimy git can change his mind.

Harry’s at the portrait hole in a heartbeat, hesitating before he tries the password. If they’d lost, it’ll be his fault. If they’d let the Quidditch Cup slip, it’ll only be his slip. He’s the only one responsible, not them.

He finally summons what’s left of his Gryffindor courage and strengthens his resolve. “Quid agis?”

“You’ll see,” the Fat Lady smartly replies and Harry braces himself for whatever’s waiting for him inside. They’ve lost before, it’s not like he doesn’t know what failure tastes like. Although they’ve trained so hard this year, they were so bloody close -

Then Harry’s yanked inside by several pairs of hands gripping haphazardly at his clothes, people shouting and screaming at the sight of him and for a moment he seriously fears he’s stumbled into the middle of a public execution: his very own.

Irrational fear morphs into plain shock when he sees Ron brandishing the Cup at him, screeching numbers at him, his teammates roaring in delight, calling Harry ‘Captain’, asking him how proud he is of them all.

It’s a whirlwind of colours and sounds in Harry’s mind and at the centre of it all there’s Ginny, a hard, blazing look in her face as she comes running towards him, long ginger hair fluttering behind her, arms spread wide. She’s beautiful, more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

Harry’s heart leaps violently and his mind disconnects.

Years after that day, they’d still debate who kissed who. But right then, Harry couldn’t be bothered. All he cared to know was Ginny, her mouth on his, her warm body in his arms, and that finally - ha, it was even funny to think it, but finally reality was better than his dreams.

The sound returns to Harry’s ears, the giggles and whispers and wolf-whistles buzzing against his eardrums. The monster inside his chest roars triumphantly and Harry grins madly, his eyes shining as they meet Ron’s and he nods, his heart leaping out of its cage in pure delight when he looks at Ginny and her dazzling smile.

Their hands lock as they climb through the portrait hole and Harry feels a sudden spring in his step, a toothy grin glued to his glowing face. The feel of her palm in his, so soft except for one blister blossoming right at the centre of it, ah, it makes Harry’s head spin.

He doesn’t even hesitate when they reach the top of the marble staircase towering over the Great Hall. He simply beams at Ginny and, leaning in to press his lips to hers again, sweeps her up and holds her tightly to his chest as she shrieks playfully against his mouth. The chatter and whiz of the crowded Hall stop abruptly.

“Oi, who’s got their tongue down Weasley’s throat?”

“Oh my god, that’s Potter! Potter and Weasley!”

And the chorus of voices, the general ruckus and chaos of the Great Hall envelop the castle once again and Harry doesn’t even care who spotted them and that people are pointing their fingers at Ginny and him. He’s purely content to put on a show if that means he’s able to hold her like that.

Ginny’s laughing too and she laces their fingers together again, tugging him down the stairs and quickly through the crowds of students gawking at them, out of the Castle through the ancient doors.

They run until breathing becomes hard and they stop, hands on their knees and slightly hunched over, to pant and laugh and grin madly at each other, the late spring breeze lightly whipping Ginny’s hair over her beautiful face, caressing her freckles.

“Shall we?” Ginny nudges over to a sunny patch of grass and wildflowers blooming round the bark of a giant tree. Somebody’s carved a heart and many initials of past lovers have been added inside it and around it and Harry thinks it’s all very fitting.

M.P.+A.W.

J.P.+L.E.

He drops next to her with a thud and Ginny slips her hand inside his. Harry studies her face for a moment, pushes a strand of ginger hair behind her small ear, and, like magnets, he allows his mouth to find hers again. It takes a long time before they break away.

Harry’s stomach fills with something warm when he feels her tongue dart over his lips and instantly opens his mouth for her. He’s never kissed anyone like that, not that he’s too experienced in the kissing department, but Ginny’s tongue rolling over his has his toes curling and, just like that, he’s breathless and desperate to mirror every single one of her actions.

She shifts on her knees, her arms lock around his neck and immediately grip at his hair; lightly, gently at first, then more urgent as their kiss deepens and Harry pulls her onto his lap without thinking.

“I’ve always wanted to see how your hair feels,” Ginny says, a little out of breath, her cheeks tinged pink and Harry fights hard to stifle a yelp. Instead, he concentrates on summoning all the dormant coolness he hopefully has and hasn’t been aware of till now.

“Any thoughts post-hair feel?”

Ginny flashes him a mischievous smile, fingers twirling a couple of dark locks at the back of his head. “It’s glorious.”

Harry knows there’s a new stupid grin plastered to his face and he privately thinks there won’t ever come a day when Ginny’s compliments won’t make him feel like he can suddenly float three meters above the ground.

Then a sudden, irrational panic washes over him. “This isn’t a dream, yes?”

“I’d be very annoyed if it were. You’ve been crawling your way into a ridiculous amount of mine for me to remain sane,” she tells him before dipping her head to kiss him again and Harry purrs. She’d been dreaming about him too, ha!

It’s dark outside and they’re incredibly windswept when they finally stop and realise how much time has actually passed. They’ve been completely oblivious to the chill that fell over the Scottish mountains at sunset, too busy discovering each other, too happy to feel anything else.

“I desperately need a shower, I reek,” Ginny scrunches her nose as they trot back to the Castle, hands holding tightly to each other.

“Yeah, great idea, I’ll join,” Harry chimes enthusiastically. Any day with Snape leaves him feeling filthy and in need of a long, hot shower and a good scrub.

It’s only when she stops dead in her tracks that he becomes aware of how it must’ve sounded to her. Harry blushes furiously, two seconds away from hyperventilating.

“Oh, no, no, no! Not like that - I meant separate showers for us, yeah, not together, er - I was definitely not suggesting. Oh, god. Please don’t break up with me,” he finishes lamely.

But Ginny appears to find him adorable and tells him so, rising on the soles of her Quidditch boots to cup his face and bring him down for another kiss, heated and hard, leaving him dizzy and winded.

Their cheeks are equally flushed as they climb two stairs at a time, expertly avoiding the missing ones, and stealing another couple of quick kisses in front of the Fat Lady, who hides her face, embarrassed by such shameless displays of frivolity. She swings open without requesting the password and Harry and Ginny grin at each other.

“See you in a bit, yeah?” Ginny smiles at him, her hands roaming through his hair one last time before he nods and kisses her and stands at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Girls’ Dormitories grinning stupidly.

He’s hit with an eyeful of Ron’s disgusted look when he turns around, but Harry only shrugs and heads to the showers feeling more relaxed than he’s ever been.

______

“Where have you been?” Hermione throws him a knowing look between two sips of tea and a bite of toast when Harry inserts himself between her and Ginny that morning, successfully earning a filthy glance from Ron.

“Busy coiffing his hair,” Ron mutters but Harry doesn’t balk.

Hermione disguises her giggle poorly, “Really, Harry? I’ve never seen you put any amount of effort into taming your hair.”

Harry shrugs casually, “Not taming. And I’ve been told it’s glorious.”

Ginny winks and Ron pretends to vomit in his milk and cereal.

“Honestly, is that what you’ll be like every time Harry and I are together?” Ginny’s words are clipped though her thumb rubs circles on the back of Harry’s hand under the table before she slides her palm into his, plays with his fingers. His stomach churns wildly; hearing her say they are together, Harry’s chest might actually burst with the sheer force of the happiness he’s feeling.

“Yeah, if it’ll mean you’ll be less gross.”

“Oh, you mean like this?” And Ginny swiftly grabs Harry’s face and kisses him hard on the lips to a chorus of Ron’s irritated splutter and mugs being banged on the long table as Romilda Vane marches out of the Great Hall looking very much like a cat whose tail got stubbed.

“I’m telling Mum about your indecent, well, cavorting.”

“You big baby.”

Harry simply watches in amusement as the Weasley siblings stick their tongues out of each other, brandish threats under each other’s freckly noses. Then Ginny decides she’s had enough and puts an end to the brotherly conversation by pelting a pastry in Ron’s general direction, which sadly plonks right between his bright blue eyes.

“I’m really happy for you, Harry,” Hermione smiles, lightly squeezing his hand.

“Yeah, me too,” Harry grins, watching as Ron unsuccessfully attempts to tackle Ginny at the other end of the Great Hall, Filch at their heels with a sopping mop and a maniacal glint in his eyes as he chants the word ‘detention’.

And he means it. Nothing’s able to snuff the pure, complete happiness pumping through him. Not Snape, not the piles of homework he’s been neglecting and definitely not Dean shouldering him as Harry sits alone in the corridor, waiting for Ginny to finish Charms so they can enjoy lunch together outside.

Not even Malfoy and his dirty deeds can occupy Harry’s mind more than a millisecond. There’s not enough room for much next to Ginny, she somehow makes everything else wither.

Harry’s practically skipping towards her when she bursts through the door next to Demelza, waving at Ginny frantically when she greets him with a glowing smile and a kiss.

“Saucy,” Demelza smirks, patting both of them on the back. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it, then. Later, Captain!”

“She meant me,” Ginny teases, taking his hand in hers.

“Easy there, Gin. Power-hungry doesn’t paint a pretty colour on you,” Harry jibes good-naturedly as they walk across the Great Hall.

“Not trying to overthrow you just yet. I’m just saying, taking into account your tendency to win yourself detentions and all.”

“Oi, I’ve got a reputation to protect. Can’t break my streak now, you know.”

“Ah, so you’re not planning on doing a 180 and returning to Hogwarts for your final year as The Boy Who’s Been Tamed’?”

“Not too much hope for that I’m afraid.”

“Good,” Ginny says as they stop in front of the tree that sheltered them very nicely the day before, “I like you better when you’re bad.”

Harry lets out a lame groan, his legs having turned to absolute jelly when Ginny yanks him by the tie and he lets her snog him silly on the sun-warmed grass.

Naturally, they forget about lunch that day. And the next. And the one after that, trading food for kisses, urgent and heated, determined to make up for the time they’ve lost before they found each other.

And if Harry’s absolutely honest with himself, he can admit that studying has been getting more or less the same treatment - until Hermione puts her hands on her hips and nags him about interfering with Ginny’s OWLs revision. After that, it’s only his own studying that’s neglected, as he gladly spends his time away from Ginny thinking about her.

“Come study with me in the library?” Ginny asks on a Saturday morning, freckled fingers ruffling his hair as he lounges on the battered old couch near the hearth, head in her lap.

“Ha, I knew Hermione talked dung when she said you’d concentrate better without me.” He grins up at her, hands raising to clasp around her neck and bring her down for a short kiss.

“Actually, she’s right.”

“Oh?”

“I just don’t plan on revising much today,” Ginny winks, bites her bottom lip.

“Tell me more.”

“I can’t focus anyway, some messy haired bloke keeps popping into my mind, it’s quite annoying really.”

“Is that right? And what does he say?”

Ginny’s teeth sink deeper into her lip before she leans in to whisper something into his ear that immediately results in Harry hastily reaching for a pillow, subtly planting it over his middle region. ��Don’t let your brother discover you know words like that,” Harry says for want of something smarter.

Ginny scoffs. “Want me to shout ‘penis’?”

“Please don’t,” Harry shakes his head, panicked, then steals a furtive glance over at Ron hunched over a table by the window with Hermione, what looks like the entirety of Hogwarts library sprawled between them.

“Just teasing you,” she laughs, cups his cheek between two fingers. “Don’t know why you’re so careful anyway, like you’re always walking on your tiptoes round him. What’ll you do when you're be staying at the Burrow with us this summer?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we’ll be sharing a room, won’t we?”

“Will we?” Harry’s genuinely not thought that far ahead, content to live in the moment with her. Or probably because he’s utterly terrified of Mrs Weasley and her legendary wrath.

“Won’t we?”

There’s a beat before Ginny breaks character and, giggling, pats Harry’s cheek. “Still messing with you. Mum would probably lose it if I request we amend any of her room arrangements. Although, I will expect you to put your resourcefulness to good use for some midnight visits.”

She winks and Harry needs to press the pillow to his crotch again. The way she’s playing with his heart rate, god, he’s surprised he’s not experienced any strokes yet.

Harry clears his throat. “Weren’t we supposed to be in the library by now?”

Ginny grins.

He has absolutely no clue what books he’d stuffed inside his bag before dashing out of Gryffindor Tower, Ginny giggling behind him as they race towards the library. Harry’s aware he’s never been this enthusiastic about revising in his entire student life but then again revising never meant anything other than last minute cramming or perhaps doodling whilst pretending to read. What the both of them have in mind is much, much less boring.

They find a secluded corner and drop their book bags willy-nilly on the table, Ginny summoning various tomes at random to stack them high in front of them like walls to their citadel. Harry props his chair against the wall and, watching her intently, leans back on it, waits for her to join him.

And then she does, their fingers link together, her calf moving over his as their lips slowly slant against one another, then faster, harder, fervently.

There’s so much heat inside Harry’s body, he has to kiss, to bite, to lick, anything, or else he’ll scream, he’ll go mad. The thought of ripping his own clothes off to blow some steam quickly passes through his mind but Harry waves it away before his other brain can decide it’s a fantastic idea.

“Kiss my neck again?” Ginny asks between their snogs and Harry groans.

His mouth is at her neck, hot air blown there before he licks and grazes with his teeth, his hands in Ginny’s ginger hair, her hands pulling at his messy locks. He sucks a bit and bites and Ginny moans into his ear, tells him he’s good and brilliant and don’t stop as his tongue flicks and rolls over the bruising skin.

It’s when Ginny moves her knee between his legs that Harry finally loses balance and forgets himself. The chair he’d been sitting on bangs loudly against the wall but he doesn’t care; Ginny’s hands are at his belt.

“Who’s in there?”

They freeze, tongues in each other’s mouths, as Madam Pince’s clipped steps approach them.

“Show yourselves,” the library matron fiercely demands.

Harry presses a finger to his lips and, pointing his wand toward his bag, summoning it close enough that he can grasp the Cloak. Gently he slips it over them and slowly, carefully they wait for Pince to calm down - although she nearly faints at the sight of her beloved books stacked in forgotten piles on top of a table, crudely taken out of their respective shelves and plainly, rudely abandoned.

They manage to sneak past her, tiptoeing their way out of the library and behind a tapestry of trolls in tutus to assess the situation.

“Well, you look positively ravished,” Ginny laughs, stretching to plant a chaste peck on Harry’s cheek.

“And you look positively ravishing,” Harry winks, smug, lightly tugging at Ginny’s rumpled hair, highly pleased to notice the blush creeping up her neck, over the swollen patch of skin there.

“You’re lucky all this foreplay’s got me so hungry I could swallow a hippogriff,” she pouts sweetly and Harry feels his ears start to burn for, as far as he’s been told, the word ‘foreplay’ usually implies a following act - the actual play.

He changes balance from one foot to another to subtly arrange things in his trousers while Ginny quickly combs her fingers through her hair, smoothens the wrinkles in her clothes.

“Let’s get you fed, yeah?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

After minimal discussion, they mutually agree on the desirability of avoiding Ron’s disgust, Hermione’s reminders about OWLs, and overall the prying eyes of the Hogwarts student population. Luckily, Harry has some connections in the kitchens and Dobby is more than eager to provide a sampler of that evening’s dinner.

Even as Harry’s stomach fills with rich food, his entire being feels lighter than he can remember, his eyes tear with laughter and Ginny’s chuckles fill the cavernous room. Once they’ve thanked Dobby & co., accepted the packed snack for later on, and promised to return before the end of term, Harry and Ginny slip back out the fruit themed portrait.

Ginny leans into Harry’s chest while they wander clumsily toward Gryffindor Tower, unconcerned with whatever the fastest route might be. Like it’s meant to be there, Harry’s arm wraps around Ginny’s shoulders and he basks in her closeness.

It’s hardly been any time at all, in the grand scheme of his life, but Harry can’t seem to remember what filled his days before Ginny. The oddest part is he feels consumed by it, and yet she hasn’t completely taken over his life - simply slotted in and filled all the missing places he didn’t know existed.

Their steps slow at the moving staircases, which are currently hovering in a formation that doesn’t particularly facilitate use, and Ginny leans back to take in his expression. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

Briefly, Harry wonders exactly how much of his flowery internal monologue Ginny really wants to hear, and then figures it’s easy enough to sum up. He shrugs, “I’m just. Happy.”

Her smile is brilliant as she presses it against his. “Me too.”

The second kiss is less chaste, a lingering thing. But on the third, Ginny licks into his mouth and he somehow has the presence of mind to guide them off into a shadowy corner. Ginny’s hands ruck up his hair from the roots, fingernails scratching at his scalp, while her quiet sighs send shivers up his spine.

“Gin,” Harry murmurs against her jaw, not really sure what he’ll say if she responds. Whatever thought skittered across his mind is long gone.

She holds him in place with one hand while her free fingers pop a couple of her buttons open, exposing fields of freckles swirling in patterns Harry would like to spend a week memorizing.

Just as she’s guiding his mouth back to hers, a darkening bruise blossoming still at her collar bone, a throat clears behind them in a recognizable pattern - identifying the interloper as the second worst person who could’ve happened upon them in their current state.

Harry pulls back and turns, grasping one of Ginny’s hands in his and keeping his body partially in front at least until she’s mostly buttoned up.

“Professor.”

McGonagall sniffs, unimpressed. “Potter. Weasley.”

He ruffles his hair, biting back a grimace when he notes this seems more and more likely a genetic trait by the day. “We were, uh - going to practice Quidditch.”

Ginny’s groan is his first clue that something’s not quite right - and is a bit disappointing since her latest groans, moans, and sighs have been for much more pleasant reasons. But he’s a bit slow on the uptake, so it takes McGonagall spelling out the issue for him to catch up. “Quidditch season is over, Potter. I suppose you might have forgotten, given your absence at the game.”

Shit. He’s going to be in detention until he’s forty.

Maybe he’ll get partnered with Ginny…

Professor McGonagall doesn’t mete out a punishment as quickly as usual and instead considers them for a moment in a way Harry does not find particularly comforting. After a pause she says, “You know, I am no stranger to the goings on of hormonal teenagers,” she pauses and Harry’s hands go clammy, “I used to interrupt both of your parents when they decided to…’practice Quidditch.’”

While Harry begins to feel his supper come back up, Ginny groans in disgust, “Professor, why would you say that?”

A ghost of a smile flickers at McGonagall’s pursed lips. “Whatever image you two have managed to dream up is likely worse than whatever I would do in detention.”

There’s a bit of mischief in her eyes as she shoos them towards the dorms, not that Harry thinks either of them could manage to drum up anything close to a mood for snogging at this point.

Still, all the way Ginny holds his hand and leans into his arm, like they’re meant to fit together and the creature in Harry’s chest purrs happily.

“You really are the worst liar ever, Roonil,” Ginny whispers teasingly before the Fat Lady swings.

_______

Ron’s increasing fake coughs and repeated scoffs finally irritate Harry just as much as they do Ginny. It is rather clear to Harry that he either slaps his best mate over the head or simply moves their - erm, physical activities elsewhere.

As a wise young man who values friendship and loves his friends, Harry chooses the second.

Thus he agrees to meet Ginny outside the portrait hole later that evening and find themselves a cosy place to spend a happy hour or two.

“Got your Map?” Ginny asks after he greets her with a short kiss.

Harry nods and adds, “Though we might not need to check it as often. Hermione’s promised to keep Ron busy till 11. So that gives us more or less two hours.” He finds it hard not to waggle his eyebrows or wink but manages to contain himself all the same.

“They’ve finally cracked and begun to snog, then?”

Harry shoots her an amused look. “I wish. Nah, Hermione’s got him on a strict revision schedule. Never too early to prepare for NEWTs, she says.”

Ginny laughs heartily and grips Harry’s hand, her lips pressing a kiss to his shoulder as they walk down the corridor. “I do pity him, you know.”

“I know. Me too, but it’s his own doing. Gotta be a man and come clean, ‘tell her what you’re feeling’ is my personal mantra.”

Ginny scoffs audibly.

“Oh, Harry. You make it too easy for me.”

They volley back and forth as they sneak around corridor after corridor, jumping steps, mindful of the moving staircases, eyes wide open for Prefects or Filch or Snape or all of them combined. They’re on a secret mission and time coupled with the utmost discretion are of the essence.

He’s surprised to notice Ginny’s tugged him inside the same classroom he’d been hiding in from the sickening fluff of Valentine’s Day. The same one where she found him feeling sorry for himself, sat down next to him and laid her beautiful head on his shoulder, made him feel better, cared for even.

Harry swallows hard, his heart swelling. She’d remembered.

“I thought we could spend some time here, if you want,” Ginny starts, a little shy, a little uncertain, her teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip.

Harry can’t find the words to express what he’s feeling so he decides it’s best he shows her.

Smiling, he lifts her chin slightly, enough to press his lips to hers, kissing her as he walks them both inside, stumbles to grip the door knob and close it behind them.

Ginny easily hops onto a nearby desk when she hits it with her back as they fumble their way inside, eyes closed through the ever increasing dark drenching the Castle, smudging the windows a thick black.

“Nox,” Harry murmurs and the room falls prey to nightfall.

He shuffles closer till his knees press into the hard wood of the desk, hips bracketed by Ginny’s thighs, and he discovers once again that kissing sans uniforms is something else entirely. No cumbersome robes in the way, no fumbling over meters of useless material to be able to feel that sweet closeness.

And that’s exactly what he feels when Ginny’s hands sneak inside his black shirt, nails lightly grazing at his skin as he dips them lower over the desk, palm resting at the back of her head to cushion its impact with the wood. He gasps when she continues to map his chest with the tips of her fingers, when she tickles her way to his back, grips at the muscles there. Her touch is like balm to the soreness he’d been feeling.

She pulls him over her, legs clasped around his middle, and Harry hisses audibly when their bodies meet. Her waking things up and her actually being able to feel said things waking up are two entirely different things in Harry’s mind and his first impulse is to panic and stumble away.

But Ginny drags him right back. They’ve had close to twenty days of daily practice and she’s used to his bouts of self-consciousness by now, knows how to tackle them. Harry can’t thank her enough for this.

Emboldened, Harry slants his lips across her neck, touch slipping over her chest before his mouth rests right in the middle, hands clumsily roaming at the hem of her blouse. He dares travel further when her thighs grip him harder, his front pressing into her so much, too much it hurts.

Harry privately forbids himself to let go. There won’t be any subtle, embarrassed shuffling into the showers tonight. Or not until much later, when he’s alone with his thoughts, at least.

He feels the underpart of her bra with one finger at first, then gradually brings the rest of his hand to it, slowly covering it, feeling the cotton beneath his fingertips. Ginny’s tongue slips into his mouth and his hand suddenly jolts to cup her breast sooner than he’d planned and he moans because it’s wonderful and different at the same time. He’s felt her over her robes before, light touches during their snogging sessions, and once even over her shirt. But this is exciting and different, her skin so warm and soft, oh god, it doesn’t even begin to compare.

Harry chances another squeeze, another fondle and instantly groans, ah, he’s about to combust.

Ginny’s hands are in his hair as he roams inside her bra, encouraged by her pants, her moans inside his mouth, the tight grip of her thighs, her nipples hard beneath his palms. His thumb circles one nipple, desperate to feel more, to discover more of her and Ginny calls his name.

“Harry, I -”

“Yes?” He pants, pressing into her over her clothes, drags his mouth to her jaw, behind her ear.

It takes a moment before his eyes adjust to the near darkness; he’d been squeezing them so tightly shut he’d barely realised they’ve been hooked on pure feeling, on the electrifying shocks discovering new patches of skin, new soft places to kiss and grip provided for them.

He raises his green eyes to her flushed face, her burning cheeks, the mortified look in her eyes he distinguishes through the raw black of the classroom and, oh - he understands.

“I’ll - erm,” Harry stumbles for his words and finally settles for silence. He slowly raises himself from her, focused on righting his clothes to give her a moment to recover.

When she looks more comfortable, when she’s not blushing as furiously, Harry smiles at her and gently lifts her chin to capture her lips, guessing their contour through the darkness. He may not have the right words, but he really, truly hopes she knows. Knows how he feels and how much she means to him and that he’d wait any amount of time for her. They don’t need to hurry anywhere.

He brings the back of her hand to his cheek, then to his lips before he helps her down and places a kiss at the top of her head, lingers there, high on her flowery scent.

Harry continues to hold her hand while they take their time returning to the Common Room, stealing kisses and muffling laughter on their way as the echoes of their footsteps reverberate along dark Castle halls.

#itsblissfuloblivion #itsblissfuloblivion writes torch #harry potter #ginny weasley #hinny #harry x ginny #hbp missing moments #canon compliant #ron weasley #hermione granger #MAY MONTH BEST HINNY MONTH #snogs ahoy #gryffindormischief #fightfortherightsofhouseelves

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mcfanely · 4 years

Text

The Ice Emperor and the Earth Dragon

Chapter 12 - A Biting Taste, 3411 words

The building frost burnt as it crept on its way, edging over Cole's cheek, cascading onto his eyelashes in a thin, white and almost soft film. It kept on moving further; intertwining with his hair, though instead of freezing them solid and in place; the strands still scratched at his ears and the top of his neck, all he knew was that the chill wasn't halting.

It was numbing. It made his skin hurt and his body internally try and cringe away from the sensation only there wasn't anywhere he could go to get away. The frosted element was on him like the internal and external corruption, present and spreading further and further. It caused his breath to puther harshly into an icy cloud that he could almost feel every time air moved up and down his throat.

The worst part was, the scrolls power wasn't simply skin deep. It delved further, torpefying as it went. Until finally it seemed to halt, the chill wrapped around his mind almost like a blanket. Only it was far more oppressive than before. The sensation could be likened to when he'd shifted back from being a dragon. The first time, Cole had been overcome with exhaustion and the drive to get up and carry on fighting; that had drained away with the new form. The second time, everything had faded to the background.

Now though, now it was worse. Every sensation, or lack thereof, had multiplied by a tenfold. The oppressive and lurking feeling of just… Absence. The feeling of everything, his body, his surroundings, fading out of existence. Of his limbs, just like his mind, growing foggy like they'd individually been stuffed with cotton till near maximum capacity. Even though he knew that his legs were supporting his weight, his feet were flat on the ground now and at some point he'd stood up; his arms were dangling loose at his sides. He could still look around, still take in his surroundings but everything just seemed so distant from what it had been before.

The staff was still present, its point held resolutely against his neck, the sharp edge biting through his skin inch by inch even though Zane was still standing completely still, Cole found that he couldn't back away either. The feeling of his feet refusing to move was foreign in itself, since out of fight, flight, or freeze he was usually the former. He could act in an instant, whether he had a plan or not. Fight back to the best of his ability when he was in a dangerous situation. He never froze, his body never refused to cooperate as it was currently doing, so there had to be something more to it.

It must have been the scroll.

Everything he was feeling in that moment, it wasn't him. Every sensation, the struggle that came with cognitive thought, that came with mobility; it was all the power that was being forced to flow through him.

The bitter cold that made his chest stutter.

Then, the sensation seemed to fade away. It wasn't so much the feeling of the energy being pulled back outwards and into the scroll itself, it was the feeling of this foreign energy dissipating. Going from palpable and nauseating in its effects, to almost normal. Cole could still see the frost that littered his eyelashes, that had crept over the right shoulder of his gi, but there wasn't the cold there anymore. Or a cloying sensation, which faded with every inch that was put between the now retreating scepter and his neck, the blade falling away more and more as the light finally, finally died from the scroll.

Cole just blinked, his eyes tracing over the ice that encased the relic beneath, the way the faded light had refracted so carefully throughout the almost crystalline formations of ice, if he wasn't in such a dangerous and honestly confusing situation, it would be a beautiful sight.

Now, the Emperor seemed to be taking a short step back. Away from the close quarters they'd had previously. The staff coming to a standing halt on the ground beside him, the handle still frozen into his grip.

Maybe, maybe there was something that had stopped him? That had halted the flow of power which now allowed Cole to take a shuffled step forwards, and his fingers to crook into a tight fist at his side.

Something must have made him stop, otherwise why summon the corruptive power only to allow it to fade away with seemingly no adverse or lasting effect? Cole felt fine, better than that even.

He didn't need to hunch his shoulders to stop his joints from aching, or that need to carefully ensure there was a bit less weight on one leg due to a few bruises over his shin and knee. In a spur of the moment decision, one hand rose carefully up to the base of his ribs. It was a tentative and slow movement, but no one seemed to try and halt him. Vex was standing just a little off to the side, observing what was happening with a calculating expression that never seemed to drop, and the Emperor? He was staring too, but Cole didn't let that hinder him. Pale tipped fingers carefully brushed over his gi, rising and dipping with the form of his ribs beneath along with what should have been a bruise.

Yet, there seemed to be nothing there. There was no sharp pain that was returned, no stolen breath from the agony of having bruised ribs, because the injury just seemed to be gone. All there was as feedback, was a dull ache. Not even that, barely even an ache. As shaking fingers moved over the skin, he couldn't help but feel his eyebrows rise as he stared at the armoured man before him.

Had he-- had Zane healed him?

Cole kept his gaze locked onto his brother for a moment longer before he deigned to be the first to break the stare, his attention promptly going down to his side. It was easy to see, the arch of his ribs and the muscles that were around them were plainly visible through a tear down the side of his gi. Only the sight that met him didn't seem to line up with what he was feeling.

The bruise was still there. Still as deep as ever, as red and angry as it had been when he'd checked it that morning yet there was no feeling from it. No pain, no nothing. His fingers halted in an instant, pulling away from the exposed skin rapidly with his eyes wide.

One part of Cole's mind had assumed-- no, had hoped that Zane had used the power for good. The brief instance when he'd thought his injury was no more, it was understandable that his first thought had been something hopeful. That his brother was still in front of him, still helping, still there.

Now, though, he was just confused.

Why use the power of the scroll like that? Why had it felt so oppressive, so sickening to feel the threads of ice marring over his skin only for it to have taken away the pain of his injuries but not actually the injury itself? There was no point in that, not when it was such an extensive bruise. Pain was good, it let him know how bad it was. If he couldn't feel it, how could he be sure that it wasn't getting worse? That it was healing right?

His thought process must have been fairly clear since when he lifted his eyes up to where the Emperor was standing, the glowing gaze that stared back, that graced over where Cole was situated in a near curious fashion, he seemed almost pleased with himself.

Pleased with the unusual result of the previous display of power. Cole's throat and face still felt numb from the rapid chill.

Whatever it did, compared to the foreboding sense of danger that had come alongside the point of the staff digging into his throat and the words that the Emperor had spoken alongside the overwhelming dose of power, it almost felt like an anticlimax in a way.

Not that he was vying for something worse, it simply didn't make sense. All it did was provide a sense of unease.

Had it been a scare tactic? The order; as if Cole would do what he was told to do, was unnerving in itself.

Though the sheer chill? The fog around his head for a worrying few minutes before it had faded away, was it all to remove some pain from an injury?

Honestly, Cole didn't know what to think, other than it was a fairly over the top statement? A show of power? Establishing a position of superiority over someone who was in no fit state to have another extensive battle like the one he'd experienced a few days ago.

It seemed more ridiculous the more he thought about it. Even as a small smile rose on his lips and an eyebrow quirked up at the man in front of him, there was still no apparent shift in the Emperor's expression.

Cole opened his mouth, entirely intent on saying something to break the silence. A taunt even. He could feel it building, the words flowing free in his head because was that really all he had? Glorified power?

A light show? Some cold? Pain relief?

Only, that's not what came out. He was going to grin, shout at Vex, get the upper hand at least verbally. No matter what the man did, no matter the corner he managed to back the two of them into, they would always come out on top. They'd keep fighting to the bitter end. The show of power had barely done anything. Was he really trying to get the upper hand by using fear and some ice?

The words were all in his head, all in a line; ready to be spoken. Yet, when Cole went to speak, they all promptly died on his tongue.

He wasn't second guessing himself, he wasn't rethinking what he was going to say; any form of speech, any words just didn't seem to want to pass his lips. Cole knew what he wanted to say and even with every intent to put the words out in the open, he couldn't make his mouth work.

His brows furrowed deeply, eyes downcast as if he would be able to see the problem for himself. Maybe there was no problem at all, maybe it was just the cold he could feel in his throat. I could be stuttering his vocal cords, temporarily preventing his speech.

That could be it, that had to be it. All he had to do was try again.

So he did, the words in his mind's eye. He opened his mouth and all noise instantly died away.

His eyes widened minutely, one hand coming up to massage at his throat as if that would make all the difference in the world to the predicament. Cole's mouth was clearly moving, miming sheer silence when nothing came of his efforts to speak.

There was confusion, and well hidden fear in his gaze as he lifted it up to the Emperor. Internally, he knew what had happened, he just didn't want to believe it. The power of the staff, the order that he'd been given when that corruptive force had been passing through him. It had done something, sure it had numbed any pain that he felt but it was more than that. Worse than that.

The reaction he got from his armour clad brother before him was all the answer he needed to the internal questions ravenging through his head.

Then Zane gave a slight tilt to his head, as if regarding the scene in front of him with minor interest, then simply said:

"Speak."

In an instant, it was like a dam had burst. A wall that Cole hadn't even realised was there, this internal barrier, it seemed to crumble down and finally words could escape the confines of his mouth.

They were rough, gravelly almost as if they were a strain to use. They hurt his throat, almost prickled with an indescribable and impossible cold, "What-- What the hell did you do to me?"

At that, there was a bare smirk and a casual but advancing step forwards that brought Zane just that bit closer and Cole couldn't help but take an equal step back.

His elemental powers not being his own, that was one thing. It was something he'd experienced before to honestly a more extreme degree. With Chen in the picture he'd been entirely stripped of powers that he'd spent his entire life on developing and training, nothing to prepare him for the sudden and palpable feeling of loss when they'd been pulled from his body. At least this time, in some twisted way, he still had them. They weren't gone, they were inside him, they simply acted in a different way.

But his voice?

The fact that in that moment he wanted to scream, shout, do anything that would make any semblance of noise to even just prove that the conclusion he'd come to was wrong. That the only sound he could hear was the ragged grate of his own breathing forced from his lungs, and now thankfully his voice was working but in a way it wasn't. Like the crumble wall in his mind was still there, and it was almost like the loose bits of shattered concrete were trying to lace themselves back together with each passing second.

If the block reformed? If it put itself back together? Would his voice go too?

Would his voice not work until…

Cole's attention zeroed in rapidly when Zane stopped directly in front of him.

The earth ninja could clearly see the sheer cold rolling off his brother, in cascading slopes of visible white fog falling down through the crevices of his armour, frost creeping over the joints with every opportunity it got only to be broken and fractured by the barest of movements. Splinters of ice falling to the ground with a far too light echo.

Yet, Cole realised that now, couldn't feel it.

Actually, it was probably the very first time since he'd entered the new realm that he wasn't frozen to the bone. He knew the room was bitterly cold too, and he could feel the frosted dampness to his torn trousers and yet…

He wasn't cold. In fact, he'd dare say that he could feel faint dregs of warmth flowing through his veins. The chill in his throat had lessened just barely and the fact that his fingers were slow to respond to movement and taking on a paler tone as opposed to their usual brown told him that on some level, he was still subject to the glacial oppressiveness of the room.

He just wasn't feeling it.

It was wrong.

"What did you do?" Cole questioned, staring his brother down, their faces barely even a foot apart and both expressing wildly polar emotions. Cole, he was nervous, eyes flicking around rapidly as his mind tried to make sense of the situation.

Zane? It was calm, carefully so. Though the upturned corners of his mouth and the relaxed set to his shoulders, he knew he had the upper hand. He knew, in this situation, he was in control.

Even though in reality, neither of them had any sway over what had taken place.

"No one wants a warrior that speaks so freely." It was said as if the point was obvious, as if it was the entire reasoning behind what had been done.

"And having you by my side, my advisor is right, it would be much to my advantage. A dragon, a mighty creature, no one would dare to stand up to my reign again."

Again?

Zane reached forwards, grabbing Cole's chin with a gloved hand and forcing it up so there was no other option but to meet his eyes.

"Will you join me? Be loyal by my side, or do I have to throw you back into your cell myself?"

The threat was there, and it was entirely real. Depending on how he answered could make the difference between, well, everything. If he was thrown in a cell, he'd be behind a locked door until he was needed; but knowingly pledge allegiance to not his brother but to the manipulative man who had swayed him so far from who he used to be over the span of two minutes?

Cole grit his teeth as Zane's grip only tightened when he didn't come out with an immediate reply, and he realised, startlingly, that the hand was warm on his skin. Despite the ice over it, despite it being metal and only gloved with a layer of fabric, there wasn't a single ounce of cold to it.

He wanted to say something, to pull out of the guy's grip and tell him to go screw himself, because brother or not, Zane's eyes staring back at him, they were definitely not the same person.

Only, the biting vitriol didn't come. The insults he wanted to shout at Vex, bad enough that he'd probably wash his own mouth out with soap without being told to.

Cole was angry, frustrated. How had they gone from surviving in a cavern and honestly doing pretty well, to where they were now?

One brother, a shell of himself if at all that. Chilled and bitter and so cold both in emotion and demeanour.

And the other, no longer in a position to fight back. Torn clothes, frost even in its absence of cold made his skin sting, mind rapidly switching between any and every possible scenario that would be better than the inevitable two that he had to pick between.

Be thrown in a cell, or be a dragon bent to the whim of a corrupted friend? Where he couldn't talk unless ordered to, where his powers were a slave to someone else. There was no scenario he'd win in.

The Emperor just grinned at Cole's calculating and minorly panicked expression, as if he could tell exactly what was running through his mind in seconds. A source of entertainment.

"I'll ask again," The tone was sharp, and held something in it. Be it intrigue or glee, Cole's thoughts skidded to an immediate halt in favour of listening, taking in the words that followed. The hold on his chin didn't let up.

"Loyalty or your cell? Answer me."

Cole barely had a second before the answer, the honest truth, fell from a near voluble mouth.

"Loyalty." He found himself saying, and he couldn't even bring a hand up to his mouth to halt the flow of words. One hand was grasped tightly around Zane's wrist, the other hung down by his side. Neither moved to stop him talking. "I want to be by your side, I want to protect you. I've lost you before and I'm never leaving you alone again."

There was only a raised eyebrow in response, a slight huff, before a small smile grew wider and wider behind the mask. "Good. A good answer."

Cole swallowed hard; what had just happened? He forced himself to take in a breath, trying to bite back the words that were all too quick to pour from his mouth, when previously they had been trapped. Though they had already been said, been forced.

"Now," The hand dropped away, and the staff in a way did too. It was frozen in Zane's grip, but almost seemed to be going forgotten as Cole watched his brothers back straighten, his posture taking on one that was close to grandeur. Standing tall, looking down on those around him, on Cole, victorious; "What's my name?

Zane, your name is Zane. You're my brother.

You're my brother.

"The Ice Emperor." Cole said without thinking, then he felt his body sway, his limbs shifting and crooking almost on their own as he knelt forwards, body bowing onto one knee and his head drooping forwards in a visage of a knight to their king. He couldn't stop himself, he couldn't make his own body move.

Even his voice was slave to whatever had been in the power of the staff and the order that had flowed easily into the open air.

"My Emperor."

From the beginning

Ch 11 > Ch 12 > Ch 13

AO3

#The Ice Emperor and the Earth Dragon AU #The Ice Emperor and The Earth Dragon #cole #cole brookstone #cole ninjago #zane #zane julien #zane ninjago #General Vex #vex ninjago #the ice emperor #mcfanely aus #mcfanely writes #ninjago #lego ninjago

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