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agustdiv1ne · 9 months

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ticket to nowhere (but your heart) (m) — cyj

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers au, photographer!yeonjun, artist!reader, fluff, angst, smսt

wc: 22.3k

synopsis: twelve days. twelve days is all you have on this godforsaken train to find the spark that will save your dying art career — but you never thought that you would find it in the enigmatic stranger that you can’t seem to stop running into.

warnings: mdni!! ageless + blank blogs dni!!!, mc is bad with feelings, is alluded to have anxiety, and is written as shorter than jjun (i'm sorry to my taller friends, i love you) + the same age as him (24), this takes place in various places across the u.s. (sorry in advance), mentions of food + alcohol, vvvvv brief depiction of potential self-injury when describing a painting, beomgyu + le sserafim's sakura, chaewon, and yunjin (called jennifer here just bc i felt like it) are featured, dom!jjun, sub!mc, soft sex, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), light begging, multiple orgasms, protected sex (hooray!), missionary, praise

note: part of @majestyjun's yeonjun bday event!! REPOSTED bc tumblr decided to not let this show up in the tags (edit: it's now showing up!!) </3 also my longest fic to date, so that's something

*:･playlist･:*

(cross-posted to ao3 here!)

masterlist

everything in your life is bland. gray.

the food that you eat, the people that you become acquainted with, the skyscrapers above you that grasp for the sky and fail to reach it — they have all become so monotone and somber and utterly lifeless. something within you gnaws at itself, aching with pain — though the sharpness of the feeling has been blunted by the passing of time — because you used to adore the city that you call home. you used to find unrivaled beauty in the skyscrapers that spread across manhattan, in the lush green parks scattered amongst the urban landscape that would turn warm and golden as summer metamorphosed into autumn, in the people that would walk by you with their unapologetic, unique fashion and confidence. the very things you used to love have dulled in hue, washes of the vibrancy you once appreciated and took significant inspiration from.

throughout your apartment lay half-baked paintings and charcoal drawings and pieces with odd compositions from that one month where you went through a mixed media phase, staring at you with their paint-streaked eyes, mocking you. finish us, their fragmentary faces scream. they beg for you to provide them with souls, to be their maker, their creator — but not quite their god. you are not pretentious enough to go that far, to paint yourself as that self-important, that narcissistic. you are far from a god. if you were, you would be in a larger apartment, a penthouse worth millions of dollars in soho or maybe the upper east side. if you were a god, you would purchase the finest art supplies in the world, have your pieces be displayed in major galleries to be auctioned off for hundreds of thousands — no, millions of dollars by pretentious art collectors to be hung up in their gaudy mansions, their own slices of heaven. however, in reality, you fall exceptionally short of a higher being; in truth, you are a rather simple woman who had transplanted herself from her suffocating hometown to brooklyn as soon as you completed your undergraduate degree. a tiny little apartment in brooklyn, new york city, new york — an adumbration of purgatory, floating somewhere between heaven and hell. trapped, trapped, trapped. nowhere to go.

sitting on your bed, the balls of your feet pressed against the cool wooden floor, you ponder if these thoughts, this density of emotions burrowing into your stomach, are a symptom of burnout. maybe even artist’s block, though in the past you’ve often remarked that the concept doesn’t exist. you had never experienced it, so in your sorely narrow-minded view, it simply couldn’t be possible, and other artists were simply blaming their laziness on this elusive concept. what a fool you were for ever thinking that. shame hangs like a heavy weight within your chest; who are you to criticize the experiences of other artists when you know how difficult a creative’s life can be? how could you be so insolent?

a raging hypocrite, really, is what you think you must be. a blank, blurry stare scans over your space, the coolness of the floor spreading up into your toes. an easel in the corner, near one of the small windows that allows for a view of mostly red brick, a sliver of blue-brown water where the hudson and east rivers meet, and a few lower manhattan skyscrapers that tower high in the air across the watery expanse. it’s not that far from your bed, which sits on the wall opposite below a second window, the slightest bit larger than the other one. most of your apartment is taken up by supplies rather than actual decor, a jar of paintbrushes on your small, round dining table in the corner near your kitchen instead of a vase of flowers, works-in-progress on the walls rather than posters, pictures.

you live and breathe art, and your entire apartment reflects that, but the oxygen is getting thinner and thinner.

even then, you’re not quite sure how long you have felt this way — it’s not as if you woke up one day and noticed the change. it wasn’t sudden like a car accident, slamming into you one second and leaving you to cope with the aftermath the next. quite the opposite, really, more akin to the tide slowly coming to shore, washing over more of your body with each incoming wave. soothing, flowing along with each ebb and flow, pulling you further and further away from the beach until you have nowhere else to go but down.

weak fingers dig into the white comforter below you, curling into the fabric with a surging desperation — for what, you are unsure. comfort? someone to hold you? you haven’t felt the embrace of another, the warm sensation of lips pressed against your own, in an embarrassingly long time. the dating world had slipped from your hands long ago, shattering on the floor like a snow globe, your wants and hopes and desires to love and be loved soaking your lacerated feet and stinging as it enters your wounds. your mind trails to beomgyu, a fellow artist who you had met when you could afford a private studio in a warehouse one burrow over. he was fun, a sappy romantic, and he made you laugh to no end — but he ruined you. he moved across the country without warning and you’d never heard from him again, leaving you heartbroken and with questions you’d never get answers to. you wonder how he’s doing now, if san francisco is treating him well. his number is still in your phone. you should delete it. you need to delete it. you need to make dinner. you need to finish that commission. you need to do a lot of things.

you need to get out of here.

fuck, you do. the desperation surging within your veins takes the new form of a beast, clawing its way up your throat. you need to leave the city and experience new places and see new things and—

finally, you wrench yourself off of your bed after hours of sitting there. snatching your laptop from the floor, you search. you search and search and search for something that will get you out of this city, albeit temporarily. several different trips to italy — too expensive, and too far away from here. an airbnb in florida — you’ve never been a fan of humidity, and you don’t think only seeing one city will be enough to sate you. come on, come on, there has to be something.

and then you find it: twelve days on a train, across the country. stops in chicago, denver, san francisco, seattle, and even a national park for half a day before looping back through chicago and back to new york. this sounds…perfect. your eyes grow as wide as saucers at the price as you scroll down. for you, it’s expensive, so fucking expensive, but…

“you need to let go and enjoy life for once,” one of your friends told you at a party a few months ago, when you were experiencing a less incapacitating version of the burnout you currently face, when you had thought it was a mere blip in your unending motivation. of course, you hadn’t listened to jennifer and her sound (and moscato-induced) advice, opting to throw yourself further into your art and ultimately fail at creating anything worthwhile. you regret it now, because you feel stuck. terribly, utterly stuck — but this is your chance to change that.

you need this; you can make the sacrifice to your already thinning bank account, you think. let go, enjoy life. let go, enjoy life — you repeat those four words over and over again as you type in your card information, as you click the button to book the trip, as you read over the confirmation email that outlines the steps you need to take before you leave. let go, enjoy life, and you will. you will, and you will relight that dimming, nearly extinguished fire within you while you’re at it. you’ll make damn sure of it.

day one.

your heart is pounding. the rapid ba-bump ba-bump ba-bump roars in your ears like thunder as people upon people walk past, shoving against both of your shoulders as you stand in front of a board full of green and yellow and red. the sounds of voices and rolling luggage echo across the high, transparent ceilings of the station which allow for a view of the sky above. early mornings and you do not agree with each other, and today is no exception; poorly-veiled dark circles sit beneath your eyes, illuminated by the soft, warm light streaming in from above. looking down at your phone and back up at the screen again, you find that your train is thankfully on time, the bright green letters helping loosen the tightness gathered in your shoulders as you roll them back once, twice. your teeth skirt your bottom lip while you nod to yourself, then scan the spacious building for the escalator that will take you down to the correct platform.

you hate that you’re nervous. the feeling twists your stomach into knots and flushes your face, cheeks hot as you stand there and wait out the remaining minutes before you can board. it doesn’t even make sense — you should be happy to get out of town, to go places you’ve never been to before, but all you can focus on is the unease creeping up your throat and blooming sour on your tongue. perhaps this is actually excitement that you are feeling. maybe you’re reading it all wrong — jennifer was more than ecstatic when you told her of your impromptu trip, saying “this is what you need! this might be your breakthrough!”

ever since you met the her, she was always a degree more optimistic than you. looking on the bright side of things, no matter what dire circumstances lay splayed out across the dealer’s table. what’s stopping you from being the same way? several things, but at the same time, jennifer is right: you need this. your hands jitter with an odd combination of excitement and fear — maybe it’s simply the thought of solo travel that is so intimidating. yeah, it has to be. it will pass soon enough — hopefully. you roughly shove your set of headphones onto your head, slipping them over your ears. music will have to do for now, if only to prevent thoughts from racing through your head.

once you board, you learn that your quarters are…small, though that was expected. it reminds you of your studio apartment, almost; cramped, but lacking the scattered paint tubes and canvases and miscellaneous mediums that you have not laid a single finger upon in months now. the small, travel-size tubes of paint sitting in your backpack weigh your shoulders down, begging to be taken out and spread across the small, flat canvases that are tucked snugly beside them. you muffle their pleas by turning up the music streaming through your headphones. closing the door behind you, you softly hum to the current song in your ears, shoving your suitcase in the corner of the room.

once the attendant checks your ticket, you decide to take a nap — who cares if it’s early? you barely got enough sleep last night in the first place, too nervous to allow your eyes to shut. collapsing onto your bed, you pull the curtains next to it shut and allow yourself to drift off into a quiet, dreamless sleep.

*:･

you awake around noon with a growling stomach. with a sigh, you rub your tired eyes and sit up, smoothing out your rumpled shirt. after a quick look on your camera to make sure none of your mascara has transferred below your eyes, you make your way to the dining car that’s not too far from your own.

it’s nice, quaint; simply decorated like the rest, with large, square windows divided by thin pieces of wood lining each side. smaller tables line the wall to your right, two seats at each, while larger, four-person tables sit to your left. you opt for a two-seater towards the middle, tunnel vision blocking out the rest of the people present. you stare out at the greenery that blurs outside the window, listening to the low rumble of the train, mindlessly thumbing the laminated menu laying on the table. while you wait for the waitress to get to your table, a light, feminine voice knocks you from your own little world.

“excuse me?” the voice asks. you flinch in response, blinking hard as you look to your left and find two women sitting at the four-seater next to you. they’re both pretty, brown-eyed with full lips curved into twin smiles. they don’t look like sisters, though — more so friends.

“yes?” you politely say, wondering what they could want with you. the shorter-haired one’s smile grows wider once you speak. she has a rounder face than the other girl, her black bangs ending above her eyes that are currently crinkled at the corners.

“are you waiting for anyone?” the other girl asks, the one with a long wolfcut and wide, hypnotizing eyes. definitely not sisters, you think, they look nothing alike.

shaking your head, you softly murmur, “i’m not.”

“would you like to join us, then?” the wide-eyed one asks, a hopeful glint shining in her eyes.

“i...i wouldn’t want to intrude,” you reply. your mouth curls into something apologetic, as if you’re the one burdening them despite them being the ones to ask you. this interaction feels weird, awkward, and a very large part of you wishes you could melt through the floor and disappear forever.

“you wouldn’t!” straight black bob chimes in, hands clasped together on top of the table as she leans towards you. cheery, excitable. “we wouldn’t mind at all, really.”

you nod with a tiny, somewhat nervous grin as you take the seat closest to you, right next to wide-eyed wolfcut. you offer them your name, unsure what else to give them. your age? your profession? your deep-seated trauma? okay, definitely not that last one.

“it’s nice to meet you,” straight black bob says, while the other chimes in with a soft hum of affirmation. “i’m chaewon.”

“and i’m sakura,” wolfcut adds with a dip of her chin.

hands placed snugly in your lap, you pick at your thumb nail. your back is stiff in the chair, and you hope they won’t notice. “it’s nice to meet you guys too. are you traveling together?”

both of them giggle, glancing at each other for a moment before swiveling their eyes back to you. for a moment, you’re confused. why was that so funny? they look to be decent friends, at least from your limited interactions with them thus far.

“we actually just met a few minutes ago,” wolfcut — no, sakura claims. oh, so they’re not friends, then. “we ran into each other— like, quite literally ran into each other.”

“it was…kinda bad,” chaewon laughs before she takes a sip of water. “my ass is still sore.”

you huff a laugh at that, all air and no sound, and the conversation continues with a light-hearted air to it. as the minutes tick by, you learn that chaewon is a graduate student taking a gap semester, while sakura owns her own makeup line, a small business that is beginning to pick up speed thanks to social media. one lives in brooklyn—

“no way,” you gasp at chaewon. “where at?”

sakura, meanwhile, resides in upper manhattan. even more information about them bombards your brain as all of you begin to eat, but you doubt you’ll remember most of it by tomorrow, even later today — it’s alright, though. the three of you have exchanged numbers (to create a group chat) and have basically promised to be travel buddies for the coming days. your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, grateful to find kind, welcoming people on this train — you’d think that jennifer would like them. the way they interact with each other is somewhat reminiscent of your and jennifer’s friendship. friends…yeah, you can see the three of you becoming good friends.

“can we see some of your art?” chaewon asks, bob shifting like a wave around her head as she shakes it. oh, yeah. you had briefly mentioned your profession, though shame barred you from sharing your reasons that led you to this train in the first place.

you cringe. “oh, well—”

“i’m sure it’s great!” she continues. “c’mon, pleaseee?”

with sparkling doe eyes and hands clasped tightly together, it’s difficult to say no — and you don’t, shaking your head a little as you pull up your instagram account. while you’re proud of the pieces you’ve posted on there, they aren’t your most emotional. those ones are saved in your camera roll, and that is where they will stay, only for your eyes (and a very few select others) to see. they coo and aw as they swipe through, your phone placed on the table between them. heat rushes to your cheeks as you begin to pick at the remnants of your lunch sitting on your plate. deep down, their kind comments cause an unusual sense of guilt to invade your heart. why couldn’t you produce shit like that now? what the hell is wrong with you?

with a polite smile, you thank them and move to excuse yourself before your pathetic sense of self-pity can consume you. they seem a bit surprised by your abrupt exit, but they also take it in stride, offering to text you later for dinner. slipping from your seat, you send them a wave before setting off towards the door from which you initially came.

*:･

you don’t know what spurred you to make a stop at your room and snatch your sketchbook from your backpack before heading to the observation car, but after a whole lot of sitting and not one speck of sketching, you kind of, sort of have started to hate yourself for that decision.

the open page in your lap is abysmally blank. no marks, no little trees or lush fields or flowers or anything that you see speeding by outside the window. your pencil has been poised against the page for the longest time, dark gray dots scattered across the page where you would press the point of the pencil to start making a mark and subsequently give up. another hour with no progress ticks by, but you still can’t make it move. move, why won’t your hand just move?

flipping it shut, you lean back in your seat with a deep sigh. you can’t force these things, you know that much, but that won’t stop you from trying — and failing — to produce something. you’d rather not dwell on that for too long, though. those thoughts are what got you here in the first place. instead, you allow your tense muscles to relax, your eyes to lose focus and blur, blobs of green and blue passing by your vision. soft murmurs from other passengers meld together into a wall of droning noise, soft and soothing.

that is, until the sound of someone settling into a seat a couple away from your own pops your little bubble like a sharp, pointed pin pressing into the skin of a balloon. blinking your vision back into focus, you take a quick glance to your right and—

holy shit, he’s beautiful. a sloping nose and pink, plush lips, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was a model of some sort with a face like that. his dark, slightly outgrown hair frames his side profile perfectly, sweeping back towards the back of his head where it begins to curl down the back of his neck. there’s this sort of dreamy, ethereal quality to his looks, like the universe took it’s sweet time creating him, lovingly placed tiny little stars in his sable, fox-like eyes and kissed his skin with the sun’s gentle rays, a light pink dusted across his cheeks — or, at least, the one cheek that you can see. bulky headphones sit snugly over his ears as he simply watches the landscapes pass by, one long leg crossed over the other. before you register the movement of your hands, your sketchbook is flipped back open to that very same blank page you’d given up on mere moments ago, fingers gripping your pencil once more. fluid like water is how your hand moves across the page, capturing the unique shape of his eyes, his soft yet defined jawline, the slope of his neck…

for the first time in months, you lose yourself in your work, yet you don’t even register this small breakthrough. peeking back up at the beautiful stranger every once in a while, you slowly carve out his likeness on the page in front of you, begin to add his surroundings and even a background, shading with light, circular strokes as you go, building up the deposit of graphite where it is needed most, defining the shape of his pouty lips and the strong cupid’s bow that connects his top lip to his nose, mapping out the flow and shape of locks of hair with dark, daring strokes, graphite pressing hard into the page. you even add some flyways for good measure. in your frenzied bout of drawing, you have hunched over in your chair, an old habit that is rearing its ugly head now that you don’t have a standing easel to work with. straightening your aching spine, you sit back and observe your sketch, wondering if you have missed any defining details—

and when you move to look up and take in his features again, he is staring right back at you.

oh.

oh, fuck.

frozen in your seat, you can’t tear your gaze away from his own, a hint of concern swirling in his irises. his eyebrows raise, eyes slightly wide as he tilts his head. the corners of his pretty lips raise, parting as if about to speak — and he does.

“are you okay?”

his deep voice snaps you out of your stupor, flinching before you quickly flip your notebook shut and sent him a tight smile paired with a nod, eyes darting around to look everywhere but him. your heart just might leap out of your chest at this rate, tear open your sternum and collide with the floor. you almost wish it would.

he’s frowning now, a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “uh, are you sure—”

without another glance at him, you stand, clutch your notebook and pencil tight enough that it presses marks into your skin, and book it straight out of there with swift and featherlight steps. you don’t look back, far too embarrassed to even consider it, not stopping until you reach your room. the door is slammed shut behind you, but the nerves-induced ache in your chest won’t fade. pressing the cool backs of your hands against your fiery cheeks, you resist the urge to slap yourself. what the fuck is wrong with you? you should’ve just answered him and apologized for staring. he probably thinks you’re some creep now, with your weird little notebook and lack of verbal response — and the way you left. god, if a hole opened up and swallowed you whole, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“you are so fucking embarrassing,” you hiss, venemous words aimed straight at yourself, your head buried in your hands as you curl up on the bed. day one, day fucking one, and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of someone.

maybe you should stay in here for the rest of your trip.

day two.

“...why is it so big?”

chaewon is referring to cloud gate — or, rather, what is more popularly known as the bean — a terribly ugly, silver, oversized, bean-shaped art installation that sits in chicago’s millennium park. an art installation that you, quite frankly, despise mostly due to the artist behind the work. given that anish kapoor is an elitist prick who has shit on the art world with his wealth and hates when people call his piece the bean, you take great, overwhelming satisfaction in calling it that.

her question — paired with her furrowed eyebrows — causes you and sakura to snicker to yourselves. you’re grateful that they texted you this morning, had forced you out of your room because you actually were going to go through with your staying-in-your-room-forever plan (for today, at least). this park is your first stop of many, but you really want to get this part over with so that you don’t have to see this gargantuan, chrome bean ever again. despite its ugliness, you can admit that the slightly warped, mirrored reflection of the city that it provides is kind of interesting to look at, and it makes for some cool pictures.

(still, fuck anish kapoor. you refuse to give that man any credit.)

you end up taking a photo of you flipping it off from afar, sending it to jennifer with a smirk before helping the other two girls with some of their own photos. here, there’s no pressure to create, only to enjoy and experience what surrounds you, no matter how tourist-y it may be.

sakura slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer to her, arm extended out to take a selfie. your hand raises in a peace sign at the camera, smile bright and wide like the sun above. there’s not an inkling of worry in your expression — until you see him.

the guy from yesterday, standing maybe ten feet away. he dons an unbuttoned striped shirt layered over a tank top which is tucked into baggy, dark wash jeans. a thin, black belt wraps around his waist, a small camera hanging from his neck, and his hair looks as perfect as yesterday, shiny and smooth under the unobstructed sunlight. thankfully, he hasn’t noticed you, but that doesn’t stop your smile from fading, your heart from hammering within your chest as your brain cruelly replays the events of yesterday afternoon in slow motion. you can’t face him right now. what if he comes up to you? what if he confronts you for your odd behavior in front of this crowd? these are worst case scenarios, sure, but they are potential outcomes nonetheless. as he begins to turn in your direction, you whip around, slipping from under sakura’s arm as you face the two girls.

“you guys ready to go?” you ask, masking your worry with a tight grin. don’t ask why, don’t ask why, please don’t ask why.

“yeah, sure,” chaewon nods. “i think i’ve had enough of the bean.”

“same,” sakura laughs.

“we could grab lunch, then go to the aquarium and planetarium?” you suggest, one foot beginning to tap against the concrete as you look back and forth between them. are there eyes burning into the back of your head right now? you can’t tell, but the prickling on the back of your neck is not a promising sign. they look at each other, then back to you — a phenomenon that has rapidly become a habit for them — and agree. surging forward, your hands loop around their wrists closest to you, and begin to speed walk away. far away.

“uh, girl? this is the wrong way, we’re going deeper into the park,” sakura notes, heels digging into the concrete to slow you down. she’s right, you know she’s right, but you’re not particularly keen on turning around.

with a sheepish grin, you say, “maybe we could take a walk through the park first?”

as if on cue, chaewon’s stomach emits an audible growl.

“nevermind, then.”

turning around, you find the stranger facing your way, and for some reason, he’s already looking at you. his eyebrows raise in recognition the moment you make eye contact. all of a sudden, you wish that you could shrivel up and die. despite this, you rip your gaze from his and push forward, turning to speak to sakura so that you aren’t forced to glance in his direction. mission: avoid the stranger who now haunts your life — success!

goodbye, the bean and the guy who you embarrassed yourself in front of. hello, chicago-style pizza.

*:･

you’re tired.

you’re tired and slightly more broke and your legs and feet ache to hell after the copious amount of walking you’ve done, but your day still isn’t over. no, despite the setting sun and rising moon, you still have one more activity on your itinerary — clubbing, by request of your newfound friends, though even they claim that they don’t often partake in the activity. similar to them, you’re more inclined to small get-togethers with wine, food from that thai place down the street from your apartment, and a good movie, but hey, this trip is all about experiencing new things. hell, maybe you’ll even enjoy it, who knows? at least, you’re going to try to, but the pain radiating in the soles of your feet and calves has worsened due to your high heels. the dress wrapped around your body is tight and flattering in all the right places, yet the hem rides up every few minutes as you walk.

“the pessimism isn’t cute. quit it,” you hear jennifer’s voice echo inside your head, yet another phrase she’s uttered to you in the past. fine — on the bright side, you haven’t seen that good-looking stranger since the park. bam, positivity, go you.

sakura’s arm loops around yours as you reach the club that you collectively decided on earlier. her excited squeals at the prospect of alcohol (or, rather, more alcohol, since she pregramed a bit prior to leaving the station) and dancing are enough to bring on a weak headache that spreads across your temples. ibuprofen. you desperately need ibuprofen, but vodka will do just fine too — it’s the first thing you order at the bar, a straight shot with no chaser because at this point, you don’t care. let go, enjoy life, you internalize as you toss the sharp liquor down your throat, fatigue melting away as the alcohol enters your veins.

cheers, jennifer. you still need to text her back.

one more downed shot later, and chaewon is dragging you to the dance floor. the bass pounds in your ears and vibrates the floor as the three of you sway to the upbeat songs. droplets of sweat begin to bead along your hairline, bodies packed so close together that it’s virtually impossible not to be jostled by a stray elbow or shoulder as you dance. if you were completely sober, it would be uncomfortable, but your hazy senses allow for you to overlook the sardine can that is called a club. it’s easy to lose yourself in the warm, heady air, in the way your hips bump between chaewon’s and sakura’s. inhibitions melt away — you’re free; no expectations weighing you down, nowhere to be, no one to be. only music, flashing lights, and the new, fruity drink in your hand, courtesy of sakura.

“gonna take a breather!” you yell into chaewon’s ear, the alcohol finally catching up to you. she nods, yells words you can’t make out into sakura’s ear, and both of them begin to follow you out of the crowd. you sip at your drink as you push your way through, ducking under swinging arms and avoiding splashing drinks. the crowd thins as you grow closer to the edge of the dance floor until only scattered groups of friends remain.

“you didn’t have to come with me, y’know,” you say as soon as you reach a slightly quieter part of the club, taking a seat in an empty booth. “i can handle myself.”

“it’s better to stick together. less dangerous,” sakura refutes. some of the glitter that sits above her eyes had drafted down to her cheeks, glinting as a beam of bright light travels over the lower half of her face. “you never know what could happen in a club.”

chewing at the neon pink straw in your drink, you nod, “that’s true.”

as chaewon and sakura fall into conversation, their words not quite reaching your ears, you silently scan the club. the darkness is cut by wild lasers and spotlights that whirl around and catch on the faces of countless strangers, their pearly, grinning teeth glinting and disappearing back into obscurity in a flash. you continue to nibble at your straw, vision hazy around the edges and an airy sensation in your limbs, as if you could float up to the ceiling. you look up at the multicolored lights, flashes of red and green and blue bombarding your vision, then back down towards the crowd.

and yet again, you find him in your sights.

suddenly, your vision has a crystal clear clarity to it. button-down shirt wide open to reveal his toned torso, he smoothly moves to the beat with an intoxicated smirk painted on his lips, a small glass of amber liquor in his left hand. dark, outgrown hair, plush lips, those dark, dreamy eyes — that’s him. shit, that’s definitely him.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmur, head collapsing into your arms on top of the cool wooden table. sakura jumps in her seat next to you, before scrambling to place a hand on your shoulder.

“are you okay?” she squeals near your ear, tacking on a worried call of your name when you don’t respond right away. honestly? you’re kind of not okay. you’re tired of encountering him at every turn and being reminded of your humiliating escape from him yesterday. you’re tired of him spotting you and sending you odd looks as if you’re the weirdest person he’s ever crossed paths with. you’re tired, you’re tired, you’re just so tired.

you decided to go on this trip to get away from the mundanity of your day-to-day routine, to get over your spell of artist’s block and see new things, but maybe you bit off more than you can chew if you were going to allow one random person to ruin that goal for you. a random stranger shouldn’t have this much power over you.

raising your head, you send them a half-hearted nod. “i’m fine. sorry.”

chaewon frowns, “are you about to throw up? ‘cause you look like you are.”

“you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” sakura chimes in.

sighing, you shake your head. “i think— i think i need to use the bathroom.”

as you move to get up, they do as well — though you decide not to protest this time. there’s no point, really. your legs wobble a bit as you walk, face dropping once you notice that he is near the men’s restroom now, waiting outside right across from where you aim to go. head down, you scurry past him, ignoring how his eyes widen and his knuckles pale as he grips his drink tighter. chaewon and sakura are hot on your heels as you slip into the quiet bathroom. with the music from outside now muffled, you realize your ears are ringing. reaching a sink, you turn on the faucet and splash some water onto your face. hunched over the sink, your fingers grip the edge of the counter. deep breaths, now. deep breaths. this is likely the quickest you have ever sobered up, and the sensation is rendering you dizzy.

behind you, your friends exchange concerned looks through the mirror. sakura jumps into action first, coming up behind you and placing her hands onto your shoulders. with a gentle squeeze, she murmurs, “let’s get you back to the station.”

day three.

today, the observation car is devoid of life — and so is your body after yesterday. can you overdose by taking too much ibuprofen? you’re pretty sure that you can.

last night is but a blur in your memory with few spots of clarity, but you do vividly remember panicking in the dimly lit bathroom as the girls fretted over whether you were going to vomit all over the floor or not. you hadn’t slept much once you returned to your room after exchanging drunken hugs with your friends, assuring them that you were, indeed, not going to throw up. after a few hours of restless sleep, you’d completely given up on proper rest — you have never slept all that well with alcohol in your system, so you’re not sure why you thought this time would be any different.

you take a seat far away from the one you took last time. clad in your pajama bottoms and an oversized t-shirt, you’re grateful that no one else is here to see you at your worst: slightly hungover with dark circles the size of dinner plates. your legs fold up onto the chair so that your knees sit near your chest, your arms looping around your shins, fingers laced together. a deep sigh. a long blink. though the rest of the sky remains an inky black, the horizon morphs into a deep purple, the color of eggplant, almost. perhaps a smidge lighter.

a door opens, its hinges faintly squeaking, before subsequently clicking shut. figuring it must be someone older, you do not bother with checking who entered; most people your age aren’t up this early, especially not willingly. instead, you keep your eyes trained on the ever-changing sky, chin resting upon your knees.

footsteps near you, and you assume that they will pass, but then they don’t. rather, they stand right in front of you.

“may i sit here?”

you have heard this voice before, just two days ago. unsurprisingly, he stands a mere few feet away, clad in a black tank top and gray sweatpants, a long finger pointed towards a seat. similar to you, small dark circles sit beneath his eyes, but he somehow makes them work. once you nod, one corner of his lips twitches upward before he sits down, a singular seat separating your bodies. his gaze burns the side of your face; your arms wrap around your legs tighter, your unwavering stare pointed out the window. silence envelopes the train car, tense and suffocating. your lungs tighten, prickly thorns sprouting within the thin membranes. your bottom lip may begin to bleed if you keep chewing at it so carelessly.

he breaks it first, shatters it like glass colliding with the floor, with five words:

“i’m really hungover right now.”

your brows furrow. why is he trying to strike up a conversation with you? why do you want to answer him?

he continues before you can formulate a response, “i saw you at that club last night — you looked a little sick. are you okay?”

“peachy,” you curtly mumble, lips pursing. of course he remembers you; you did pass by him, after all, basically sprinted into the bathroom with the grace of a bull in a china shop. he hasn’t mentioned the park, but you know damn well he remembers that too.

you can sense the frown from his tone, confusion lacing the edges like delicate lace. his question is careful, slowly intonated as if he’s scared of pissing you off. “uh, did i do something wrong?”

you shake your head, not a single glance spared in his direction thus far. he hasn’t. your attitude is a direct result of your own actions, your own rampant anxieties. a pang of guilt punches you in the gut — he does not deserve your bitchiness when he, quite frankly, has done nothing but exist in relative proximity to you.

“you haven’t,” you reply, voice meek. your eyes trace over the short fibers of the plain carpet below your seat. “i’m just— i’m sorry.”

the low rumble of the train fills the air again, no further words spoken between the two of you. there’s no clear way to explain yourself further, but your apology is sincere; with a brief peek, you find him staring out the window.

“can i ask why you keep running away whenever you see me?” the query lacks an accusatory edge. rather, curiosity and interest cushion his voice. maybe…maybe he doesn’t find you that strange, after all.

and finally, after two days of avoiding his gaze, you swivel your head to face him. you find a tilted head, a single humorous, raised eyebrow. despite yourself, you begin to smile. “honestly?”

“i’d prefer honesty, yes,” he grins.

“i—” you hesitate for a moment, then continue, “i was embarrassed.” a grimace paints your face, dragging your brows down and twisting your lips. “after, y’know…”

“running away the first time?” he supplies.

your mouth flattens into a thin line, a hand moving up to scratch your cheek. “yeah, that.”

laughter reaches your ears, partially nasally. rolling your eyes, your mouth splits into a grin.

“i get it. i feel like i definitely startled you, so no hard feelings.” he pauses, starry eyes widening in what you believe is realization, “i never got your name.”

easily, you supply it, cheeks flushing with heat when he offhandedly comments that it’s pretty. if he notices your sudden flustered state, he doesn’t comment on it, and despite the warmth now slithering down your neck, you feel yourself relax back into your seat, legs leaving their curled up position to cross at the ankle in front of you. then, he offers his own. yeonjun — at long last, you have put a name to his handsome face.

out of nowhere, he asks, “have you had breakfast?”

shaking your head, you gesture to your pajama bottoms. “not yet, i was going to grab some after i changed.”

“i don’t know, i think the plaid pants are pretty fashionable,” he chuckles. you join him. “c’mon, i saw an old guy wearing boxers and a shirt in there yesterday. i’m pretty sure it’ll be fine.”

you giggle, “that’s kinda gross, but alright. let’s go.”

peering out the window again, you find that the sun has just peeked above the horizon, a wash of orange fading into blue, melting together like watercolor. smiling to yourself, you stand and begin to follow yeonjun towards the dining car.

*:･

you and yeonjun had gone your separate ways hours ago, but not without exchanging contact information. since then, he hasn’t stopped texting you, his talent at keeping any conversation going shining in direct contrast to your, well, lack of said talent. however, you do find yourself replying to him with ease — he makes it so easy to do so, mostly due to the fairly unorthodox topics he likes to bring up. currently, you’re talking about the animals that scare you the most. why? because that’s the nature of yeonjun’s conversation skills, you suppose.

another voice message pops up in your chat, about ten seconds long — one of his more obvious quirks. most of his messages are sent in this form, not that you mind. his voice is as pretty as the rest of him. heart-fluttering. okay, stop. you just met this guy.

(jennifer always does say that you fall too easily. maybe she’s right.)

pressing play, his voice enters your left ear via your single earbud. “no because hear me out: dolphins have fooled you into thinking they’re nice. manipulated you. they literally torture their prey— and they use puffer fishes to get high! i can’t make this shit up. my fear is justified, i swear.”

under your breath, you chuckle, an elbow leaned against the dining table. after a long nap, you had texted the girls to see if they’d like to get dinner with you. of course, they said yes, but you decided to get here a bit early to grab an open table. the car is already packed as it is.

“what’re you laughing at?” unexpectedly, sakura’s head appears over your shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of your phone. out of habit, you lock it, your reflections staring back at you through the black screen. as she sits next to you, chaewon, takes the seat across from you, elbows placed on the table and her hands supporting her chin. she sends you a knowing smile.

“is that your boyfriend?” she prods. the question causes your mouth to fall open for a moment before you snap it shut.

“no!” you exclaim. “it’s just a friend.”

“sounds like a boyfriend,” sakura surmises, exchanging a conspiratory nod with the other girl. you release a groan, hands shielding your fiery hot face before you drag them up over your hair.

“he’s not my boyfriend,” you shoot back. “we just met today.” two days ago, actually. if you can count that.

their mouths open in tandem, shock coloring their features. is this a big deal, or something? you aren’t even dating the guy.

“you met a guy and didn’t tell us?” sakura grasps your arm with both hands, shaking the limb with a strength that shouldn’t be possible to come from her thin body. “you should’ve told us! we can be your wingwomen!”

“wingwomen?” you echo dumbly as you stare at her. wingwomen, as in, like, jennifer-style wingwomen? as in trying too hard to set you up with someone and ultimately embarrassing you in the end wingwomen? your love for jennifer knows no bounds, but she’s ruined the term for you long ago with her terrible luck. a shudder runs down your spine, and you grin nervously. “i don’t think that’s necessary.”

“of course it is! i’ve always wanted to do that for one of my friends, but they’re all taken already,” chaewon pouts, irresistible puppy dog eyes appearing. “c’mon, please?

“i doubt he’d want to date me, though? we’ve literally only talked once, so really, it’s okay.”

“once is enough,” sakura declares, suddenly tilting her body closer to yours. “tell us, is he cute? what’s his name?”

they’re obviously not going to let this go, and you have no power to really stop them.

sighing, you officially give up, “yeonjun, and yes, i do.” unfortunately.

chaewon claps her hands together, an audible smack! echoing from her palms. her smile is blinding, a supernova of pearly white teeth and pink, upturned lips. “perfect! we can work with that.”

“i already have an idea: ask him to hang out tomorrow,” sakura says, and you send her an incredulous look, glancing at chaewon for a moment to find that she’s excitedly nodding along to the idea like an excitable puppy. her round eyes sure make her resemble one.

you shake your head. “i can’t do that, it’s too forward.”

rolling her eyes, sakura tosses her hands up in the air. “too forward my ass! how do you expect to bag him?”

“i don’t!”

chaewon chimes in, an open hand reaching towards you, “alright, give us your phone. we’ll text him for you.”

“absolutely not!”

ding!

it’s comical, how all three of you pivot your wide-eyed gazes to the phone clenched in your fingers. the flash of yeonjun’s name across the screen is enough to send your table into chaos.

“open it!”

“what did he say—”

“calm down, oh my god!” you shriek, sending an apologetic look to the couple next to you when they look over. fingers fly over your keyboard until you’ve reached his contact. words, this time, no voice message. butterflies burst into your chest.

yeonjun: do you have anything planned for tmrw?

after scanning over the message herself, sakura pokes at your shoulder. “tell him you don’t.”

with a deep, heavy sigh, you do as she says.

[6:37 p.m.]: not yet, why?

“that’s too dry,” chaewon comments.

“shut up, i’m trying,” you hiss. it takes him a few minutes to respond, minutes in which you internally panic. was your text really too dry? in the meantime, you place your dinner order with a kind waiter that stops by, a hearty dish that you can drown your sorrows in the not-so-off chance that this goes terribly, terribly wrong. another ping sounds from your phone’s speakers, and time stops once you read what he sent. clocks stop ticking, you stop breathing, everything around you freezes.

yeonjun: do you wanna grab coffee in the morning then? :)

sakura sends you a sharp look. “i doubt he’d want to date me — are you seeing this right now? or do you need me to spell it out for you? this is a date, babe.”

“it’s not,” you counter weakly. you only (officially) met him today, so, “it’s really not.”

day four.

contrary to what sakura claimed, this is very much not a date — but you’re happy about it.

he keeps a respectful distance between your bodies as you walk, you pay for your own coffee, and you pull your own chair out when you go to sit down. it’s simple, it’s friendly, it’s a bit awkward, but there’s some things you have to sacrifice when making new friends. the croissant you’ve decided on is on the drier side, a little too flaky. you nibble on it anyway in a poor attempt to ignore the silence that has fallen between you once again. this is why you try to meet people through other friends; at least in those situations, you have a buffer, someone who knows you and the other person well enough that they can find connections between you without having to dig. you hate digging — you’re the worst at it, hence the stifling quiet that permeates the air now.

the café is quaint, if a bit moody thanks to the lighting. outside the window, the denver street teems with people, and you decide to survey the passing strangers rather than look at the man sitting across from you. wisps of fluffy white clouds float high above, sometimes passing over the sun. you wish you had your supplies with you — this would make for a wonderful painting.

click!

turning your head, you find yeonjun holding a camera, the lens pointed at…you? you hadn’t noticed it prior, so you are unsure where he got it from. it looks like the same one he had at the park. a bashful smile appears as soon as he places it on the table. “sorry, the lighting was perfect. can’t ever pass up a nice shot.” you study the camera for a moment, and he takes your lack of response as a sign to continue, “once i edit it, i can definitely send you a copy. do you wanna see it?”

a photographer. yeonjun is a photographer. you’re not sure why it’s taken you this long to realize. maybe because you’ve been avoiding him up until now? you think. shaking the thought away, you smile. “i’d love to see it.”

he presses a few buttons, a focused twist to his plush lips, before he’s sliding it over to your side of the table. he’s right: it was a nice shot, and while you don’t often enjoy how you look in photographs, he’s found an angle that highlights your best features as you gaze outside, a slight part to your lips and your eyes wide open, shining. the sheer amount of contrast between the dark café and your warm-lit face scratches an itch in your brain. you can see it now — the golden pigment wetting your brush before being placed on the canvas, being blended into an umber, almost black, but not quite. a splash of umber here, a hint of red there…

“is this your job?” you decide to ask.

the sheepish expression returns in full force, but there’s a hint of pride in his eyes. he’s proud of his work. “yeah. i’m not, like, famous or anything, but i enjoy it. my mom said that when i was a baby, they put a stethoscope, a gavel, a camera, a microphone, and a test tube in front of me, and i chose the camera, so it was basically meant to be,” he chuckles, but, realizing that you’re staring at him, he pauses for moment. crimson paints the tips of his ears; it’s a color that you’re pretty sure sits in your travel set. “sorry, was that too much?”

“not at all,” you reply softly. “that’s a lovely story, yeonjun.”

“thanks.” shyly, he bites down on his bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before releasing it. a beat of quiet passes, then he’s asking, “how about you? what do you do for work?”

for some reason, the question looms over your head like a storm cloud. it’s unavoidable and dark and heavy. a bitter taste fills your mouth, different from the aftertaste of your coffee, but you try not to let your sudden drop in mood show.

“i’m an artist, though i don’t think many people would consider me one nowadays,” you snicker, but the self-deprecating edge to your words is not lost on yeonjun.

wrinkles form in the space between his brows. “what do you mean?”

“i…” you trail off. you should tell him. you should rip the bandaid off and quit avoiding facing it for what it is. “i haven’t finished a piece in months. i feel stuck, almost? like nothing is resonating with me, if that makes sense. it’s the whole reason i went on this trip. it’s humiliating, not being able to draw a single thing without hating it— sorry, that’s definitely too much.”

“no, no, you’re fine,” and he’s sincere in his reassurances. he doesn’t look at you like you’re some sort of failure for how you feel. he doesn’t spew out a hollow apology to absolve him of the weight you’ve transferred to his shoulders, nor does he seem to mind that he’s helping you burden it. his hand reaches over the table, hesitant for a moment, before his fingers curl over yours, his warm skin against yours. you stare at his hand, but you don’t move away from his touch, allowing him to give your hand a delicate squeeze. looking back up, you sit frozen under his gaze. it warms your insides, melts the icy shards solidifying in your lungs that make it hard to breathe. “none of that makes you less of an artist. it’s something every artist goes through — hell, i’ve gone through it, and it’s okay to feel that way. it’s real and it sucks to feel like you can’t accomplish anything, but there’s nothing wrong with it. eventually, it will pass on its own, but until then, it’s not a sin to lean on others for support.”

tears almost, almost prick your eyes. however, you push them down; there’s no way you’re going to cry in public, in front of him. absolutely not. he squeezes your hand one more time, his thumb brushing over yours, before pulling away. “and if no one else will listen, i will.”

“thank you,” you croak out, blinking rapidly, taking a long sip of coffee in order to buy yourself a few precious seconds to cloak your emotions. a calm veil falls over your face soon enough, and while you hate to be the one to change the subject, you feel like you should. “do you want to go on a walk? it’s too nice out to stay in here all day.”

he doesn’t question the sudden change, humming in confirmation as he scoots his chair back. “it really is nice out. do you have any other plans?”

“not really,” you say, pushing the door open. the warm breeze caresses your face. “i’m trying to be spontaneous—”

“y/n!”

sakura and chaewon appear to your left, each carrying a couple bags that look to be stuffed with clothes. you vaguely remember them mentioning going thrifting, but you didn’t know that they’d be in the same part of the city as you. chaewon comes in for a hug, whispering into your ear, “he’s cute.”

glancing up at yeonjun, sakura feigns ignorance, “who’s this?”

thus, your friends meet the one man you’d rather keep them away from, if only to prevent their wingwomen shenanigans. you have zero clue what they have planned, but you’re sure none of it can be good.

“we were just on our way to the botanical gardens,” chaewon sings. “if you’d like to join usss.”

wordlessly, you and yeonjun communicate, only raised eyebrows and tilted chins. somehow, you understand exactly what he’s trying to convey. do you want to? do you? i don’t mind if you don’t. alright, let’s do it.

when you do arrive at the gardens, yeonjun’s fingers find your wrist, holding you back for a moment. his free hand gestures to the camera hanging around his neck. “mind being my model for the day?”

you blink. you, his model? “oh, um. i think chae and kkura are a bit more qualified—”

“no way,” he laughs. “i’m the professional here, and i want you. no one else will do.”

i want you — god, those three, simple words send a visceral shiver down your spine. a want, a need, an overwhelming desire for…you’re not even sure, but something all-consuming blooms behind your sternum like a moonflower in the night. with a coy dip of your head, you smile to yourself, allowing the feeling to surge through your veins, consume every fiber of your being.

“alright, mr. professional. lead the way.”

*:･

it’s early in the evening when you return to the station in a giddy haze, arm looped around yeonjun’s. the photo session had been a success; by the end, you were drunk on the compliments he aimed your way, on the way he treated you like glass as he directed you into a specific pose, the fleeting sensation of his fingertips pressing into your skin burned into your memory.

closing the door to your room, you press your back into it, squeal into your palms like you did when you were sixteen and harboring a silly little crush. because that’s all it is right now, really: a foolish crush on a man that you probably won’t see again after this trip. you can fantasize all you want, but in the end, that’s what it is. those invading negative thoughts get drowned out by the movie playing behind your eyelids — a replay of the day. you swear you can feel every touch of his skin against yours, every ray of sunshine that kissed your skin and gifted you its warmth. scurrying over to your bag, you locate your supplies.

and you begin to paint.

a flurry of lilacs, a blurry figure among them all, defined only by a flowing white button up and brown, wide leg trousers, black streaks of hair and nothing more. yellow daffodils and vibrant emerald sweetgrass take shape, a cerulean sky, fluffy clouds. it’s messy and you kind of hate it, but it’s something. something is on the canvas, it’s dynamic, it has character.

“okay,” you mumble, staring at the brushstrokes, going over them again and again. “okay.”

day five.

“can i draw you?”

a spur of the moment question, borne from the golden sunset gracing his cheeks, highlighting strands of his hair. the day has passed quietly today, mostly spent in your room sketching to your heart’s content. though mostly inconsequential doodles paired with terribly cheesy words of prose that even your most romantic friends would scrunch their noses at, these exercises in creating without a specific goal in mind seem to be helping. a part of that gray fog over your world has been wafted away by an invisible hand, and everything is a bit more vibrant, closer to its true hue; while nothing about your creations are particularly special or groundbreaking, going on this trip is now beginning to prove its worth.

yeonjun’s head tilts, and you shrug. “what? i need practice.”

“okay, as long as you promise to show me afterward,” he challenges, and you immediately shake your head.

“i’m only going to show it to you if it turns out well,” you decide. you think back to the painting sitting in your room, still a bit wet, the paint overworked to hell. that one is staying a secret. it’s not good enough to be known by anyone else — and certainly not by him.

“then no deal.” when you give him a pleading look, he raises his hands. “i show you my pictures, you show me what’s going on in that sketchbook, it’s only fair.”

“fine,” you hiss, fishing your sketchbook from your bag. “get comfortable, and don’t even think about moving.”

“harsh.”

with a suppressed grin, you take in the planes of his face. he’s shifted to face you, intent eyes trained on you, which makes your job harder. gulping, you raise an arm, mapping out his proportions with a thumb. the process of pressing intentional marks into the page is a slow one, exacerbated by his unwavering stare. you have to look out at the mountains every once in a while to allow oxygen back into your lungs, and even then, the action proves difficult. graphite scratching paper is backed by the low murmur of other passengers in the observation car as you work, capturing the fading light that casts shadows across his face. however, your creative juices quickly run out, likely sapped by your painting escapade that extended far into the night. the shape of his eyes isn’t quite right, and no matter how much you erase and try again, there’s always a slight detail off about it. too narrow, too round, too—

the tip of the pencil snaps, the point rolling across the page and falling onto the floor. you curse under your breath.

“is it done?” yeonjun asks, leaning forward. his hands gently take your sketchbook from your lap before you can protest, and you watch as his expression shifts from neutral to slack-jawed.

“that’s…you’re…wow,” he starts, then never finishes. he still hasn’t torn his wide eyes away from the page, flitting around as he drinks in every miniscule detail, while you pinpoint every single thing wrong with the drawing.

“it’s bad,” you deadpan. “give it back, i need to fix it.”

he frowns. you seem to make him do that a lot. “there’s nothing to fix.”

“there’s everything to fix.”

“it’s literally a carbon copy of me,” he counters. “you’re crazy.”

“says the one who can’t see the shape of his eyes right now. the lash line isn’t straight enough at the top, the nose isn’t quite right, the hair lacks form. it’s terrible.”

for the first time since you met him, yeonjun is annoyed. eyes narrowed and dark, he locks his gaze into yours, throws away the key. you can’t move while he tosses the worn sketchbook back into your lap, a hand running through his hair, locks raising with his fingers and flopping back down into his face.

“i know what it’s like to be your own worst critic,” he says, voice soft like a lullaby, standing in direct contrast to his firm expression. “but it’s one thing to be critical of your art, and another to resent it. you’re a wonderful artist, y/n. talented isn’t enough to describe you, but negativity is going to get you nowhere. it holds you back.”

he’s right — you loathe that he is, and you more so hate how he sounds just like jennifer. your nails skirts the fraying edge of the leather cover in your laps, picking at it like you would with skin, peeling cracked flakes off to reveal a soft underbelly of lighter-colored suede. wine red versus warm tan. you feel like you’re being admonished, a child who’s misbehaved. you feel small, but at the same time, you need to hear it. you’ve been coddled enough.

“i used to hate my stuff too, y’know. never thought it was ever that special, but that’s what made me underestimate myself. that’s what made me settle for less, that’s what made me lock my camera away in my closet for the longest time until i felt i was ‘ready’ to use it — but who was i to say i was ready? how do you know when you are? honestly, you don’t. you won’t ever know. all you can do is create and create and hope that you eventually make something that you’re proud of. until then, you keep trying, you figure out what’s working, what isn’t, and go from there. in the end, everything you create is a reflection of you, and that’s the beautiful thing about art. it bares your soul, it strips you down to the rawest parts of yourself that you may despise right now — but it’s still you. and don’t you think you deserve to give yourself some grace?”

his words strike a place deep within you, an ache beginning in the center of your chest and snaking out like the roots of a tree into your stomach and throat. you do deserve some grace, don’t you? you don’t spew venomous words towards your friends or strangers every day, yet you do it to yourself without a second thought. why? you bring yourself and your skills down any chance that you get. why? your art is merely an extension of yourself — is this how you forever want to feel whenever you are drawing? whenever you’re sculpting a piece? no, not at all. your head raises.

“have you ever thought about becoming a public speaker?”

he lets out an incredulous scoff, but there’s still an inkling of teasing in his tone, “is that all you got from my mini speech? i thought it was amazing. life-changing, even.”

“no,” you deny with a tight-chested laugh. “but there’s not much more to add. you’ve said it all for me.”

the passing mountains are purple now, the greenery a muted magenta. in this moment, you decide the yeonjun is an enigma; untouchable, unreachable — standing too close to his bright, technicolor world would burn your muted one to the ground. if you are icarus, then he is the sun sending you plummeting down into oblivion.

but you want to touch him, you want to burn.

you want to feel alive again.

“let me draw you again,” and maybe it won’t be your best. maybe the slope of his chin will be crooked, maybe the intrinsic sparkle in his eyes won’t be quite right, but there’s a conviction present in your tone that causes him to smile.

day six.

“are you really trying to have a dick measuring contest with the seals right now?”

san francisco’s iconic pier 39 is abustle with tourists, but you and yeonjun are currently at the very back of the pier, where seals soak in the sun on little wooden docks constructed just for them. at the moment, yeonjun is trying to out-seal the seals with loud barks and hoots, mimicking their distinctive sounds. yeonjun is still making noises, people are starting to stare, and you are beginning to want to climb over the wooden fence and jump straight into the ocean.

“yeonjun, please stop,” you plead, hands gripping the sleeve of his t-shirt, yet he doesn’t stop, honking back at the seals once they respond. you tug a bit harder. “c’mon, people are staring. the seals don’t care how loud you are, you’re not proving anything.”

“i’m proving a lot of things right now, actually,” he quips before he’s going back to making noises that are unbecoming of a human being. this feels like a cruel form of exposure therapy.

you try pulling at his sleeve again. “c’mon, yeonjun.” and again. “yeonjun!”

“okay, okay, i’ll stop,” he cackles, turning to face you. he’s close — too close to be considered platonic. his hands could come up and hold your waist right now, pull you closer into his chest. it causes you to take a step back, and it’s as if he can sense the heat radiating from your cheeks, leaning down towards you with a smirk. “you embarrassed?”

“of course i’m embarrassed,” you hiss. “how are you not?”

shaking his head, his grin grows impossibly wider. “if i buy you lunch, will you forgive me?”

pretending to think, you look off to the side, then back to him. of course you will. “maybe.”

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs as he falls into step next to you. the air is much cooler here than at your other stops, a gray blanket of fog rolling in on the horizon that cuts into the clear blue sky. he sends you a hopeful look as he asks, “y’feeling clam chowder?”

with a tiny shrug, you confess that you’ve never had it before. with a dramatic hand placed against his chest, he gasps, “you live in the northeast, and you’ve never tried it? that has to be some sort of crime.”

chowder hut is his restaurant of choice, a circular, well, hut that sits by its lonesome across from the infamous pier. it’s a place he used to go when he lived in san jose and took day trips here with his cousins, he claims. the restaurant holds a lot of fond memories for him, this whole city does. you wonder what those memories entail.

“i got you a small one in case you don’t like it,” yeonjun says as soon as he returns with your food. a tray is placed in front of you: a round sourdough loaf carved into to create a bowl, filled with cream-colored, steaming-hot chowder thick with chunks of potatoes, pieces of bacon, and, of course, clams. digging a spoon in, you take your first bite — clean, briny, slightly sweet, bursting across your taste buds like tiny little firecrackers. your eyes widen at the taste, buzzing in delight against the spoon poised to your lips. he grins. “it’s good, right?”

you hum in agreement, swallowing another spoonful. you’re crazy for never having tried this before. twenty-four years of living, and you had no idea what you were missing out on. you’ve missed out on a long of things, it seems, but you’re beginning to catch up on them with the help of yeonjun — as well as sakura and chaewon, of course. you could never forget about them.

“you’re forever going to be connected to clam chowder in my mind now, i hope you know that,” you say, tearing into the walls of the bread bowl. the remnants of the salty chowder have soaked into the bowl, mixing perfectly with the tanginess of the bread. yeah, you wouldn’t forget this in a million years; it’s too delicious to forget.

“you do that too?” he asks. you send him a questioning glance. “like, connect people to food.”

“yeah, i guess i do,” you ponder. “my mom reminds me of this one dish she always made me as a kid. my best friend reminds me of wine, since that’s what we drank when we first met. it’s also her favorite. and now you…remind me of clam chowder.”

he chuckles, “great, i’ll always be the clam chowder guy to you.”

you giggle back. “it’s not a bad title to hold. you could be, i don’t know, the terrible clam chowder guy.”

“fair enough. i’ll take it,” he declares before he shoves the last piece of his bread bowl into his mouth. his cheeks puff out, similar to a chipmunk, and you resist the urge to chuckle at the image in your head. “now that i think about it, i don’t do it with just people — a lot of my fondest memories are connected to food, too. something human about it, y’know? food is its own form of love. or, at least, i think it is.”

“no, i completely agree. there’s something special about sharing food with others — it’s kinda intimate, i guess? especially if you’re cooking for someone, those are some of the most vivid memories for me.”

nodding along with you, he’s leaning forward, elbows resting against the table. the corners of his lips quirk up. “you get it. the intimacy of it, i mean. my mom has always said that food is the best way to a person’s heart — food brings people together. it’s amazing.”

“yeah,” you beam. “it really is.”

for a moment, conversation ceases, the two of you smiling at each other, leaning forward over the table. your mouth opens to speak, but a loud caw draws your attention away from his hypnotizing eyes. you watch a seagull swoop in to harass a man that sits two tables over, his glasses skewed on his face as he tries to keep the bird from stealing his food. arms wave everywhere while the seagull screeches at him, flapping its wings on top of the man’s head. after a brief second of shock, the sight has you nearly doubling over with laughter, unflattering shrieks sounding from your throat. it takes a minute for your giggles to subside. while you wipe a tear from your lash line, you look back at him — and freeze.

he’s staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, chin supported by his palm. his mouth curves into something serene and fond, hooded eyes scanning your face as you stare back. you’re no longer smiling, mouth parted as you wait for him to say something, anything. he doesn’t, so you move to break the intense air brewing between you.

“is…is something wrong?” with a flinch, his eyes blink rapidly for a second, coming back into focus. he sits up straighter, leaning into the back of his chair.

“i just— nevermind. sorry, spaced out there for a second,” his chin dips towards his chest before rising again, the tips of his ears flushing cherry. he looks nervous, almost. “um, if you’re up for it later, we could grab dinner at this korean restaurant i used to go to? it reminds me a lot of my parents. i think you’d like it.”

while you’d rather ask where his head is at right now, what he was going to say before he stopped himself so abruptly, you say, “i’d love that.”

*:･

he was right, you do like it.

the restaurant is cozy, a little hole-in-the-wall in the heart of the city where less tourists roam. the food is delicious, flavorful meats and fluffy rice and various veggie side dishes that you can’t stop eating. as he snaps some photos of the place, he tells you the decor reminds him of restaurants in seoul, of the mom-and-pop shops he’d frequent there. that at some point or other, some of the owners would start recognizing him when he came in and gave him extra food free of charge.

“so you lived there for a while? in korea?” you ask as you watch him some meat for the two of you to share. the action is second nature to him, each piece staying on the grill for the same amount of time, flipped only once. you bring a piece to your mouth — it’s perfectly cooked.

“i was born there, in a town near seoul,” he says through a mouthful of rice. “moved around a bit, but i lived in seoul for most of it ‘til i was eighteen. then i moved to new york for college, but dropped out after two semesters to pursue photography. it’s been six years since i moved to the states.”

“you said you lived in san jose for a while earlier.” you tilt your head at him. “when was that?”

“ah,” he starts. “i studied abroad when i was in elementary school and stayed with some family there— do you want some more meat? i can order more.”

your meat supply has dwindled down to two pieces. there’s still room in your stomach, so you nod. “sure.”

he calls over the sole server on shift, speaking to him rapidly in his native tongue. the server glances over at you for a brief second before focusing back on yeonjun. out of their entire conversation, you recognize one word: friend. it’s a term that jennifer taught you a while ago, one that has stuck with you because she now likes to jokingly call you that every now and then. an inside joke between the two of you.

when the server leaves, yeonjun is left a flustered mess. your eyebrows raise. “why’s your face so red? what’d he say?”

“nothing! it’s just from the kimchi! it’s really spicy here,” he quickly claims before he’s gulping down half a glass of water. you, quite frankly, don’t buy it for a second, but choose not to pry.

day seven.

of course, at least one thing has to go wrong on a trip like this. mechanical problems with the train has rendered everyone stuck in the golden city until tomorrow morning, at which another train will take over the rest of the trip. the station is across the bay, so amtrak has given every passenger a voucher to pay for a night’s stay at various hotels across the city — customer’s choice, no less. to be safe, you choose the one closest to the bar chaewon and sakura want to check out tonight. once you told yeonjun where you decided to stay, he used his voucher there as well. he wants to stay near you, he says, to make it easy to find each other.

today, the girls join you and yeonjun at pier 39. they partake in bread bowls, they watch yeonjun embarrass himself at the seal docks, they send you knowing looks when he pays for your food. when yeonjun finds a street performer with a dance mat and wastes no time in starting a battle against the guy, they tell you that he’s trying to impress you.

“he’s not,” you whisper to them. “that’s just how he is. i promise.”

night begins to fall, and they suggest going to a bar for dinner, more for the drinks and not the food. you accept, and in turn, so does yeonjun — though you immediately regret not thinking the decision through more. the bar is dangerous. not in an external hazard sense, but in more of a you’re scared of getting drunk and vomiting your blossoming feelings onto his shoes type of sense. you keep your drinking to a minimum, still on your first drink an hour in. next to you, however, yeonjun is starting to collapse in on himself, hunched over the counter of the bar as his third drink kicks in. a giggle bubbles up from your throat. you never pegged him to be a lightweight.

“let’s get you some water,” you gently suggest, a comforting hand on his shoulder. waving the bartender over, you ask for a glass, helping him sit up and take a sip. his chin falls onto your shoulder this time, eyes hazy as he looks up at you with a dopey smile.

“you’re really pretty, did y‘know that?” he slurs, leaning further into you as an arm wraps around your waist. his barstool screeches across the floor, shifting closer to yours. you freeze as shock fills your veins, nerve endings beneath his touch on fire. he pokes your warm cheek. “s’pretty.”

you blink. hard. “yeonjun, you’re drunk—”

“no ‘m not. ’m perfectly— ‘m perfectly fine,” the words stumble out of his pouty lips drenched in fatigue, his tone whiny and petulant, as he turns in his seat to wrap his other arm around your waist, forehead now sagging against your shoulder. your body stiffens up, tense muscles frozen in place as he continues his delirious ramblings.

“i need to go to the bathroom!” you all of sudden exclaim, attempting to pry his arms off of you. he only squeezes you tighter, whining how you can’t leave here alone. you sigh, patting his hair, “you could wait outside?”

he accepts the offer, but doesn’t remove his arm from your waist as both of you stand. despite his almost six foot tall frame, you are forced to support him as he stumbles along towards the bathrooms and pray that you don’t twist an ankle in the process. when you reach the women’s bathroom, he still doesn’t let go.

“nooo, don’t leave meeee,” he whines, pulling you back into his chest while your hand grips the door handle. calling his name, you slip your hands beneath his and grab them to pull them off of you.

“i’ll be right back, i promise,” you say once you situate him against the wall, his shoulder hunched and his head hanging down towards his chest. you give him a worried pat on his head before disappearing into the bathroom. in reality, you do not have to go. instead, you stand in front of the mirror, taking in your blown out eyes, feeling a scorching heat encase your face and spread down towards your chest. he’s drunk, you remind yourself. he doesn’t know what he’s saying.

you wash your hands once. twice. three times, allowing the cool water to run over your heated skin. you splash some on the back of your neck. calm down. calm the fuck down.

you are, indeed, not able to calm the fuck down before a flurry of knocks reverbates against the door. yeonjun’s voice follows soon after, asking if he can come in, if you’re okay. “why have you been gone for so longggg? i miss you!”

“no! don’t come in!” you yell, glad that all of the stalls are vacant. making your way back over to the exit, you wrench open the door and find him standing there, fist raised in the air as if he was going to knock again.

he blinks once. then, an impossibly wide grin splits his face. “you’re back!”

stepping forward, you allow the door to swing shut behind you. arms wrap around you once again, but this time, you stumble backwards into the wall. when you look up, his face is just above yours.

oh.

oh, fuck.

this feels like a repeat of day one all over again, you trapped under his gaze, but this lacks the distance of that day. the unfamiliarity with each other. his hands haven’t left your waist, fingers pressing into your flesh over your thin dress, while the wall presses into your back. you have nowhere to go, but maybe you’re more drunk than you initially thought, because his lips look very inviting right now. you watch his eyes trail down to your parted lips, then back to your eyes, tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip. his eyelids hood his dark, hazy pupils. the muscles in his neck contract, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leans closer, an electric attraction between your lips. you tilt your head, eye fluttering shut, moving closer, closer…

“y/n! there you are!”

yeonjun jumps away from you as chaewon rushes up to you. her hands find your shoulders as she cries, “kkura twisted her ankle really bad! can you help me?”

you turn your head towards yeonjun, then back to chaewon, whose wide, rounded eyes plead you to come with her. “okay,” you say softly. “let’s go.”

yeonjun follows close behind, and all you can think of is what would have happened if chaewon didn’t show up. sakura’s ankle ends up being fine, and getting her back to her hotel room isn’t too difficult given the close proximity of the hotel.

*:･

four days. four days you have known yeonjun, but it feels like it’s been years since you met each other. that fact strikes fear into your heart, remembering that the last time that this fast burn of feelings in your heart occurred, you ended up a brokenhearted mess for months. if yeonjun is the sun, his overwhelming heat melting you down into a puddle, then beomgyu was a black hole, all-consuming and ripping pieces of you away when he abruptly up and left. you’re unsure if you can go through that again, but at the same time, yeonjun doesn’t give off the impression of a drifter who wouldn’t tell you he’s leaving until after the fact. he’s a constant, a steady fortress. reliable, enduring.

“good night,” yeonjun murmurs, both of you standing in front of your door.

“good night,” you parrot back, rocking back on your heels, but you don’t really want him to go. knowing that isn’t realistic, you settle for opening your arms up towards him. for the first time, he hugs you good night, his lithe arms wrapping around your waist while he presses a drunken kiss into the crown of your head, and a feeling of being home washes over you.

day eight.

he sits closer to you now. no longer is there a gap that separates your bodies, a full chair between the two of you. now, he sits right next to you, thigh brushing against your own. his hand sometimes finds your knee, never too high on your leg, never uncomfortable. just…there, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. neither of you mention what transpired between you last night, his affectionate words, the mere centimeters that separated your lips before chaewon interrupted. nevertheless, an unspoken barrier between you has broken, its bricks torn down by the hands of intoxication — due to alcohol, but also because of each other.

the almost-kiss replays in your mind in a constant loop; the woody citrus of his cologne is still strong in your nose, the warmth radiating from his flushed cheeks a phantom against your skin. you want to talk about it. you want to rip open the memory like a pomegranate for the two of you to share, but you don’t. you don’t know what you would do if you ruined…whatever this is that you and him have going on. he’s become a sort of constant in your life that you don’t think you can live without. you like him; you can admit it now. what you feel is not just a mere attraction anymore, an artistic appreciation for his unique features. he brings out a brighter part of you, a part that has been buried deep into your soul over the years, beneath layers of grime and dirt and negative experiences that you won’t let go of. the gray film over your eyes has been wiped clean by him, him and his beautiful heart he so easily bares to others. his heart that is so full of love — love for being alive, love for others — you wonder if any of that love could ever be for you one day.

he watches you sketch, you let him snap photos of you doing so. you share a small bag of chips, greasy fingers brushing against each other during those times in which you both reach in tandem. for hours, you sit together in a silence that is no longer awkward, but soft and tender. shoulder against shoulder, skin against skin. words aren’t required, your actions speaking for themselves. you bask in it all.

day nine.

the space needle isn’t that impressive.

you’re sure it’s a much better experience when you’re at the top, but yeonjun shares a fear of heights with you, so there’s no way in hell either of you are going up there. instead, you stand beneath it, amongst an ever-moving sea of seattleites and tourists, and wait for chaewon and sakura to come back down from the tall building.

at the beginning of this trip, you’d allow for a few feet of space between your bodies, but slowly, it’s diminished to a scant few inches. you don’t really register this gradual change, as natural as it was. every once in a while, his pinky brushes against yours. neither you nor yeonjun move to do anything about it, either by pulling away or linking them together — a state of limbo that is befitting for a pair of strangers falling for each other. to make the dive into the unknown or to stay on the surface where it’s safe, that is the question.

“how much longer do you think they’ll be?” you ask, staring up at the pointed top of the tower. the sky is gray today, a bit chilly, but it’s an expected sight in washington during this time of year. “i’m getting hungry.”

yeonjun huffs a laugh, lightly elbowing your bicep. “maybe we could grab something real quick. i saw this taco truck nearby—”

“y/n? is that you?”

you’d recognize that deep timbre anywhere. the man that dropped your heart on the floor and vanished from the earth before he could watch the aftermath, the man that you never wished to see ever again.

turning around, you find beomgyu.

your phone slips from your hand, clattering against the concrete — but you can’t bring yourself to check if the screen has shattered. instead, yeonjun grabs it for you, rising with it as he anxiously asks if you’re okay. you don’t answer, too busy staring at the man now standing before you. he’s changed; his shorter hair has grown out past his ears, dyed a warm brown, though his black roots are apparent; soft pastel pullovers and light jeans have been swapped out for black slacks and a dark brown leather jacket, clothing choices more mature than when you last saw him. why is he here? you thought he lived in san francisco — you would’ve been less shocked to run into him there, but in seattle?

“i moved here a few months ago.” shit, did you say that out loud? “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i’m on a trip,” you quickly answer, no further explanation leaving your mouth.

he nods nonchalantly. you think you see his eyes flit to yeonjun for a second. “cool, cool.”

“yeah.” why won’t he walk away already? your feet are glued to the cement, jaw tense as you try not to cry. the memory of him texting you that he had left the city and things between you won’t work out come rushing back. why now? how can he show his face to you after all he’s done?

he nods again. “are you here for long?”

“just— just for today.”

“well, i’d love to catch up with you before you leave. i’ve missed you a lot. maybe we could grab dinner tonight?” his smile is soft, hopeful — manipulative, in a way.

“i’m actually pretty busy today,” you begin, but of course, you have no idea how to tell him no. “but maybe if i’m free later.”

“great!” he exclaims, hands now in his trouser pockets. he looks over at yeonjun again, the upward curve of his lips flattening. “i need to get going, but i’ll text you later. you still have my number, right?”

“i think so.”

“cool.” his smile grows excited. “see you later, then.” beomgyu turns to walk away with a confidence in his strut that he didn't have when he lived in new york. when he was dating you. how shameless can he be? soon enough, he disappears into the crowd. blinking, you wonder if that really just happened, turning back toward yeonjun. his jaw is set, eyes still staring at the point where beomgyu vanished. the gray clouds feel suffocating now. the cool air constricts your lungs. you want the cement to open up and swallow you when his hardened eyes turn to you.

“who was that?” yeonjun asks, tone casual, but there’s a…jealous? edge to his question. you’re looking into things too much — there’s no way he’s jealous right now.

“...my ex,” and it hurts you to admit it. his eyes darken as he utters a soft “oh.” you sigh, “yeah.”

he won’t look at you anymore. why won’t he? you didn’t do anything wrong. you had no control over beomgyu showing up. he purses his lips. “are you gonna meet up with him?”

your head shakes on its own, words escaping before you can think about them. “i don’t know, yeonjun.”

“okay.” biting his lip, he turns so that he faces the space needle again, stepping away from you. you feel like strangers again, an ocean of distance between you bodies. “yeah, okay.”

*:･

you don’t meet up with beomgyu.

meanwhile, yeonjun is nowhere to be found. after the beomgyu incident, the two of you waited in tense silence for your other friends to return. he then made up some lame excuse to leave, and didn’t turn back when you called his name. you haven’t seen him for the rest of the day, even when you return to the train. he won’t respond to your texts. eventually, you stop sending them; he obviously needs space for whatever reason, so you will give him it.

the terrible, painful thought of ruining everything you had with him sits in the forefront of your mind, taunting you. the girls try to distract you, showing you silly tiktoks and youtube videos and the like, but you simply offer them a half-hearted huff each time. once you explain what transpired while they were gone, however, their tune changes a bit.

“y/n, i’m going to be very honest, and i need you not to take it personally,” sakura replies. though your head lays on top of your folded arms, you signal that you are listening with a bob of your head. she continues, “your response wasn’t the best. it probably confused him, and now he doesn’t know if you’re still hung up on this guy or not. if one of his exes came up to him while with you, and he told you he didn’t know if he was going to meet up with them later or not, how would you feel?”

“shitty,” you mumble into your forearm.

“exactly. so give him space for now, and when he reaches out, explain and apologize. you owe him that much.” sakura sounds just like jennifer — they’d definitely get along.

“i know. i will.”

the waiter comes around with water, and you order a strong cocktail to go along with your dinner.

day ten.

“has he texted you back yet?” sakura asks for the thousandth time today.

when you shoot her a defeated glare, she gets her answer. no, of course he hasn’t. he hasn’t responded to you since he left. “you said to give him space.”

“yeah, but i didn’t know he’d fall off the face of the earth,” she shoots back. sighing, you tip your head back against the wall next to her bed. a lake passes outside, surrounded by tall grass and trees. small hills rise behind the blue expanse, but you don’t feel the same urge to grab your sketchbook and translate the view onto the page anymore. it’s funny, how easily one person can affect your mood, turn everything upside down with the mere lack of his presence in your life.

“he just needs time.” chaewon opens a can of soda with a pop! and takes a sip. “maybe it affected him more than we realize.”

“‘cause that makes me feel sooo much better.” sarcasm drips from your voice. “i’m such a fucking idiot.”

there’s a half-day stop in glacier national park tomorrow. will you see him, or is he going to avoid you for the rest of this trip? will you ever see him again? the emotions that swirl within you are reminiscent of how you felt before you met him. that grayness. that sinking sensation festering in your chest that claws it’s way down into your stomach and shreds it apart. you said that you wanted to burn, you wanted it to hurt, but this feels all too fast. too much.

sakura makes a noise in disagreement. “no, it shows that he cares about you. you just have to make sure you clear things up with him, and tell him that you like—”

“if you’re going to tell me that i need to confess my feelings to him, i really don’t think i can do that.”

“why?” chaewon prods. “what’s stopping you? he obviously likes you too.”

beomgyu. beomgyu is the fucking reason why. you can’t bare your heart to someone again, lest you get hurt all over again. after all that has happened, if yeonjun doesn’t reciprocate, it will confirm your worst fears — that you aren’t built to receive love, no matter how hard you try to mold yourself into a person that is deserving. dread churns in your stomach, rises into your throat like bile, acidic and fervid, as thoughts of worst case scenarios where you pour your heart only to hear “sorry, i don’t feel the same way.” you can’t do it. you can’t allow yourself to spiral again. however, you don’t divulge your reasons for holding back, remaining silent as you trace the patterns on the ceiling.

after a deep, shuddering sigh, you give them a three word explanation: “i don’t know.”

day eleven.

stepping off of the train into fresh air sharpens your dulled senses. the national park is beautiful, for lack of better words; thickets of trees spreading out in all directions as far as the see. the sun is rising over the mountains that stretch high above your head — you’re starting to enjoy this view more than the lifeless skyscrapers that await you back home. the train station looks more like a little lodge than an actual station, but you appreciate its quaint character. reddish-brown wood makes up the majority of the small-scale building. it looks like a place where people would spend the night in, with a warm, cozy fireplace in the wintertime, and wide open windows in the summer to allow the refreshing breeze to waft in.

meandering down the path behind the station into a field of tall grass littered with bunches of tiny, white flowers, you begin to reflect on everything that has happened on this trip. originally, you went on this stupid trip with the goal to find inspiration, and last night you had a very important realization: yeonjun is that something — you started drawing again because of him, you started looking on the bright side of things because of him, and most important of all, you fell for him. you didn’t just fall for him in the way an artist falls for their muse, no. you fell for him as a person. getting to know him has been one of the best parts of your trip, but now all of that has gone down the drain because yeonjun hasn’t responded to you in over twenty-four hours and you have not a clue what to do to try to make things right. if he doesn’t wish to speak to you, then that’s that. it’s over. whatever momentum this fleeting relationship had has been effectively pummeled into the dust that would blow away with even the gentlest of breezes.

you wish you could appreciate this view more. your paints sit in your backpack back in your room, out of sight so that you don’t have to think about them, nor hear their pleas to be used. although you now know why you lack the drive to paint and draw and generally create once again, no clear-cut solution to your problem comes to mind. instead, you wander through the grass towards a large, squatty boulder, climb on top of it, and plop down. your knees curl up towards your chest while your arms wrap around them, fingers tracing random patterns against your shins. fatigue solidifies in your bones, but the tranquility of the early morning the quiet tucks a blanket of peace over your body, swaddling the edges around you, cocooning you in.

you sit there, taking in the sounds and sights of nature, for hours. the chirping of birds sings a melody over the whisper of trees in the breeze. a deer leaps across the open field, disappearing into the trees, her fawn following close behind. bighorn sheep graze in the distance, their circular horns reminding you of cornucopias.

the rustle of trees and grass obscure the sound of approaching footsteps from your ears. it’s not until yeonjun begins to climb onto the boulder that you notice him. you hug your legs tighter to your body as he sits next to you, but not too close. an invisible wall separates you. he does not look remotely near your direction, his focus far out in the trees. staring at him, you wonder what to say. i’m sorry? i have feelings for you?

“i never met up with him.”

he still doesn’t spare you a glance. assuming he wants you to continue, you do. “i don’t know why i said what i said, but it was shitty of me to put you in that position, and i wanted to say that i’m sorry. i was just shocked, i guess. to see him. he ruined my perception of a lot of things, jjun.” jjun. that’s a new one. you are quite unsure where it came from, it slipped out before you could think. no matter, he’s looking at you now, and it’s your turn to look out towards the horizon. “trust, commitment, love…”

his gaze burns into your temple. you take a deep breath, fingers clenching the fabric of your jeans. “they’ve all been ruined for me. it’s hard for me to trust anyone after what he did. i’m terrified that the people i grow close to will wake up one day and leave me without a word. i’m scared that i’ll never get the closure i deserve when they do. worst of all, i’ve stopped believing that love is in the cards for me, like there has to be something wrong with me for him to have left me like that—”

“don’t. don’t you dare say that about yourself.” whipping your head around, you finally meet eyes for the first time in nearly two days. they aren't soft like they usually are when they look at you, but hardened, guarded. “there’s nothing wrong with you. you have every right to be hurt, and he’s honestly a piece of shit for doing that to you, but it’s unfair to assume that everyone that comes after him will be just like him.”

“i know, and i’m sorry. i know you’re not like him.” he doesn’t respond, and you begin to chew at the inside of your cheek. you watch an ant crawl its way across the rock beneath you. the small insect disappears over the edge.

silence. you begin to count the seconds. one, two, three, four—

“i’m sorry for not texting you back. i just needed time to think about things. a lot of things,” he starts. “i felt weird, for some reason. didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

you offer him a tight-lipped smile. “no, i understand. i forgive you.”

important words remain unspoken, but both of you refuse to address them. instead, his hand finds yours, he links your fingers with his, and both of you peacefully watch the sheep graze across the field.

day twelve.

not everything is fixed yet.

despite being on speaking terms again, strain pulls your relationship taut. the unspoken words from yesterday hang heavy in the air, but you can’t bring yourself to give them a voice. you want to. your voice won’t work every time you try.

sitting next to yeonjun on his bed, you scroll through various forms of social media, bookmarking work that you find particularly interesting in between catching up on your friends’ posts. jennifer has been thoroughly caught up on what’s been going on after a long overdue apology for not responding to her texts. she understood, of course she did. she’s known you long enough to know how you can shut down whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed.

“i’m proud of you for telling him. i know it’s hard for you to share, honey,” she cooed to you over the phone last night. “but you need to tell him how you feel before it’s too late.”

you know that. you know damn well that once you get off this train, it may all fall apart, a budding romance distinguished by reality. there’s no security, no safety net for you to fall into if you take the leap, and while he showed you an inkling of how he felt yesterday, who’s to say he’ll feel that way tomorrow? the next day? are you willing to tear your heart open for him to consume if there’s still a chance of him throwing it away when all is said and done?

you don’t know the answer to that question. honestly, you don’t know the answer to a lot of those questions, stuck in this state of self-imposed purgatory. to rise or fall, what is the best choice? you don’t fucking know.

“is that yours?” he asks from over your shoulder, at a ceramic piece in your feed made by one of jennifer’s acquaintances. his breath snakes warmly over the expanse of your neck due to his proximity, his head so close you could turn and just kiss him—

stop it.

“oh, no. um.” you shift away from him slightly. distance. some distance feels more comfortable right now. “i don’t sculpt. i just paint, and draw.”

he makes an ahhh of understanding, leaning back onto his palms, the mattress sinking down with his weight. he’s staring at you like he expects something from you. what shall you give him? when you don’t say anything further, he does.

“can i see some of yours, then?” it’s an innocent enough request. rather than simply press on your account, your fingers move on their own until you reach your gallery. why? are you really about to bare your soul to him? you guess so, because he’s gently taking your phone from your fingers after gaining quiet permission from you.

he asks you questions as he pulls up certain pieces. the thought process behind each one, what made you do this, place that color there, how you came up with the composition, what the meaning of it all is. you try your best to explain each one. sometimes, your choices were the product of spontaneity. you thought yellow would look nice at that spot, so you put some there. her nose is crooked because it gives the piece more character. the color of the drapes in the background are blue for no particular reason other than the fact that your reference photo had blue drapes. you continue in a cycle of question, answer, question, answer, and some of your answers are more emotional than others. you remember where you were, both physically and mentally, when making all of these. you remember the ones you made when you were having a bad day, the ones where you felt like you were on the top of the world.

then, he pulls up one that you wish he didn’t. it was buried so deep into your gallery that you have no idea how he found it — your most dreaded hyperrealism piece: a woman lays on her back, hair fading into the foreboding, void-like background. her face is twisted up into an abject sadness, a deep-seated pain that even now, you have no idea how you captured so vividly. her veiny left hand is splayed next to her head, thin crimson threads tied to each finger so tight that she has begun to bleed. the strings fall limp beside her, severed from their counterparts that meander off of the canvas. more red threads loop their way around her neck, pulled taut as if to choke her — and to her throat, she holds a pair of sharp-pointed scissors, hand gripping the metal tight enough to pale her knuckles.

it’s dark. it’s terribly dark and you wish he never saw it. why did he have to see it? why did he have to choose that one? the world tilts on its axis as he stares down at the picture of your most soul-baring work, though you think it would be worse if he saw the actual painting in person.

“what’s the story behind this one?” he asks quietly. your lungs expel all air, and you’re left gaping for more. breathe, come on, you have to breathe. your inhale is shaky, shuddered. breathe. say something.

“that one…” your voice trails off into something quiet. scared. “i made it when i was in a really— really dark place mentally, um. i made it mostly because—”

he’s looking at you now, concern shining in his irises, but you push on.

“because i stopped believing in fate.”

while you could say more, you stop yourself there. you hate digging — digging into your deepest fears and emotions that you keep locked behind a wall so that you never have to feel them. a pandora’s box sits in the center of your heart, wrapped with chains to keep them imprisoned. somehow, though, you think yeonjun knows what you really want to say: you meeting each other wasn’t fate to you, but a gross series of coincidences, and when he asks if you think so, you simply nod.

“but out of everyone on this train, i met you. i got to know you — shouldn’t that mean something? can’t that be considered fate?” he presses. something akin to desperation laces his words, an urgency you’ve never heard from him.

it sure feels like fate, doesn’t it? after all of those times that you ran into him, how he found you in the observation car when it was just you in there, how your feelings have unfolded like taking apart a paper crane in the short nine days you have known each other — it feels like it should be fate, you want to admit that all of it does seem like the universe’s divine intervention. maybe you running away was really just you trying to deny your fate to meet yeonjun while on this train. maybe him finding you was fate, an apology from whatever is above for what they put you through a year and a half ago.

“i think—” you hesitate. “i think so. it’s hard for it not to when i feel like i’ve known you my entire life.”

and you sit there and he’s smiling at you like you just created the earth with your bare hands. chicago passes outside the window. the sun shines high in the sky over the high rises, glints across glass panes and into his room. all you have is one more day on this train, and most of it will be spent sleeping tonight. he’ll wait for you tomorrow, right? would he wait for you forever?

“you know, i tell most people that my name is daniel.”

tilting your head, you echo, “daniel?”

he hums as he scoots a bit closer, planting his feet on the floor next to yours and leaning forward. his knees support his elbows as he stares down at the floor. “it’s my english name. i used it when i was in college, i use it for my work, but for some reason, when i met you, my actual name, my given name, came out instead. call me silly, but i think my heart knew you’d become someone special to me. i wanted you to use my actual name — the one my parents call me. the one my closest friends call me.”

“oh.” why does your chest feel so tight right now?

he sucks his lips behind his teeth for a moment. “yeah.”

sitting there, you wonder how you should respond to that. words expelled like an exhale of air, colliding with each other in front of your eyes, unable to be unscrambled by your mind. this time, it’s you who reaches over, closing the distance between you with a hand over his. his palm flips open to meet your own, your fingers linking together like matching puzzle pieces. you take a deep breath, and squeeze.

“thank you,” you whisper. thank you for being here. thank you for helping me find myself again.

day twelve (point five).

“i’m gonna miss you guys so much!”

chaewon is basically on the verge of tears at this point, constantly blubbering how she is going to miss hanging out with you every day as she pulls you and sakura in for a hug over and over again. sakura laughs as she pulls away for the thousandth time this afternoon. “girl, it’s gonna be okay. we’re gonna meet up for coffee soon, right?”

she looks towards you, and you give an enthusiastic nod. “right. i’ll invite my friend too. she said she’d love to meet you guys.”

chaewon’s pout doesn’t vanish, but she looks a little less emotional after all of your reassurances. blinking back the remnants of her tears, she nods with a watery “okay.”

you bring her in for one more hug while sakura asks, “have you seen him yet?”

“no, i haven’t heard from him since last night.” your teeth worry your bottom lip, peeling a piece of raised skin off. the sensation stings.

her lips purse sympathetically, a hand being placed on your shoulder. “i doubt he’d leave without saying something to you, don’t worry. he has to be around here somewhere.”

“yeah, you’re probably right.” as chaewon pulls away, you check your phone again. no texts or calls yet. doubt ricochets around in your brain, but you know yeonjun; he wouldn’t do that to you.

“i’d love to wait with you, but my manufacturer is pissed i didn’t call them back yesterday, so i should get going,” sakura admits with an apologetic smile. her fingers squeeze your shoulder one time before her arm drops back to her side.

“i should go too,” chaewon sadly adds, kicked puppy eyes in full effect. “my cat is waiting for me. my friend said she was a little demon the whole time i was gone.”

“it’s okay,” you laugh, shooing them away jokingly. “you guys can go. i’ll be fine.”

with a last group hug, they grab their suitcases and head towards the hallway that connects the train station to the subway lines. sakura twirls around, walking backwards as she calls, “keep us updated! we need to know everything,”

“of course!” you yell back, grin widening. chaewon turns back too to wave, and you wave back. eventually, the crowd swallows them up, and you are left alone to wait. a few minutes pass, and you realize that this sea of people will likely make it impossible for either of you to find each other. his contact is pulled up on your phone, your thumb hovering the call button. you look around one more time—

and he’s standing right there, mere feet in front of you, in all of his glory, long hair still flopping into his face, eyes still dreamy and all-consuming. you stand there for a moment, simply staring at each other with stupid, goofy grins overtaking your faces. long legs carry him over to you, and before you know it, you’re wrapped up in his arms and pulled into his strong chest. you bury your head into the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne.

“thank god,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. “i thought you might have left already.”

pulling back, you fix him with an incredulous stare. “what in the world made you think that? i was waiting for you.”

his ears tint an opaque red, the raised apples of his cheeks flushed a similar hue. he’s bewitching, and despite knowing that since the very first day — the day that you drew him for the first time — there’s so much more to him than looks to you now. he’s beautiful in both body and soul, in heart and head. one hand removes itself from your middle to cup your jaw, steadying your gaze with yours. your heart pounds, knees weak like a newborn doe’s as he stares deep into your eyes. blinding are the emotions swirling in his dark irises, but it doesn’t burn anymore. it’s more like the caress of the sun in the springtime, bright yet gentle in its own right.

“this feels long overdue for me to say,” he begins, eyes closing as if to steel himself. when he opens them again, resolve has been added to the mix. “but i have feelings for you. i’ve never fallen for someone so quickly. i’ve never met someone like you, and i just— i knew, from the very day that i saw you, that we’d have something to do with each other. and then we kept running into each other, and i just thought wow, this has to be—”

“yeonjun,” you call, interrupting his ramblings. he pauses, eyes wide and anticipatory, as your hand moves up to cover his on your jaw. you can’t help the tremble in your lips as you speak. “i feel the same way.”

his lips purse, hiding a smile, before he surges forward and embraces you for a second time. the pure, unadulterated joy that the action brings you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you’re almost…sad, when he pulls away.

“can i take you out on a date?”

the question throws you off kilter, and you have to catch yourself before you fall face first into his chest. “like, right now? with our suitcases and everything?”

“i’ve done much worse,” he chuckles, ruffling his hair, only for the locks to fall back down into his eyes. “but i meant later today, maybe? around six? i have to go take care of some things i neglected before i left.”

“that sounds wonderful,” you gush. despite your best efforts in keeping your excitement to a minimum, you bounce up onto your toes for second, heels sinking back onto the floor. you swear he mumbles a quiet “cute” under his breath before he’s slipping his hand into yours.

“perfect,” he beams, before he playfully continues. “shall we be off to the subway then, my lady?”

giggling, you fall into step next to him, your arm swinging with his between you. “we shall.”

*:･

he’s right on time to pick you up, dressed casually but not too casually. a cool beige, short-sleeved button-up is tucked into a pair of straight-legged black jeans that stop at his waist. the chunky converse on his feet cause him to be a bit taller than usual. evidently, he is distracted by his phone, head ducked down as he waits for you to show up.

“yeonjun!” you call out, causing his head to snap up. once he does, you find that he’s somewhat styled his hair back — most of it has been swooped back towards his ears. a few strands fall into his face, but his forehead is fully exposed, and he looks…amazing. sometimes, you wish you were a poet instead, because then you’d have the words describe what you were feeling, what you were seeing. his jaw drops at the sight of you, dolled up in a jean skirt and frilly tank top over a thin long sleeve, your makeup soft and flattering to your features.

“hi,” he breathes, and you repeat the greeting back to him. “you look…wow.”

“thanks,” you, biting your glossy lip. as his focus flits down to where your teeth dig into the soft flesh, you shyly smile, releasing it. a shock runs through you, new and carnal and it warms your stomach when he bites down on his own lip for a split second. “um, i know we didn’t really talk about where we were going to go, but there’s a thai place down the street from here, if you wanna go there? it’s my favorite.”

“of course,” he accepts, offering his arm to you. you loop your own through, standing close to him with your fingers pressing into the crook of his elbow. “lead the way.”

now that neither of you feel the need to skirt around your feelings, silence no longer lingers between pauses in conversation — both of you are able to pick it back up with ease. you meant it when you said that you feel like you’ve known him your whole life, and it reflects in the way you banter with him without worry or care. it’s…nice, freeing, not having to think too hard about what you’re about to say. natural. everything with him feels so natural.

when both of you are sated, in both terms of food and conversation, he offers to walk you back to your apartment. the sun is beginning to set, and the sky has faded into a wash of rosy pink. the hue reflects the giddy feeling churning in your chest, rendering you light-headed and dizzy and fuck you just want to kiss him—

and he does. standing in front of your apartment building, he swoops down and captures your lips with his. slow, unhurried, his lips taste sweet like thai tea and are as soft as clouds. no one leads the other, no one moves to deepen the kiss. no, instead, you and yeonjun savor the taste of each other, the syrupy, vertiginous feeling of your first kiss together. when he pulls away, his lips have a slightly swollen quality to them, though you’re sure own look the same. you don’t want him to leave yet. you want more, you want something carnal and irrepressible that, by the way he’s looking at you, he wants too. playing with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, you pant against his lips. “come inside with me, please?”

soft eyes darken, and he takes your breath away once more with another kiss, hands squeezing your waist. once he separates your lips from his, he rests his forehead against yours. nerves flutter in your stomach. “okay.”

you find it terribly difficult to keep your hands off of him as you unlock your door, as it shuts behind you. for a minute, you stand there, waiting for something, anything to happen — then he’s crowding you in against your door and his lips are on your again. although there remains an air of softness, urgency fills the gaps where your lips don’t quite meet as they meld together, his tongue slipping into your mouth to curl with your own. your shoulder blades press into the cool wood of your door, the warmth of his body against your front a dizzying contrast to your scattered mind — but you want more. you want him.

when he slips a knee between your legs and knocks them apart, you let him. when he presses that knee into your core, encourages you to grind against it, you let him, you listen. whining into his mouth, you tug at his shirt, at his belt loops, his hair — anything you can get your hands on, you’re pulling at it, grinding down harder as his jeans rub your soaked panties against your aching pearl. a cry rips itself from your throat, mouth leaving as your head is thrown back against the door. “y-yeonjun—”

“patience, love. i’m gonna make you feel good,” he mumbles as he ravages your neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. his hands have snuck beneath your shirt and smooth over your stomach up to the cups of your bra, squeezing the flesh over the fabric. as you raise you arms, he helps you pull your top off, the article thrown onto the floor without ceremony or care. his hands loop behind your back, fiddling with your bra clasp. “can i?”

“please,” you keen, and he wastes no time in doing so, expert fingers sliding the straps down your arms until your bra, too, lays on the floor. lips find your right nipple, enveloping the pebbled flesh in a warm wetness that causes your back to arch into him. one hand pulls you into him, while the other tweaks your other tit. his teeth graze it, and the stinging edge of painful pleasure causes you to shiver. he hums, vibrations causing you to moan his name louder, plead for him to do more. leaving your breast, his mouth kisses and laps at the skin of your stomach. down, down, down, until he drops to his knees in front of you, swiftly unzipping your skirt and pulling it off of you. lips find your thighs, biting down lightly, and you squeak, hand finding his hair and pulling. he looks up at your through his lashes, absolutely depraved and almost drooling for more. you gulp, legs almost giving out under you as you smooth your hand over his hair, pushing the strands that have fallen into his face back. “can we— can we move to the bed?”

immediately, he stands, pulling you behind him before he’s placing you onto the edge of your bed with great care. before he can fall to his knees again, you curl your shaking fingers into his shirt. “take this off? i wanna see you.”

with a huff of a chuckle, he does as you ask, revealing a toned stomach, broad shoulders, muscled arms. your tongue darts across your lips as you drink him in, causing him to smirk. “like what you see, pretty?”

“y-yes,” you stutter out, quiet and wanting and full of lecherous need. your thighs attempt to squeeze together in order to provide some relief to your pulsating core, but his legs stop them from fully closing. his fingers find your jaw, squeezing the flesh. your cheeks heat up.

“so fucking cute.” the praise sends a white hot streak through your stomach and into your center. your face is on absolute fire now, vision growing hazy around the edges as you watch him sink down between your thighs, your panties quickly discarded to reveal your center to his eyes. two fingers trace your folds before dipping beneath them to find your entrance. his eyes widen at what he finds, fingers coming back up coated in your wetness, glinting against his fingertips and knuckles in the light streaming in through your windows. “you’re so wet, baby. this all for me? a little kissing got you this needy?”

“mhm— oh,” you gasp when he brings the fingers to his mouth, sucking on them lewdly as he refuses to tear his gaze from yours. he moans at your taste, hot tongue swiping up the remnants that accidentally smeared onto the corner of his lips once he removes his fingers. his smirk returns, hands sliding under your ass to pull you closer to the edge of the bed, closer to his mouth. you sit up on your elbows to watch him kiss his way up your inner thigh, hands holding you open for him. there’s nowhere for you to hide, as he traces your folds with his tongue, dipping into your entrance and swiping up to your clit. crying out, your fingers find his hair in an ironclad grip. he groans against your pearl, your hips bucking up into his face before his arms snake around each thigh and hold you still. he alternates between circling the bud with his tongue and sucking it between his plush lips, spit pooling at the corners of his mouth as he loses himself in your taste. meanwhile, you’re already so close to the edge, you can feel your walls begin to clench around nothing, your hips jumping up as far as he allows. as he dips down to your entrance, his nose bumps against your clit, but his tongue is back in no time to continue its assault on your poor little clit. “jjun, ‘m gonna, please, ‘m gonna—”

“cum,” he mumbles against you. “cum f’me, pretty girl.”

with his permission, your head falls onto your sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your vision spots white. cries pour from your lips like honey for him to drink, but you never quite come down fully. rather, he keeps circling his tongue against your clit through your high, and as your orgasm subsides, another one already begins to build. tears prick your eyes as you plead, “jjun, no, can’t, i can’t, nonono— i can’t!”

“yes, you can,” he murmurs, removing his arm from your right thigh. his lips don’t leave your clit as you feel two fingers slip into your soaked entrance, smoothly thrusting in and out and curling up into your upper wall until he finds that soft spot inside you that has your voice shattering into shards of moans and staccato wails. he groans against you as he feels your walls clench, the pace of his fingers unforgiving as he coaxes another mind-shattering orgasm from your body. your fingers flutter around his walls, watery hiccups torn from your throat. this time, he slows down, helps you ride out your high, before he removes his fingers, licking his lips of your essence as he does. climbing onto the bed, he hovers over you, taking in your spit-slick lips and tear-lined eyes. he wipes the tears away with gentle motions, cooing when you whine. he sits there until you come back to him, lucidity shining in your eyes as you blink them open. smiling, you pull him in for a languid kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue before he pulls away.

when he caresses your cheek with his thumb, asking you if you’re okay, you lean into his touch, “mhm, want you to fuck me.”

“i can do that,” he laughs, causing you to reciprocate. standing, he slips his jeans and boxers down his thighs until he’s left in nothing, hardened cock veiny and flushed an angry red. you think it’s an average length, on the thicker side, the girth causing your mouth to water. as he runs his hands up your thighs, he asks, “d’you have any condoms, love?”

while you’d rather him fuck you raw, you know it’s safer this way. you point towards your nightstand. “there.”

as he fetches one, you scoot into the middle of the bed, watching him roll it on before he returns between your thighs, pumping his cock once, twice, lining it up with your entrance. his free hand grips your waist, watching as you move your hips to try to slide him into you. smirking, he presses his hips forward, cockhead dipping past your entrance. both of you moan at the sensation. slowly, he works his cock into you, little rolls of his hips until he’s seated fully within you, hips flush against your pelvis.

“move,” you whine. “please move.” and that’s all it takes for him to swiftly pull out and slide back in again. as he thrusts into you again and again, his movements grow rougher, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot each time. moaning, you reach up towards him, forcing him to lean over you so you can kiss him again, swallowing each other’s sounds. he’s just as loud as you, praises falling naturally between his breathy moans.

“feel s’good, baby. so fuckin’ tight and wet f’me. so unreal. d’you feel good, too?” he coos against the shell of your ear, warm breath curling against your necks. your walls clench around him at his desperate sounds.

“s-so good, jjunie,” you hum, feeling your third high of the night approaching. the knot in your stomach grows tighter as his thrusts grow sloppy, chasing his high as much as you are. a thumb moves down to rub your sensitive clit, quick little circles against the bud until your limbs are locking up, quaking as you finally cum around him. a few seconds later, his high hits him as well, his hips quivering as he spills into the rubber with a loud groan.

slowly, he pulls out, ridding himself of the condom and soon returning to the bed to plop down next to you. arms pull you in close as you both pant and grin tiredly at each other, basking in the quiet that permeates the air, and he stares at you, dulcet eyes boring into yours.

“what’re you thinking about?” you decide to ask, poking the center of his sweat-beaded forehead. taking a moment to respond, he pulls you even closer so that your noses almost touch.

“it’s just— there’s this concept in korean — inyeon,” the timbre of his voice raises slightly as he switches to his native tongue, and lowers again when he switches back to english. “that, um, it means…”

his cheeks are growing the slightest bit pink, a shade that reflects the cotton candy clouds that float past your windows. squeezing his hand, you silently urge him to continue, soft gaze finding his own. a gentle kiss pressed to his cheek, his jaw, naked skin pressed against naked skin. together, whole, one.

he starts again, “there’s no direct translation, but it basically is fate. strings of fate. i truly believe the universe has connected us in some way, whether it be through some invisible red string or another force. and i know, i know what you said about fate, but i can’t stop thinking about how we found each other. there’s something beautiful about starting off as strangers and getting here. i don’t know, i’m just rambling at this point,” he chuckles, burying his nose into the pillow under his head. “i’ve just never felt this way about someone before. i’m sorry.”

with a gentle hand, you cup the side of his face, forcing him to look back at you. “don’t be sorry, that’s beautiful, and i think—” you sigh, blinking back tears that threaten to fall. “i think you’ve changed my mind about fate. i’ve also never felt this way about someone before. i feel like you know me on some level that no one else does. you just. you just get it, and i—”

you don’t think this is quite love yet, but you believe what you’re feeling within your chest, tingling all over your body, is as close as you’ve ever gotten to it. he smiles, whispers a small, soft, “i know,” and lips find lips once more. hands find hands, and you feel alive. you feel like everything that you see is now in vivid technicolor, no longer masked by a veil of gray.

and when you wake up tomorrow, you think that you’re going to start a new painting.

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flightlessangelwings · 4 months

Text

What Was Unspoken, And What We Finally Said

Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word count-3.6k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), sexworker reader (respectfully), mutual pining, reader is said to have been with both men and women but her sexuality is up to you, unprotected sex, hj, finering, oral (f receiving), protective!Din, soft!Din, feelings, no description of reader other than body parts and no use of y/n

Notes- This is part a bonus Valentines fic and part a thank you for 5,000 followers fic! I would have liked to do a full follower celebration but since I'm low on writing time lately, I'm doing 2 gift fics for y'all instead. I just want to say thank you each and every one of you for following and supporting me all these years!

Since this is Star Wars, I looked up if there was anything like Valentine's Day and while there isn't one canonically, there is a "Lover's Day" that the fandom kinda agreed is equivalent so I used that here but it can be read any time of year since it's Star Wars and we can say it's any time lol! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

You were exhausted.

If you were honest, you weren’t even sure what day it was… or even what time of day at all. Things had never been busier at the brothel the last couple days, and you weren’t sure why. Especially today it was back to back clients for you. The extra credits were nice, and much needed, but by the Maker were you wiped out. But it wasn’t all bad. The brothel you worked at was safe and respectable and the clients almost always tipped well. You even had a lengthy list of regulars, which was nice. Many of them even came by today too.

The day started with a visit from one of your favorite bounty hunters, Fennec Shand. She was usually more quiet and stoic, but today she had an air of playfulness about her, and the smirk she wore on her face made your heart flutter. Later in the day, Axe Woves came by, and seemed more flirtatious than usual. He always left you with a wink and a kiss on the back of your hand, but today he left a lingering kiss on your cheek… and extra credits in tip.

But there was one person you looked forward to seeing more than anyone else. And he hadn’t come by in some time.

You let out a heavy sigh as you flopped down onto the bed. Wrapping your robe around yourself, you closed your eyes as you finally got some time to rest after a busy day. Just as your body relaxed into the plush mattress and you felt yourself about to doze off, there was a knock at the door.

“Coming,” you sighed as you pushed yourself up, ready to turn away whoever was on the other side of the door. You just wanted to rest for the rest of the night. “Listen, came you come back tomor…” you froze mid word as your eyes landed on the one person you had hoped to see, “Din!” you breathed.

“Did I come at a bad time?” he asked, tilting his helmeted head to the side, “I had a bounty in the area and I thought I would come by.” Since it’s been awhile, he thought to himself, and I missed you.

“No, no,” you ushered him inside before he could walk away, “Come in.”

The Mandalorian walked past you, entering the room while you closed and locked the door, “Everything alright?” he asked, noticing the exhaustion in your voice.

“Fine,” you replied as you crossed the room and sat down, motioning for him to sit next to you, “It’s just been really busy here the last couple days. Not sure why,” you shrugged.

“Want me to come back another time?” he asked plainly, his tone hiding his true disappointment especially after having not seen you in so long. Din truly looked forward to the days when he could come by the brothel and spend time with you.

“I think I can muster up some energy for my favorite client,” you replied with a flirty wink. It took everything you had to not sound like you desperately wanted him to stay, and even if you couldn’t even pull yourself off the bed you would do it for him.

Din tilted his head to the side slightly as a soft amused huff escaped his lips, “Your favorite, huh?”

You heard the smile in his voice. Biting your lip and subtly shimmying your shoulders, you closed the gap between your bodies and traced the chestplate of his beskar armor with your finger, “Don’t tell anyone else. They might get jealous,” you purred as the room started to warm around you.

Din reached in his pocket, pulling out a generous amount of credits and placed them on the nearby table before he leaned in closer to you. He cupped your face, tenderly caressing the side of your head in his gloved hand, “Your secret is safe with me.” Din gently rubbed his thumb against your cheek while his large hand cradled you softly while he pushed his body against yours.

“Din…” you breathed as your eyes fluttered shut and you allowed him to guide you back until your legs hit the bed.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured as his hands moved down the front of your body and tugged at your robe.

A gasp escaped your lips as the cool air hit your skin. But, you didn’t feel cool for long. Even through the darkness of his vizor, you could feel Din’s gaze on you, and you could tell he eyed you hungerly. The way his breath hitched whenever he saw you bare for him, the way his helmet tilted slightly, the way his hands gripped you just a little bit tighter… you knew all Din’s tells by now. And you craved the feeling of being under his touch.

“Beautiful,” Din sighed as he guided your body down onto the bed. He stood in awe over you for a moment as your robe fell open and framed your figure. His pants felt tighter as his cock reacted to the way you settled yourself, spreading your legs wide for him. Din let out a low groan as he tugged his gloves off. They were the only thing he ever removed, and he only ever took them off with you.

“Din,” you whispered again as the bed dipped as he hovered over you, “Let me…”

You ran your hands down his chest once more, imaging what it would feel like to feel his bare skin under your touch instead. You bit your lip when you reached the hem of his pants, and you expertly unzipped and freed his cock without letting any other sliver of skin show. You knew the trust he put in you, and you never took it for granted. You felt honored that he even trusted you with his real name- something else you held near and dear to your heart.

Savoring the groan he let out, you stroked his length slowly. You made sure to squeeze right where he liked it, and you let out a whimper every time a louder growl escaped his lips involuntarily. But you let out another whine when you felt his thick fingers cupping your pussy, and you mewled when Din pushed them inside you.

Pumping his fingers to the same rhythm as you stroked his cock, your moans harmonized with his grunts as you both prepped the other. Heavy breaths filled the room as you fought to keep your eyes open and locked on his vizor. Din rested his helmeted forehead against yours as he thrust his fingers deeper inside you, causing you to cry out louder. But, being a professional, you kept your wits about you and squeezed his cock harder in response.

Din groaned and let out an amused laugh, “Are you ready for me, mesh’la?” he cooed.

“Always,” you whispered back with a smirk of your own.

Another short huff echoed from his helmet as he murmured your name and pulled his fingers out of you. At the same time, you let go of his cock, your hand brushed against his as he reached for it to line himself up with your pussy. The two of you froze for a moment as your gazes met, and for a breath, time felt like it stopped.

A whirlwind of emotions ran through both of you as you stared at each other. It was as if you could both sense the other had something to say, and if you both had a secret you kept buried. Yet, it remained unspoken between the two of you. Your mouth dropped open and a deep breath escaped your lips, like you were about to put into words what neither of you would say.

Before you could, though, Din thrust his hips forward, driving his cock into you in one swift movement. Your head dropped down into the bed as you let out a loud, obscene moan as you felt the familiar stretch of his cock.

“Din!” you cried out as he reeled back and thrust forward again.

“I know,” he grunted as he felt his skin sweat underneath all the armor. You had an effect on Din that no one else did. He lost all control when it came to you, especially when he was inside you. And the way you moan with every thrust of his hips only made him come more and more undone.

You cried out in ecstasy as Din rocked in and out of you in a fast and steady rhythm. Tears filled your eyes as you clutched the sheets. He made you feel something you had never felt before. And every time Din visited you, it became harder and harder to deny your growing feelings for him.

Passions ran wild as Din picked up his pace, thrusting deep into you harder and faster. He growled from under his helmet as he felt your warmth engulf his cock. Grabbing your hips, Din gave one harsh thrust, driving his length as deep inside you as he possibly could.

The gasp you let out when he did that made his cock twitch, and Din knew neither of you would last much longer. Din kept a strong grip on you as he repeated the action, changing his thrusts to slow and deep and deliberate.

“Fuck… Din…”

“I know,” he grunted.

You moved your grip from the sheets to his arms as you clung to him for dear life. With every slow, deep thrust, you felt your climax inch closer and closer and closer until you finally spilled over the edge. With a loud scream and trembling legs, you came hard on his cock. Squeezing your inner muscles as you gushed between your bodies, wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body as Din continued to thrust into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

With a low groan of your name, Din came right after you. He spilled himself deep inside you as he drove his cock as deep as he could once more. Din kept his pace as long as he could, riding out both your orgasms as you moaned and groaned together, clawing at each other in desperation as you did so.

After one last thrust, Din pulled out of you. He watched as you collapsed onto the bed while he regained his composure. Heavy breaths filled the room as you both came down from your highs, and Din rested himself on the bed next to you in silence. His breath hitched in his throat as you immediately rolled close to him and nested yourself comfortably against his body.

“Hey,” you breathed, breaking the silence, “Is your bounty urgent or do you want to stay for the night?”

Din let out a short laugh, “He’s frozen in carbonite,” he sounded pleased with himself, “He’s not going anywhere.”

You smirked against his beaker chestplate as his unspoken acceptance lingered in the air like a comforting blanket between the two of you. Together, you laid in silence as Din wrapped his strong arms around you. Your heart pounded at the feeling of being in his arms, and you wished that it could be like this every night. But, he was a Mandalorian bounty hunter, there was no way that was in the future for you.

Suddenly, an explosion of fireworks echoed from outside, making you gasp and jump up with fright. Din tightened his grip around you, pulling you even closer and going on high alert. The two of you looked out the window as another color firework lit up the sky in the distance. More and more fireworks continued as the show went on, and in the distance you heard a crowd ooh and ahh at the marvel of the show.

Then the realization hit you. “Maker…” you breathed as you burst into nervous laughter, “Do you know what today is, Din?”

He turned to you but said nothing.

“It’s Lover’s Day!” you laughed more to cover the nerves. You just spent the evening of Lover’s Day with Din…

He seemed to mull over for several moments, his gaze moving down before he finally said, “So it is,” Din was quiet again as he turned back to you.

Even without seeing his face, you felt your skin warm under his gaze. Somehow, you felt all his emotions just in the way he held you, and as Din moved his hand and cupped your face your world felt like it was spinning. You savored the warmth of his touch, and you let out a deep breath as you leaned into his hand and closed your eyes contently.

“Since it’s Lover’s Day,” Din was the one who broke the silence this time, “Let me take care of you…”

“Din…”

Carefully, Din rolled your bodies so that you laid on your back while he hovered over you. Looking up at him, your breath caught in your chest and your heart fluttered as he pushed himself down and settled between your parted legs.

You let out a whine as heat rushed through your body. All you could do was swallow hard and moan in anticipation as you watched Din lean forward so that he hovered over your exposed pussy.

He murmured something incoherent before he rested his hand on your hips, gently pinning you in place. Not wanting to let go of you, Din used the leverage of your body to tilt his helmet up while he positioned his face over your folds.

A gasp escaped your lips when you felt his breath on your skin, “Din…” you whimpered as you closed your eyes tightly.

Din growled as he licked his lips before diving into you. The cry you let out sent a jolt through his veins, and combined with tasting you, Din almost lost all his composure. “Fuck,” he groaned against you before he lapped at your cunt again.

His hips bucked against the bed as he savored the sweetness of your pussy. Din groaned into you as his hands gripped you tighter, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And the way you moaned and cried out in pure bliss only added to the overwhelming sensations and emotions he felt.

Not having expected this, tears quickly filled your eyes and your mind and body floated in the pleasure that Din’s tongue brought you. With every lap of his tongue, you felt a shock of pleasure tingle through your veins. And it wasn’t because he physically made you feel good either. It was the act itself, Din putting himself into a vulnerable position just to lick and suck at your pussy, and doing this for you.

It had to mean something, right?

“Fuck… Din…” you whimpered as you moved your grip from the sheets to his wrists, finding just the tiny sliver of skin under his armor.

Din grunted into you as he pushed his face more against your body. His hands shifted slightly so that his fingers curled around yours, holding both your hand and your hips at the same time. As much as he wanted to murmur soft words of encouragement, to tell you to cum in his mouth, he also couldn’t tear himself away. From the first taste, Din was addicted to you, and he already knew he wanted more… Wanted you.

Your legs trembled on either side of his helmet as you felt your body warm as your climax was about to hit. Without warning, you came hard with a loud scream, arching your back off the bed and gushing into Din’s mouth as your cries of pleasure filled the room.

He slurped and sucked at your folds as he tongue hit your clit over and over again, allowing you to ride out your orgasm on his tongue. And Din greedily lapped up every drop of your release, swallowing as much of you as he could. His grip on you tightened as he moaned against your body, lapping at you until you couldn’t take any more.

With one final gasp, you flopped down limp on the bed as Din broke away from you with a huff. His helmet slid down to cover his face in one smooth motion as he sat up and licked at the corners of his mouth from under the cover of his armor. He watched you with captivate fascination as your breasts rose and fell with your deep, heavy breaths as you recovered from your intense climax.

There were so many words on the tip of his tongue. So many things that Din wanted to tell you. The tension in the air was so thick that it almost overpowered the smell of sex in the room. Din ran his hands up and down your body, gently caressing you and letting his touch speak for him instead.

“Din,” you murmured as you broke the silence and blinked your eyes open to meet his armored figure in the low light, “I…”

He moved his hand to the side of your face, not covering your mouth but the motion itself paused your thoughts. He said nothing as he pushed himself up to your face, stopping for a moment to rest his helmeted forehead against your own. As the two of you sat like that for a few moments, he brushed your cheek with his finger tenderly. Din whispered your name as he broke away, moving his hand to cover your eyes as he did so.

Your lips pasted with a gasp, yet you stayed still, fully trusting the Mandalorian. With your eyes covered by his large hand, your world went black. Faintly, you heard a hiss in front of you, but before you could ask what was happening, you felt something on your skin. His breath.

Din pulled his helmet up just enough to uncover half of his face. His lips felt cold as the air hit his skin, but he was instantly warmed again when he pressed his lips to yours. He swallowed the moan you let out as he kissed you for the very first time. Tightening his grip on you, Din pushed himself even closer against you, desperate to feel you as close as possible.

You surrendered yourself to him willingly. Tilting your head, you were mindful to keep your eyes covered as you deepened the kiss by parting your lips for him. Din eagerly accepted the silent invitation, and you both moaned into the other when you tased each other for the first time. The fireworks continued around you, but the only explosions either of you cared about were the ones happening between you.

“I know,” Din murmured against your lips when he reluctantly broke away from you.

You let out a deep breath against his face, and you knew he felt your smile against his skin. Din placed one last kiss on your lips, lingering on yours for several moments before he pulled away and dropped his helmet back down.

Blinking your eyes open, you grinned when you were met with the familiar silhouette in the darkness once more. A soft smile lit up your face, and it made Din’s chest tighten with the sincere look in your eyes. Just as you were about to say something, though, a knock at the door made both of you jump to attention.

Din was quick to stand and shift into attack mode. Out of pure reflex, his hand reached for his blaster, ready to protect you.

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist with one hand as you reached for your robe with the other, “It might be another client. Hang on,” you slid the robe over your shoulders and wrapped it around you as you moved around the Mandalorian.

He didn’t stray far from you, hovering behind you as you opened the door and recognized the man who stood on the other side, “Hey, I’ve got an overnight tonight,” you told him in a kind voice, “Can you come back tomorrow? I promise I’ll leave a time open for you.”

The man stuttered as he suddenly felt nervous as the Mandalorian glared at him from over your shoulder, “Y-yeah,” he finally said, “Sure… Sorry,” he mumbled before he turned and left.

Closing and locking the door, you turned back to Din and shook your head as you grinned, “He’s a nice guy,” you explained to him, “One of my best tippers too… So please try not to scare away my source of income.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology as he visibly relaxed. Din had no issue with what you did for a living, he only had your safety and best interest in mind. He had seen you mistreated once before, and while he knew it was a rarity, Din never wanted to see you hurt ever again. Especially not if he could prevent it and protect you.

“Let’s lay down,” you said softly as you reached your hand out to him. Your heart fluttered for a moment as he took your hand and allowed you to lead him back to the bed where you both made yourselves comfortable. Din immediately pulled you in close and held you in his embrace.

Settling down for the night, you never felt more safe than you did right now, in Din’s arms. Yawning heavily, you felt the exhaustion start to overcome you once more, and you knew soon you would be sound asleep, “Hey Din,” you muttered sleepily, “Happy Lover’s Day.”

Din’s breath hitched in his throat as you quickly started to snore softly. He looked forward to nights like this, nights with you. And it was pure coincidence that he happened to come to you on Lover’s Day. But perhaps it wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps he was meant to be here tonight… with you. As Din listened to your steady breaking while you slept, he leaned in and whispered, “Happy Lover’s Day, cyare.”

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burntheedges · 6 months

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Maintenance Request: Chapter 1

Joel Miller x f!reader | new chapter every Friday (fic is complete!) 18+ (minors DNI) | ao3 | main post & chapter list chapter word count: 2.4k

summary: Hot Construction Guy is the bane of your existence - he seems to only pop up at the worst possible moment for you, every time you see him.

There’s no way there could be something more there.

Right?

a/n: here we go, folks. this was my 2023 NaNo project. I’ll post a new chapter every Friday. there are 23 chapters and an epilogue. there is eventually quite a bit of smut, but it’s going to take us a little while to get there. see the main post for more info and/or the bottom of this post for a note about the reader. let me know if you want to be on the tag list! chapter tags/warnings: banter, drink mention (coffee), misunderstandings, romcom vibes, academia AU, modern AU, no outbreak AU, no use of y/n, mention of bra

Chapter 1

Wednesday, September 4 Second week of the semester

The day you saw him for the first time, you were running late.

It was almost one of those mornings, when everything that could go wrong did. But it hadn’t quite hit the tipping point just yet. Sure, your coffee maker had sputtered, smoked and heaved its last gasp before dying ignominiously on your counter rather than providing you with any coffee. And yeah, stopping for coffee had almost made you late enough to hit the bad traffic on the bridge. And of course, you were arriving just in time to have to park in one of the annoying spots on the ramp in your parking garage.

But none of that was a real dealbreaker. The day was still salvageable.

You took a deep breath as you turned on your blinker and finally turned onto the street with your garage. This was the homestretch — just a couple of minutes and you’d be parked and walking towards your office, not so late that you wouldn’t have time to finish prepping for your first class. The morning was still salvageable.

To your surprise, though, you turned the corner and saw nothing but red taillights. The entire block leading up to your garage was packed with traffic. You sighed as you joined the long line of cars, all completely stopped in front of you. You strained your neck to see why no one was moving forward and the hint of orange cones you saw near the garage was not encouraging. Even less so was the slow realization that all of the cars in front of you were being directed to pull a U-turn, one-by-one, and head back down the block away from the garage. The drivers of the redirected cars coming towards you looked frustrated, to put it mildly.

As you slowly crept towards the front of the line, you realized the problem was bigger than you thought — it wasn’t just the crowd of people in hard hats, or the cones blocking off the entrance. There was a spout of water reaching into the sky, 30 or 40 feet high, coming from the hydrant right in front of your garage entrance, hidden by the trees lining the sidewalk to either side. You sighed and closed your eyes. It was pretty clear you weren’t getting in there today.

You were definitely going to be late.

The driver in front of you began to pull their U-turn, and you finally saw the man directing this mess. In your mind he slotted right into the stereotype of a construction worker: dark jeans, flannel shirt, and orange reflective vest, topped off with a hard-hat and sunglasses. You barely noticed any of his features otherwise. You took another deep breath as you rolled down your passenger-side window. He didn’t step closer, so you leaned into the passenger seat and tried to make eye contact. He started to motion for you to turn around before you could even open your mouth but you pressed onwards.

“Any chance of getting into the parking garage?” You knew it wasn’t likely, but you had to ask. Leaned uncomfortably over the middle console, your voice came out a little more strained than you intended, so you tried to smile to lighten your tone. It felt more like a grimace. He was already shaking his head before you finished talking.

“S-” his voice came out raspy, and he cleared his throat. You figured he’d probably told at least a hundred people to turn around already this morning. “Sorry, ma’am. There’s an issue with the water line, no one’ll be able to drive through here for the rest of the day, most likely.” His explanation sounded rote, like he’d come to expect a bad reaction. You couldn’t tell if he was even looking at you at all behind his sunglasses.

You closed your eyes and took a long, slow breath. “Do you know where we might be allowed to park, since we can’t get in?” You tried to ease the frustration from your tone — the unexpected geyser wasn’t this guy’s fault, after all.

He nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. “They’re redirectin’ everyone to the South Garage.” He gestured and opened his mouth to say something else, but one of the cars behind you honked before he could.

“Sorry,” you said, leaning back into your seat and starting to turn. “Let me get out of the way.” You didn’t even glance back as you drove away, putting him out of your mind. Of course, it had to be the South Garage, you thought as you somewhat viciously turned on your right blinker at the end of the block. The South Garage was the farthest from your office and would take you about 20 minutes to walk from. Getting sweaty in your work clothes was always terrible, and the idea of it was threatening to turn your already mediocre-at-best morning into one of those mornings after all. And now you were definitely not going to have time to do any work before you had to rush off to teach your first class.

Ugh. You were going to be so late.

…

By the time you parked, gathered your bag and your coffee, and hiked all the way back to your building, you were a mess. Sweat was dripping down the small of your back and you knew your hair did not look like it had when you left the house this morning. You tried to remember if you’d replaced your office deodorant when you ran out last month — maybe? Shit. You hoped so.

You crossed the final path on the quad in front of your building, looking left down the sidewalk as you turned right to head towards the steps. You had no excuse, later, for not looking where you were going — just the relief of finally reaching your office clouding your mind and blocking out your surroundings.

At first you could only register two feelings: the sudden impact of running into something firm, and the unpleasant sensation of lukewarm liquid splashing down the front of your body. Without thinking you reached forward and grasped whatever you’d run into to hold yourself steady. You blinked. Looking down, you realized that yes, your coffee, which you had gone out of your way to get after your coffee maker broke despite how late you were, was no longer in the cup. It was all over you, splashed down the front of your white blouse. You blinked again.

Looking up, your eyes traveled across the torso of a very tall man whose (miraculously dry, coffee-free) shirtfront you held bunched in your fist. You took in his dark jeans, flannel shirt, broad shoulders, and scruffy beard, briefly glanced at his tousled brown hair, and finally, met his warm brown eyes. Somewhere distant in the back of your mind you registered that this guy was hot. Like, mind-blowing, turn-your-spine-to-liquid hot. Exactly your type hot.

You opened your mouth to say something but he beat you to it.

“You alright there, darlin’?” As he asked, he steadied you with a hand on the arm holding your now useless coffee cup. You might have been distracted by the endearment, or even the accent, if you hadn’t recognized his voice. That voice.

In your defense, spilling your coffee all over yourself was the final straw that tipped your morning from mediocre to actually awful. You could feel the heat climb up your spine and rise in your cheeks.

“You!” The word ripped itself from your throat before you consciously thought it. The volume almost made you wince. “Parking garage guy!”

He looked taken aback for a moment, before nodding. “Yeah, suppose that’s me.”

Your fist clenched more tightly around his shirt without you consciously noticing. “This is your fault!” If possible, he looked even more taken aback. “Do you know how far away the South Garage is from this building? Do you see the state of my shirt?” Your voice was reaching a pitch that your best friend Beth sometimes referred to as “channeling your mother” and you tried to take a deep breath to rein it in.

The man tilted his head at you and squinted a bit. “I am sorry about your shirt, darlin’. Didn’t mean to run into you, but you came around that corner like a rocket.” On another day you might have found this charming, but today it just added to your ever-growing mountain of small annoyances. It set you off again.

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You’re the one that made me so late I had to basically run to get here!” You took a breath. Ok, you needed to get inside. You really were channeling your mother if you were starting to blame people for things that didn’t even make sense. “Wait. I mean—” You started, planning to try and regain some footing in this conversation, maybe walk that back or even apologize, but he interrupted you.

“Nothing I can do about the water line.” He looked at you, and then looked down at where your hand was still fisted in his shirt. When he met your eyes again he had what could have been a smile but looked to you like a smirk hinting around his mouth. “Can I buy you a new coffee, at least? To make up for it?”

You forced your hand to let go and stepped back from him. Your shirt shifted unpleasantly as it clung to your chest where it was still soaked with coffee. “Um, no. That’s, that’s ok,” you muttered, not sure why he’d want to buy you coffee after you’d just yelled at him on the street. You cleared your throat and opened your mouth again, to say what, you didn’t know, but once more he beat you to it.

“Um,” he started, clearly trying to bite down on a smile and looking very intently into your eyes. Like he was trying not to look elsewhere. “You’ll probably want to change before class, I guess.” You looked down, taking in the damage now that you had put some space in between your bodies, and realized that your white blouse had become absolutely sheer. Right over your bra. Your lace-covered bra.

The noise that came out of you at the realization could have charitably been called a squawk.

Sweaty, coffee-covered, thoroughly done with a day that had barely started, and now flustered because you had basically flashed this man you didn’t know after yelling at him for no reason, you scrambled to cross your arms in front of you. The last, sad bit of your coffee sloshed out of the cup and landed on the sidewalk with a wet slap.

“Well, I— you— ugh. I have to go.” You closed your eyes and sighed before starting to turn away from him. Out of the corner of your eye you saw his eyes widen as you turned away, and you thought he might have started to say something, taking a step towards you.

Embarrassed, you didn’t wait around for him to find out what it might have been. You started walking briskly towards the door to your building, already trying to remember if you had a random t-shirt somewhere in your office from some campus event or other. Anything you could wear. Maybe from that Creative Writing Club event last month? As you opened the door, you glanced back at where he’d been, unable to keep yourself from glancing at him one more time. He was standing right where you’d left him, now facing you, clearly watching you go. You took in the shape of him and struggled against the knowledge that this was the hottest man you’d seen in months, maybe years, and you’d just made an utter fool of yourself in front of him.

You met his eyes once more and this time, he did smile at you. You felt your cheeks start to heat again and you tore your gaze away from his. If you were lucky, you’d never see him again, anyway — it didn’t matter how hot he was. He was probably just a contractor. What are the odds he’d even be on campus again, after the water line issue was fixed? You shook it off and started down the hall towards your office. Never mind whatever he was doing outside of your building.

You had a t-shirt to find. And a class to teach.

…

you (9:26 AM): [picture of a coffee covered white blouse, flopped on the carpeted floor of your office]

bestie (9:35 AM): shit (9:35 AM): wtf happened to you

you (10:32 AM): I ran into, and I mean LITERALLY ran into, the hottest man I’ve ever seen and spilled my coffee EVERYWHERE

bestie (10:33 AM): 😭💀 (10:33 AM): did you get a pic

you (10:35 AM): of the guy??? (10:35 AM): no I did not ask the random hot man who witnessed me pour coffee on my shirt if I could take his picture

bestie (10:36 AM): ok but how hot was he for real

you (10:38 AM): 😵‍💫 he was exactly my type, Beth (10:38 AM): like, could not have imagined him better myself (10:39 AM): he had a BEARD and an ACCENT and SHOULDERS

bestie (10:40 AM): shit (10:40 AM): I mean how bad could it have been, really

you (10:41 AM): my shirt was completely TRANSPARENT (10:41 AM): he could see my BRA (10:42 AM): and I yelled at him that it was his fault in that tone, you know the one

bestie (10:43 AM): 😬 you didn’t

you (10:43 AM): I did 😫

bestie (10:44 AM): ok well what did he do

you (10:44 AM): he offered to replace my coffee and I ran away

bestie (10:45 AM): 🤦🏽‍♀️

you (10:45 AM): shut up ok I know (10:46 AM): he pointed out my shirt ~issue~ and I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life ok

bestie (10:47 AM): well if you see him again don’t yell at him next time

you (10:48 AM): I don’t think I will I think he’s just some construction guy. I don’t know if he works here (10:48 AM): and anyway if I see him again I’m running the other way and hiding

bestie (10:49 AM): sure (10:49 AM): I totally believe that next time you see Hot Construction Guy you’ll run away (10:49 AM): absolutely

you (10:51 AM): shut up

…

You sent the same picture of your sad blouse to Ellie and she just replied with a laughing emoji, five skull emojis, a coffee emoji, and a thumbs down. You smiled and headed out the door to your class.

...

a/n: see you next Friday for chapter 2! update: I changed the formatting for the texts, I think it reads better? prev | next

note about reader: in this fic you’re a college professor, vaguely of English literature and poetry. You like live music, you like to read, and Ellie is your niece. You have a best friend named Beth, a sister who is having a rough time, and a difficult mother. I’ve avoided physical descriptions and most clothing descriptions, except when plot-relevant. You are vaguely shorter than Joel. No age is specified, but I imagined 36-year-old Joel here (and 14-year-old Sarah), and most English PhDs wouldn’t get to this type of position until they were 28 or 29 at the earliest, even if they went to grad school right out of undergrad. So you can imagine reader any age from there to mid-30s, or whatever you want, really.

hope you're ready for a long fic! we're at 80k and i'm finishing the edits on the rest.

tag list: @jupiter-soups (let me know if you want to be in the tag list)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #my fic #maintenance request fic #x reader

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sillyforjakesully · 1 year

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This account is runned by @scaryinkdemon and is a side account to save the best story's and the best makers for avatar here on tumbler, so make sure you go support and thank these people for feeding the avatar Fandom their deepest desires 💙💙 this list is all of the main story's that have a series to them

MINORS DNI

⚠️Warning⚠️

Some story's may contain NSFW, DARK THEMES, ANGST, SADDNESS,NON-CON AN MANY MORE/ READ AT YOU OWN RISK

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

Guide on status of storys:

Green: Complete

Red: still going on

Pink: most likely complete

Blue: one-shot

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Theses are the story storys (I'll have to make a a hc section later)

@starkay Why so blue?

@milknhonies the New Mission

@fluloa Wet series

@whoreish-behaviour Revenant

@abs-2020 Monster

@tarrynightss Lovers death

@nanaitesully Eywa's Chance

@blackbeauty15 Hurt

@justasimps-blog Sinner and Saint

@sarasarami10 Quaritch x reader (Fem recom)

There will be more to be posted later

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danceswithsporks · 7 months

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Calm Part 5

Part 2 of 6 in the Complete Series!

Wrecker x Seamstress!Reader

Parts 1 2 3 4

Authors Notes: phew! This chapter was so fast only because I had pre-written most of it about two months ago! I’ve been waiting for this chapter for so long to finally post! I really do appreciate all of you reading, liking and sharing it! Everyday I see new ppl liking and sharing it which makes me love what I’m doing so much!

Chapter about: Some long overdue truths are revealed.

Calm, it was so uncomfortably calm. None of the seabirds sang, the waves sounded miles away and even the Marauder's engines had died down. It was too quiet and calm for anything to be ok. Your eyes scanned the area around you until you found Chai.

Connecting the dots between why she was a sobbing, crumpled mess and the missing clone didn’t take you long. Tech had somehow been lost. How? You didn’t know and honestly didn’t care. Right now, all you cared about was Wrecker and Omega. You made your way across the courtyard quickly, ignoring the looks of the other clones as they watched you with sadness in their eyes, your condolences would be given later. For now, you just needed to be next to the two beneath the tree.

You didn’t speak as you knelt carefully in the grass next to Wrecker, his eyes still closed as he held the blonde against his chest. You could see by the way he was holding himself that he was trying to be strong for her. Reaching your hand out, you gently ran it against Wrecker's cheek, making him slowly look toward you. His eyes were so red and puffy. It pained your heart so much to see him like this. Your thumb ran across the scar on the side of his face and beneath his bad eye. “Oh, Wrecker.” Left you in a whisper.

Being strong in front of Omega was hard, painful, and nearly impossible. But after everything she’d been through, she’d deserved the time to cry without him fueling it. Tech had always told them that her emotions were fueled by those around her and they’d seen that proven more than once. So for once, Wrecker buried his feelings. Until you showed up. Your hand against his cheek was the comfort he needed. So many times over the last few weeks he’d thought about you more times than he could count. How he’d let you know his brother was gone and the clothing you’d been painstakingly working on for him would be going to waste. How he’d have to explain that he’d been too weak to pull his brother up to safety and had to watch him die. That thought alone continued to plague him. Your thumb ran across his cheek and wiped away a few stray tears and he felt the walls he was struggling to hold begin to crumble. But it was when you stared at him with those loving and caring eyes and whispered those two words, did they finally came crashing down. Unable to fight it anymore, he buried his face into the crook of your neck and sobbed quietly.

You fought back your tears as you placed a hand against the back of his head and rubbed it carefully, your other hand finding Omegas and holding it. How long ago did it happen? How long had they been grieving already? How long had he, all of them, been putting on a strong front for Omega? “It’s ok.” You whispered to Wrecker as you placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head. “I’m here.” A few tears trickled down your cheeks as you tried to be strong for the two you’d come to care for so much. “I’m here.” You felt a squeeze from Omega as another muffled sob left the girl. It was an uncomfortable position, but you’d stay in it as long as you needed to.

-*-

Nearly twenty minutes later Omega and Wrecker had both finally stopped crying. But you knew from experience that it wouldn’t be for long.

“Thank the maker that you got my message.” Hunter's voice was soft and low as he approached from the ship. The final checks were done and the Marauder was secured.

“Wait, you sent me that message?” So it hadn’t been Wrecker. Now the tone made so much more sense. You watched as Hunter nodded. “Why?”

Hunter sighed softly while looking at his siblings. “Cause I knew they needed you. Everyone was managing well before we made the final jump to Pabu. Think the realization of being here without Tech finally hit everyone. Just don’t know what to do anymore.” He’d tried for so long to calm Omega down while helping Wrecker keep his head. Hunter hated to admit it, but he was out of ideas on what to do. “I had a feeling you’d been waiting for a message from him, so I sent the message from his datapad.”

You stroked Omega's hair with one hand while rubbing Wrecker's back with the other. If the two were listening then they didn’t let it be known. For all you could tell, they were sleeping as they'd gone quiet. “I’ve got them tonight.” Was whispered. Your hands protectively around them both. “Go get some sleep.”

Hunter let out a long sigh as he rubbed one of his eyes. He was so tired. “Thank you.” Kneeling beside you, he placed a kiss on the top of Omega's head and placed a hand on Wrecker's shoulder where he squeezed it tightly.

You watched as he stood and before he could turn to walk away, you reached out and took his hand in yours. “ Hunter, thanks for messaging me and….I’m sorry.” He bit his lip and nodded to you before patting the back of your hand. Then he was gone with the others.

The thought of them being asleep was quickly pushed away as Wrecker pulled away from you slightly. You didn’t let him get far though. Reaching up with both hands, you cradled his face. You pressed your forehead against his and sighed softly. “Let’s go home.”

Wrecker was too tired and too drained to say no. Already he could feel himself becoming numb and from the way Omega was dropping her head, he could tell she was just as drained. With a nod, he sat back and watched as you stood.

You stretched your stiff joints for a moment before offering your hand to him. When he finally took it, you leaned back and allowed your body weight to help pull him up. He easily pulled Omega up and into his arms and rested her against him with one arm. Her sleepy head rested against his chest as her eyes fought to stay open. You slid your hand back into his hanging one and slowly you began the descent to your place.

The ten-minute walk felt like thirty as you walked in silence. Never had you heard him this quiet for so long, the same went for Omega. Seeing them both like this made your heart sit in your stomach like a rock. You understood the feelings they were experiencing all too well and knew that they’d be due for another wave of crying soon enough. All you could do was get them home, cleaned, fed, and in bed. Even if they didn’t want to do half of those things, you’d be there to help.

Wrecker remembered to duck as he entered your home behind you. The first thing he’d noticed was that you’d cleaned and moved out many of the boxes that used to clutter the main part of your home. The second was the six stacks of clothing waiting on your counter. The color scheme of the batch was easy to see and he felt that pain in his chest once more. “You finished.”

You followed his gaze to the stacks and nodded. “Yeah, a few days ago.” Stepping forward, you ran your hand against Omega's arm. “Omega? Let’s get you settled first?” You felt bad for waking the poor girl up. But from the looks of her it had been a while since she’d last showered and going to bed dirty wouldn’t help her through this.

Omega groggily opened her eyes before nodding. With a pat on Wrecker's chest, she was lowered to the ground. She watched as you turned and picked up one of the stacks of clothes. “Are those…for me?”

“Yes.” Your hand ran across the top outfit, a dress that Tech and Chai had thought she’d look nice in. “You can look through it all tomorrow. For now...” You moved a few of the garments before stopping and pulling a pair of shorts and a top out. “I made you some new pajamas.” Looking at Wrecker, you smiled softly. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Omega took the pajamas from you and ran her hand over the material. It was so soft and light, no doubt it would be more comfortable to sleep in than the old clothes she’d been sleeping in. She opened her mouth to thank you but you were already walking toward a room. Your words to Wrecker let her know that you wanted her to follow you, and so she did.

Once inside the room, you shut the door and placed the stack of clothes on the dresser. “In the ‘fresher that’s connected to this room, you’ll find a towel and some shower supplies designed for girls. Take as long as you want to shower. Once you're done, I’ll have some food and water waiting for you.” You stepped over to her and helped her pull off her dirty and tattered jacket. Tomorrow you would wash it and fix the holes up for her.

“I’m not hungry.” Came as a whisper from Omega as she watched you carefully place the jacket down. You moved to the dresser and opened the top drawer, pulling a brush out before you closed the drawer once more.

“That’s fine.” Came softly as you moved around her and carefully began to run the brush through her blonde locs. “At least drink the water. It’ll help stop you from having a headache in the morning.” Satisfied that her hair was knot-free, you placed the brush on the bed and moved in front of her. “Even if you simply pick at the food, it will be good to put something in your stomach. ‘Kay?”

“W-why are you being so nice?” The young clone leaned her head against the hand that you had placed against her cheek. You were always nice to her, like a big sister, but this seemed even nicer than usual. No jokes or funny remarks had been made since they’d returned.

A long sigh left you as you moved a strand of hair out of her face. “Because I know exactly what you’re going through. The pain that you're feeling.”

“You do?” When you nodded slowly, a sad half smile on your lips, her bottom lip began to tremble again. “H-how?”

Your heart hurt so much for the poor girl. “I’ll tell you another day. But know that I do understand.” Wrapping your hand around hers, you pulled her into a tight hug and held her close for a few moments. “Now, please go take a shower. I’m going to take care of your brother now.” Releasing her, you began to turn and head towards the door, but her hand stopped you.

“There’s something you should know.” Omega chewed her lip as you looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. “He… watched Tech die.”

“Oh.” Your heart shattered hearing that. It was hard to swallow the massive lump in your throat as you nodded to the child. “Thank you for letting me know.” You felt like that would be the end of the conversation, but she continued to hold your hand. “Yes, Omega?”

“Will he…” Omega choked back a few sobs that were already fighting to come out. “Will he be ok?” Wrecker was far from his normal self since everything had happened. It was like a piece of him fell with Tech.

It was hard to say. You knew from experience that people could go many ways while recovering from something like this. Already you could see that Wrecker was lost in his mind. Losing himself to the dark pull of his thoughts. But how could you say something like this to this sweet girl? You let out a long breath before forcing a smile. “He will with time.” You watched as the girl nodded while you pulled away. “If you need us, just call out.”

-*-

Wrecker sat in silence on your couch, his mind continuing to berate him for falling to pull Tech up and failing to keep Omega safe. He was the strongest in the group and he’d failed at being just that, strong. He’d sworn to himself that he’d keep it together until he was in the privacy of your room or the shower, not crying in front of the kid and making her more upset. But how could he hide his weakness from you when you showed him so much care and worry?

“Wrecker?” Your voice cut through the uncomfortable silence of the room. When he didn’t look up at you, you sighed and closed the space between the two of you. “Come on, time to shower.” You held your hand out to him once again, but this time he didn’t take it.

How could he tell you that Tech died because he’d been too weak to pull him up? To catch him before he fell? He’d promised to always catch you and anyone else he’d cared for and yet here he’d failed. He was a failure and a man not deserving of all this kindness you were giving him. You spoke to him but the words didn’t phase him in the slightest. To him it was like you weren’t even there, the darkness in his mind taking control of everything.

So that’s where he was at. You took a deep breath and took his hand in yours. Once again you used your body weight to pull him. He didn’t fight you at all. If this was any other moment, you may have felt hurt by the silence surrounding you both. But you had first-hand experience on what he was going through and you’d give him whatever time he needed to talk. Instead, you led him towards your room and the refresher within, making sure to lock your door in the process.

Wrecker stood in the center of your refresher as you moved calmly around his large body. A few candles were lit before the sound of the shower turning on filled the room. You vanished for a moment into the bedroom before returning with the wooden stool from your dressing table. It clicked quietly against the tiled floor of the shower as you placed it down before returning to the silent clone's side. No words were spoken from either of you as you slowly slid your hands around his armor and found the latches holding each piece to the other. Loud thunks and clanks echoed in the room as each plastoid piece fell to the floor.

The armor now gone, he stood before you in just his pants and black top. His boots had already been removed by the time you’d returned to him in the living room. Your hands moved slowly over his dirty and stained clothing, watching for any signs that he wanted you to stop. When no such sign came, you started to remove his shirt. A small gasp left you as you took in the new scars and still-healing bruises that littered his torso. “Oh, Wrecker.” What had he gone through? What happened out there?

Wrecker wanted to talk to you, to tell you everything, and bare his heart to you. But how could he when his mind was telling him that you’d leave him the moment you knew what had happened? His heart knew that wasn’t true, you weren’t like that. But the darkness in his mind was screaming so much louder. So he let you continue what you were doing instead. Dark, sad eyes watched the way you slowly moved around him, your eyes connecting with his every few moments before you looked back to your hands. Never once did you ask or demand an answer on what happened. You just silently undressed him.

His clothes were removed, and you took his hand and led him into the waiting embrace of the warm shower. The water soaked your clothes as you helped him sit on the stool. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to just slide off, you took a moment to undress and throw your soaking clothes outside the shower. You would have usually expected him to throw his hands all over your body the moment your nude form stood before him. That’s how you knew he wasn’t okay, he wasn’t remotely phased by your breasts in grabbing distance.

You watched as the dirt and grime and, what you hoped wasn’t his, blood washed off his body and down the drain. Trails left by the water littered his body allowing the bruises beneath to be even more visible. Around his neck is where you could make out the more angry-looking bruises, making you inhale and fight back tears. You couldn’t cry right now, you had to be the rock he needed. Grabbing your bottle of soap that you knew he loved the smell of, you lathered a washcloth and slowly but gently dragged it across his shoulders.

The lump in your throat continued to grow as more and more of his skin was cleaned and revealed. You’d studied every inch of him before he’d left and the sheer number of new cuts and scars made your heart almost shatter. After nearly ten minutes of silent washing, you finally broke the silence.

“When I was Omega’s age I watched my parents be killed in front of me.” You felt him tense beneath your hand. A subtle sign that he was listening. You continued to wash his back and arms as you spoke. “We traveled a lot when I was a child. Been to almost every major planet in the galaxy. Naboo, Taris, Alderaan, and especially Coruscant. That was always my favorite place to go since my aunt lived there. My father always wanted me to have a worldly view of everything. Didn’t want some random guy to try and convince me that Tattoine was some magical great place to sweep me off my feet.” He shifted beneath your hands and you could swear you heard a small chuckle leave him. “Mom used the trips as a chance to research new styles and we also used the time to get supplies for the island. We spent more time off the planet than we did on Pabu. It was great. I loved being in the stars and seeing all the galaxy had to offer. My father was even showing me how to fly our ship.” The lump in your throat felt like it was the size of a grapefruit. “It was…one of those magical trips where I lost everything.” Moving around to the front of him, you knelt and began to run the soapy cloth over his thick legs. “We were returning from Coruscant with a whole cargo full of fabric and supplies the island needed. I guess someone must have seen us loading because they attacked us as soon as we left Coruscant's jurisdiction. My father let me take over flying as soon as we were away from the other ships. I guess he thought we would be safe since we were still around Coruscant. He was wrong.”

“They were pirates…and slave traders.” You froze for a moment remembering the oil and dirt smell on one of them. His leg shifted slightly against your touch, hopefully, that meant he was still listening. “Their ship was larger and faster than ours. They docked and forced the airlock open. My mother didn’t even have time to scream before they’d put a blaster shot through her head. My father tried to protect me but they just shot his leg. They forced him to watch as their leader inspected the cargo…and me.” A shiver ran down your spine at the phantom feeling of the scaled fingers of the pirate lord. “Only after their leader was satisfied that I was…pure, did he offer my father the chance to sell me to him. When my father refused.” Your grip around the washcloth tightened and you forced down the terrified sob trying to escape. “They put a blaster in his mouth and…and made him choose. His life for my freedom. Or they’d force my father to watch as they each…” your voice cracked as you forced out the word. “Polluted me.” Wrecker's leg jerked slightly and you felt his heel slide around one of your legs, holding you close in his own way. “They lied to him. He hadn’t even been dead for a second before they were discussing how much I could sell for. A pure youngling. What pervert could resist that? I’d sell for millions they said, if not billions if they found the right buyer. They were about to load me onto their ship when someone blew up their ship. It was a Jedi, back when they protected everyone instead of leading a war.” Beneath your grip, Wrecker adjusted once more. This time he’d moved the stool closer to you, trying to be the looming safety you once told him he was.

The washcloth was lowered from him and you settled onto your heels. Avoiding his gaze, if he was even looking at you, you continued. “I don’t remember his name, the Jedi who saved me, just that he was a Nautolan with green skin, like his saber. He helped me get home, I don’t know what happened to our ship and I’ve never left the planet since then.” You visibly shook off the weight of your tale before standing up and moving to rinse the suds off of him. “Phee took me in after it happened. She and my Aunt planned the funeral and anything dealing with the array of the pirates. The Jedi had killed all but two and the leader. They were tried for their crimes and executed from what my Aunt told me. I didn’t go to the execution or anything that would have made me leave the planet. During that time I…I wasn’t good. I had nightmares about failing to fly my parents to safety. Or that if I hadn’t begged to fly, my father would have seen them and maybe we would have escaped. Most importantly I just hated myself. Why did I get to live while the two people who’d given me life, raised me, and where all around good people have to die while I was forced to live? Why didn’t he just kill me then and there? Those and hundreds more questions filled every space they could find in my mind. I barely ate or drank or slept and Phee began to worry. It was a year before I even stepped foot into my own home again. All I wanted to do..was die. That's all my mind kept telling me to do. Die, stop being a burden on Phee and the others. They had enough on their plates without also having to worry about some teen who couldn’t even save her parents. To me, I was useless and a failure.” You clicked the water off with a sigh before walking around Wrecker and grabbing one of the two towels you’d set outside the shower. “It took me finally talking to Phee and the island doctor to fully handle what happened and even then I wasn’t back to normal right away. It took time just to realize that I had people who wanted to be there for me and help me. That I wasn’t useless…or weak.”

The towel was wrapped around your torso before you pulled the other one into the shower and pulled him to standing. “I don’t know what happened out there and I’m not going to force you to tell me. I just want you to know that I am here to listen when you’re ready to talk.” Carefully, you wrapped the towel around his waist and secured it. “And that no matter what, you are not weak, you are not useless and…” you lifted his hand to your cheek and kissed his palm. “Oh Wrecker, you are so very loved.”

His thumb ran across your cheekbone slowly, wiping a few stray tears from your skin. It was his silent way of telling you he’d heard you and you’d take it for now. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” He followed you obediently to your bed where you instructed him to lay down. The blanket was pulled over him while you placed a sweet kiss on his cheek. “I'm going to check on Omega. Please get some sleep.” If he was ready to talk in the morning then that’s when you’d talk. But for now, he just deserved to sleep in the safety of your home. “I’ll be back soon.” His hand reached out and grabbed yours as you turned to leave.

“Thank you.” Was all that came from him before his eyes began to close and he relaxed slightly into the comfort of your bed. He wasn’t too sure if he’d sleep that night, he truly couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept peacefully, but knowing you were close and being surrounded by your scent would be enough to help him right now.

You stood in the doorway and watched him for a little bit. “I’m glad you’re home.” Even if he’d returned to you under the worst of circumstances. He was home and now it was your job to guide him through this. You carefully let the door shut and turned your focus to what you could do to help.

-*-

3 hours later

“Wrecker!”

Omega’s scream had you sprinting from your room to hers in an instant. Worried that she’d wake her sleeping brother. “Hey, hey. It’s ok.” You cooed to her softly while entering her room and approaching the bed. The still damp and frazzled hair of hers let you know that she’d showered and you could make out a sandwich missing two small bites. So she’d eaten some of the sandwich and taken a few sips out of the water you’d placed down.

“Where’s Wrecker?” Her brown eyes darted side to side for a moment, worry settling into her.

How much had she seen out there? What had she gone through to be this terrified? “He’s ok. He’s asleep in our bed.” You held your hand out to her. “Do you want to go check?” When she nodded, you forced a smile and led the way. Her hand held yours tightly during the short walk, perhaps worried this was all a dream. You poked your head in first to make sure the clone was covered before opening it more for her to see.

She quietly took a peek and sighed when she saw him asleep with an almost peaceful look on his face. “Has he said anything yet?”

“No. But that’s ok.” You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorway. “When any of you are ready to talk about what happened, I’ll be here.”

Omega stepped towards Wrecker and noticed you’d left the same tray of food for him. The only difference between her and him was that he’d eaten more of his sandwich than she had. “Don’t you want to know?” She whispered before running her finger across her brother's cheek. She took in his Lula tightly against his chest. So he’d left it with you, that made sense.

“I do.” Shrugging as you pushed off the doorframe and made your way over to her, you ran your fingers carefully through her hair. “But forcing any of you to talk about it before you’re ready would just make things worse.” Your voice was low while you spoke, not wanting to wake your sleeping giant. Taping your lips, you motioned for her to follow you out of the room.

“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that. When she first arrived at Mount Tantiss, Hemlock, and Nala Se had wanted to know everything up until that point. Though Omega had omitted Pabu. Opting to choose some outer rim planet she’d seen on the star chart. The door closed with a quiet hiss behind her and she took the opportunity to rub her arm. “Could I tell you what happened?”

You’d turned to head to the kitchen to get her more water when she’d asked her question. Fighting the urge to automatically say yes, you instead thought for a moment. “Is that what you want to do?” When she shyly nodded, you took a breath. “Ok, well I think we’ll need some hot chocolate first.”

-*-

Wrecker woke up in the early morning of the following day in a sleepy haze. How long had he slept? Wasn’t the sun just barely down when you’d all returned to your home? Turning in the bed, he expected to see you peacefully next to him. But you weren’t. Wrecker sat up quickly and looked around as the fear began to set in him. Where were you? “Sarad?” His eyes caught a pair of pajama pants on the edge of the bed with his 99 shirt. You must have left them for him.

The floor creaked beneath his feet as he stepped out of the room and towards the main area. The faint smell of caf and chocolate lingered in the air as early morning rays of the sun streamed through your curtains. On the couch, curled up into your side was Omega while you slept sitting up. Two half-drunk cups sat on the table near your feet as well as a tray of cookies, crumbs indicating that some had been removed. You looked so at peace with his sister curled into you, your protective arm holding her close. It was hard to believe that you’d been through so much and yet you now seemed like the happiest person he knew.

He’d heard everything you’d shared the night before, every dark and painful truth about what had happened to you and your parents. To know that you’d been so deep into the darkness, so lost to your thoughts that you’d stated that you wanted to die. It channeled something within him, pulled him from whatever daze he’d been lured into by his dark thoughts. If you could use the support of those around you to pull through this then maybe he could. It had been a thought that had raced through his mind all night. His dreams and nightmares were littered with conflicting thoughts of good and bad. That he was weak and useless against the knowledge that he was strong and needed.

“You are so very loved.”

What did you mean by that? Did that mean you loved him? That you were in love with him? When his sleep wasn’t being attacked by these conflicting thoughts, they were about you and how you cared for him so deeply. How you’d bathed him and fed him and cared for him when he felt at his absolute lowest. You were his rock.

“Mesh’la?” Wrecker sat next to you on the couch and gently stroked your cheek. A hum left your lips as your head turned and faced his. His heart fluttered at the sight of your precious eyes staring at him. That warmth and safety within them pulled him close once more. All around you that air of calmness drowned the twisting, swirling chaos of the darkness within him. “Hello, gorgeous.”

You hadn’t expected to see him up and about so soon, but waking to that cinnamon eye staring at you with love and adoration made you so unbelievably happy. “Wrecker.” He hummed at the way you sighed his name and your heart beat faster. “Welcome home.”

Home. It was hard to think that he had a home again. After the fall of Kamino, he hadn’t thought it possible to find a place to call home where he felt as safe and calm as he did with you. To know you called this place his home made a light inside him glow. “I’m sorry…” his words were cut by your hand cupping his cheek and stroking it gently.

“Don’t apologize. Omega told me what she could.” Before the poor thing broke down and cried herself to sleep. “When you’re ready. I’ll be here to listen.” Wrecker leaned forward and kissed your cheek gently before asking if you two could speak outside. Nodding, you carefully extracted Omega from your side and laid her down on the couch before covering her up.

He watched the way you stroked her hair and ensured she was comfortable. The motherly way you fawned over the girl and adjusted things around the couch and table so that she could be more comfortable. This was what having a home was like, wasn’t it? Someone waiting there for them that cared about them more than anything. Someone who looked out for them and listened to their woes?

Wrecker took your hand and led you to the private courtyard where the early morning sun warmed you against the cool morning dew. Seeing him out of bed and speaking to you was a sign that you’d gotten through to him a little. You placed your hands on the cool, wet stones of the wall and waited for him to speak. Instead, his strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, his face burying into your neck and inhaling your scent. A long sigh left you as you savored the feeling of him being close once more. “I missed you so much, Wrecker.” Your heart clenched as the words left you. So much fear and anxiety over what was happening to him out there was breaking free from you and you were doing all you could to keep from crying.

But of course, he saw through you.

“I’m sorry it took so long to get back to you. That I didn’t message you to let you know what was happening.” He felt you shift in his arms and your jaw moved to say something. Squeezing your side, he stopped the words so he could continue. “I should have been honest with you about what had happened and our plan moving forward. When we lost Tech it felt like everything had come crashing down. That everything I’ve known since I could walk was suddenly wrong. I wasn’t strong enough, I wasn’t brave enough, I didn’t catch him.” You wiggled in his arms and turned to face him, your sweet eyes watering as you listened to him. “Then the person we went to for help betrayed us and we lost Omega and it just reaffirmed that I wasn’t able to keep the ones I cared for safe.” His thumb ran across your cheek slowly, moving the tears away. “It made me worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep you safe as well.”

“Those thoughts are powerful, aren’t they?” You nuzzled into his hand and savored the feeling of his touch.

Wrecker nodded before continuing. “I felt it the most yesterday when we neared Pabu. When I realized that we’d need to tell Chai what happened…and you. I couldn’t face you being disappointed in me. I made a promise to keep you and everyone else safe…I failed, Stitches.” His hand slipped into yours and held it tight. “But then last night, you said so much that made me realize how I hadn’t failed, that it was my brain telling me I had.” Pulling you into his arms, he hugged you. “Thank you for sharing with me what happened. It made me feel like you understand what’s happening in here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Will you…continue to stay by my side? I don’t think I’m back to normal yet.”

So he had heard you last night. Your words had gotten through to him and you’d finally shared your story with him. His request made you smile softly. “Oh my love, I’ll always be by your side. However long it takes.” Your hand rested above his heart and for a moment you thought you felt it beat faster.

‘My love’ there were those words again. His forehead pressed against yours as he closed his eyes. “I love you.” He hadn’t meant to say it so suddenly. But the way you called him ‘My love’ just unlocked something within him. Yes, he was your love and you were his. He wouldn’t leave Pabu again, not without you.

A surprised giggle left you while he nuzzled against your forehead. “Hey, I was supposed to say that first. I’ve been planning on saying it for weeks now.” But it did feel amazing to hear him say it.

Wrecker chuckled softly while brushing his lips against yours. “Do you want me to take it back so you can say it first?”

You quickly shook your head while biting your lip. “No way. You’ll just have to think of a way to make it up to me.”

“Oh, I could think of a few ways.” Wrecker nipped at your bottom lip while lifting you off the ground.

“Are you two going to kiss?” Omega's voice broke the romantic air around the two of you. She’s been woken up by the loss of warmth from your body. “Does ‘I love you’ mean you two are going to get married now?”

“Omega!” Wrecker shook his head. Apparently, Omega had also been dipping into Hunter's romance holos. He pressed his lips against yours for a moment, savoring the early morning taste of your lips. Lips that he’d missed so much while he was gone. How could he truly think the owner of these lips would think him weak or a failure? After a few delicious moments against your lips, he pulled away. “Sorry about her.”

Your head spun from the way he kissed you. How those strong arms held you off the ground so easily and how it felt like every nerve in your body was reactivating after being in a long sleep. “It’s ’Kay.” Was mumbled from you as you tried to stop yourself from taking his lips back into yours. Making out in front of his sister wasn’t exactly on your list of things to do. He set you back down on the ground where you stumbled slightly before regaining your footing. With a quick fix of your hair, you cleared your throat and hoped that your cheeks weren’t too red. “It just means that we care about one another a lot.”

“And that we need to go over what Tech says about listening’ to other people’s conversations.” Wrecker bit his lip as he realized what he’d said. The last thing he wanted to do was remind the fragile child that he was gone. “Omega…”

“It’s ok.” She moved across the grass and stood next to the two of you. “Tech would have lectured me about how it’s not ok to eavesdrop and that it tends to lead to misunderstandings or hurt feelings.” The young blonde's throat began to tighten, tears trying to force their way out of her. Your smooth hand slid into hers making her look up at you.

There was a hitch to her voice that let you know she was fighting the urge to cry. “It’s okay to cry.” Brown eyes stared into yours, surprise resting inside of them. “It’s okay to yell, scream, punch something, and even swear. Though, maybe do that here only, don’t need to freak poor Hunter out. No matter what, it’s better than holding it all in and letting it build up.” You led her over to the chairs and motioned for her to sit down. When she did, you continued. “It took me weeks to talk about what happened when my parents died. During that time I became angry at the ones who just wanted to help me. One day I stubbed my toe in Phee’s kitchen and I just…collapsed. Everything came rushing out of me. I screamed and cried and broke a fair number of plates that I’m still paying her back for. After I had calmed down though, I realized how much lighter I felt. Keeping it all bottled up was making me heavier and angrier.”

“Every time I hear his name I start to get sad again.” Her small thumb stroked the back of yours while she looked at your hands. “Will that ever go away?” You mentioned your parents a lot and didn’t seem too upset when you did. How long would it be until she got to that point?

You hummed in thought for a moment before nodding. “It’s different for everyone. It took me a long time to hear my parents name or even look at pictures of them. Most days are good and I can easily talk about them with others or think about the good times. But I still have some bad days. If I walk by my father's favorite fishing spot or smell something that reminds me of my mother's perfume I’ll have a moment.” Large thick fingers threaded through your free hand and held it gently.

Omega wondered how long it would take for her to reach that point. To be able to step foot on the marauder without breaking down. She missed her brother so much. Sure he was hard on her when it came to her studies, but she always knew he just wanted her to be smart. “Other than that, you’re ok?” She watched you shift awkwardly.

“Well…yes and no.” Omega raised an eyebrow to your response and you realized it was time to be honest. “Because of what happened, I developed a fear…of starships.” You swallowed. “I haven’t left the planet since my parents' death.”

“Not even once?” The blonde's eyes widened at the new information. “You’ve never wanted to leave?” She wasn’t entirely sure what had happened to make you afraid to leave the planet, but as someone who never left her home until recently, she found it hard to believe you never wanted to leave.

You pulled your hands from both Omega and Wrecker before slapping your thighs and standing up. “Oh I’ve wanted to leave, but every time I step on a ship I begin to panic and have to step off.” It was hard to explain to a child, even one as brilliant as Omega, it was all so delicate.

Wrecker had remembered you stating you hadn’t left the planet since their death, but he hadn’t realized it was due to fear and not desire. After what happened though, could he blame you? He couldn’t bring your parents back or get revenge on the pirates who’d killed them. But perhaps he could help in other ways. “How about we continue this later?” He stood and walked behind you, his arm circling your waist and pulling you close. “I’m starving and have missed the best food in the galaxy.”

Stars, bless this man for changing the topic. A lump had formed in your throat throughout the entirety of this conversation and you had found yourself drawn to that edge of sadness once more. But you hadn’t wanted to make this day about your sadness. You’d wanted to make it about getting them to be a little bit better. “I put the rest of your clothes in your room last night, Omega. How about you go try one of the outfits on? Wrecker and I need to wash up before I start cooking.”

“Is that code for you two wanting some alone time?” Why couldn’t the adults just say they wanted alone time? Why did they have to be so cryptic about it? “You know, one day I’ll be old enough to talk with the adults too.”

“You will, and when that happens we’ll have lots to talk about.” Your hand ran against her cheek gently. “I’ll even braid your hair like I did that day at the beach if you want me to?”

Well, she did like how her hair looked that day. “Fine.” With a huff, she crossed her arms and headed back into the house.

Only once he was sure she was gone did Wrecker decide to speak, though it was more like a whisper. “I’m afraid of heights.” He held you close as he shared his fear with you. You’d shared yours and it only seemed right. “Not the height itself, but the fall that could happen.”

“I figured.” Your arms snaked around his waist and held him close. “Thanks for changing the topic. Thought I’d be ok, guess I was wrong.”

Wrecker nuzzled your cheek while threading his fingers through your hair. “Just shows that you're still healing as well.”

You hadn’t realized it the night before, but he hadn’t shaved in a while and now his stubble was tickling your skin. “Thank the stars I have you here to help me then.” Raising your hand to his cheek, you let your fingers dance against his stubble. “I like this.”

He’d be here to help you however he could, just like you’d vowed to be there for him. “Yeah? Think I should keep it?” He rubbed his chin in thought.

Now there was a thought. “Hmmm, maybe. But we should probably make sure I like it everywhere.”

“Think you’ll like it less on the docks?” He wasn't exactly sure he was following her reasoning.

Stars, he was adorable. “We can definitely give it a go down at the docks one night.” A mischievous grin crossed your lips as you pulled him down and into a kiss. “But I was thinking we should try it out in the bedroom first.”

It was like a brick had hit him in the head. “Oh,” that made so much sense now that he thought about it. He lifted you into his arms easily, your legs wrapping around his waist, while pressing his lips against yours. “Anywhere in particular you were thinking about in there?” He watched you bite your lip in excitement, the gesture causing him to realize how loose-fitting the pajama pants truly were. “Better hope Omega is in her room.” A growl came from him as he tried to adjust himself.

“Put me down and I’ll go check.” You wiggled against him but froze when you felt something rub against your heat. “Oh.”

You were the only thing blocking his growing member from view. “I just realized how long it’s been since I came with you.” His lips ran against your ear making you shiver in his arms. Wrecker loved knowing he had this effect on you.

It had been almost a month since your last call with each other. After being told Hunter and the others knew about what happened, it had made things awkward. Your head fell forward and rested against his neck as he continued to nip at your ear. “I’ve been dying to feel you in me again.” His big hand squeezed your ass making you moan into his neck, your teeth dragging against his skin. His hips rolled against you and you whined softly.

Wrecker moved far faster than he thought possible as he carried you towards the bedroom, only glancing briefly around the living room and hallway to see if Omega was around. The shut door to the girl's room let him know she was in there currently. Your door shut with a hiss before the click of the lock could be heard. “Now, be a good girl and be as silent as a mouse. Don’t want ‘mega to hear those cute little noises you make.”

Something about the way he demanded you be a good girl had you turning to absolute putty in his hands as he deposited you onto the bed. The tent in his pants left very little to the imagination with how loose you’d made them. You licked your lips in anticipation of the fun about to happen but a flash in his eyes made your head clear for a moment. “Wrecker?”

The large clone was in the process of crawling up the bed towards you when he heard the trepidation in your voice. “Are you okay?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing. We don’t..” His lips pressed against yours to silence you. It wasn’t a kiss like he usually gave you, filled with sweetness and love. This was a kiss of desperation filled with the need to be grounded. For something to be in his control and go right. “Take what you need, my love.”

His lips brushed against your skin and peppered needy kisses from your ear to your throat. Fingers pulled at the shirt you wore, desperation radiating off of him with each kiss. You rubbed your leg against the inside of his, drawing a low growl that made your pussy clench. The cool air of your room hit your skin as Wrecker nearly ripped your shirt off, your shorts following soon after. You whimpered beneath his touch, the feeling almost animalistic.

“Love this body.” Wrecker kissed the dip in your throat before moving to the valley between your breasts. “Love your breasts.” He kissed each one to emphasize his words. “Love your laugh.” His lips brushed the sensitive skin of your stomach, making you giggle softly. “Love your kriffin scent.” His face found the space between your legs and without hesitation, he buried his face within the safety of your thighs. He inhaled deeply and felt his cock twitch at the needy scent of your heat. “And this pussy. Kriff. This pussy is everything I’ve dreamed about. I fucking love it so much.” He dragged his tongue slowly across your lips causing you to gasp and writhe beneath him. His hand rested on your stomach, holding you down before he removed himself from between your legs. Large brown eyes stared up at you for a moment before he crawled up your body and kissed you once more. “Most importantly, I love you.”

You could taste yourself on his lips and it turned you on so much. How were you supposed to be silent when he kissed and licked you so perfectly? Fuck, how would you be silent when he started fucking you! Your arms wrapped around his neck and held his face close to yours while you stared into his adoring eye. When he said he loved you it just did something to your heart. Your nails trailed across the nape of his neck, stroking the tender flesh as you pulled him into another deep kiss. Tongues danced with one another while he rutted against you, your taste continuing to make you squirm. “I love you, Wrecker. So much.” Was whispered between light kisses.

Wrecker could listen to you tell him how much you loved him all day, every day. His hand gripped yours above your head and squeezed it tightly for a moment before he lowered himself to the glistening prize between your legs once more. “Now, let’s see if you’ll enjoy this.” A long lick was pressed against your folds before he fully buried his face within. His arms moved under your thighs and pulled your legs tight around his head causing his stubble to rub your skin.

“Fuuuck” was all you could manage to drawl as the stimulation from his stubble and his tongue drove you absolutely mad. You felt his tongue stop moving, making you whine at the sudden stillness. “W-why?”

He placed a nip against the delicate flesh of your inner thigh. “Told ya to be quiet, Sarad. Every time ya get too loud, I’ll stop.”

It was so unfair! How did he expect you to be so quiet when his tongue was so wonderful? “Please.” You tried to squeak the words out in hushed tones. He nipped the inside of your thigh once more, making your hand fly to your mouth to suppress the desperate cry that escaped.

“Much better.” Grumbled from the clone as he returned his lips to yours. He suckled your clit for a moment, savoring the way you squirmed against his hold.

The way he sucked and licked you was nearly pushing you over your edge already. The added stimulation from his growing beard was almost too much. You cried and moaned into your wrist as you bit the flesh trying to silence yourself. He was just too amazing at what he was doing and the moment that tongue of his slipped into your cunt, you were done. You clenched and wailed around his tongue as you orgasmed for the first time in nearly a month. It was intense and blinding and even though he said he would stop if you became too loud, he didn’t. He allowed you to come in a muffled scream that was probably just a dash too loud, but fuck if you cared. All that mattered right now was savoring and riding the delicious high he was sending through you.

Maker, did he love it when you clenched around him. Whether it was his tongue, fingers, or his cock. Whenever you did it it made him feel amazing. But he was a weak man and his own needs were growing uncomfortable. He lapped at your release like a man dying of dehydration, so sweet and explosive on his tongue. Light years better than anything he’d tasted before, even his precious Mantell mix. Sitting back on his heels, he wiped the slick from his beard before licking the essence from his fingers with one hand while the other began to untie his pants. “Let’s see if you can stay quiet while ya take my cock, goddess.”

You watched in hungry desire as he stood from the bed and pulled his pants off, his shirt following right after. His cock bounced with each step he took back to you making you squirm in anticipation. Raising your hand towards him, you moved to grab his cock and offer your assistance. But he grabbed your hand and pinned it above your head easily. “Might need your help staying quiet.” You wiggled and whined as the head of his cock teased your entrance. Already your desire was growing at the thought of him finally being inside you. There was something about the length and girth of him that just hit everything right.

Wrecker smirked while hiking your thighs around his waist. He leaned over your torso and pressed a hard kiss to your lips. His hand snaked down between your bodies and played with your bud for a moment, eliciting more muffled whines from you. “Such sexy little noises from these lovely lips.” Grabbing his cock, he rubbed the tip against your release and lubed himself up before pressing against your entrance. “Not a sound, Sarad. Be a good girl and you’ll get all of this.”

“Mmmm. Stop teasing.” Left you in a begging whisper. He only smirked at you while slowly, almost painfully slow, he pushed into you. Grunts and moans left you both as he slowly stretched you, the pain turning into pleasure with each gentle thrust. Even when he was desperate, he was gentle. Within moments he was bottoming out inside of you, filling you to the brim with just his cock and you swore your belly was bulging from it. Wrecker moved his hand to your cheek and gently stroked the smooth skin as he allowed you to adjust to his size.

“Okay?” He knew his size was big and no matter how many times the two of you fucked you would still need time to adjust to him. While he gave you a moment, he took the time to admire your sweet face. The way your lips curved so you always looked like you were smiling and how your eyes stared into his eyes with absolute love. Maker, he’d never get over how incredibly stunning you were and how much you cared for him. After a moment, you nodded and shifted closer to him. Indicating that you were ready for him to continue. “Not gonna lie to ya. Just being inside this tight pussy of yours already has me close. Been far too long without ya.”

You loved how honest he was being with you. “Trust me.” A whimper left you as he pulled away slowly just to sink back in with a loud thump. Your bodies slapped against one another and you swore it was loud enough for the girl to hear. “You being in me is already driving me close.” He thrust into you as you finished your sentence making you gasp loudly. His hand flew to your mouth to quiet you and it felt like something new was suddenly unlocked.

Wrecker watched through lidded eyes as you suddenly took the hand covering your mouth, turned it slightly, and took three of his fingers into your mouth. His eyes fluttered as your tongue began to work his fingers like you were working his cock. “Fuck, Sarad. That’s right. Suck on these fingers, keep that pretty mouth n-nice and bu-“ his words cut off as your pussy clenched around him sending a wave of pleasure through his system. Between the stimulation of your tongue on his sensitive fingertips and your pussy holding him just right, he was about to fall over the edge and cum.

“Ah. W-Wrecker.” He was hitting that spot inside you just right. The words left you in a quiet garbled mess thanks to the fingers in your throat at this point. The forced silence added to the pleasure building within you and as another garbled cry of pleasure left your lips, you swore you felt his cock twitch inside of you. Large arms wrapped around your body and pulled you into a sitting position with him. Sitting in his lap now, you felt his cock rub that spongy part inside you perfectly making you bounce in his lap in desperation. Thick fingers dug into your side as he helped you with leverage as well as force. Every time you rose off of him, he used his strength to impale you once more.

Something shifted inside Wrecker as he continued to impale you on his cock. The desperation for his release became too much. His arms wrapped around your body and held you close while his speed and ferocity increased. Your face fell into his shoulder where you bit into his flesh in hopes of muffling your ecstasy-filled screams. The feeling of your pussy clenching around him as you orgasmed was enough to push him over his edge and quickly he was cumming with you in a crazed blinding flash. His thrusts stuttered but continued their brutal pace as he pumped you full of his seed, wanting every drop possible to cover your walls.

You moaned as the pleasure became pain from the overstimulation he’d given you. “W-wrecker. Ah.” His face was in the crook of your neck and you could hear him muttering something repetitively as he practically fucked his seed out of you. Pushing through the pain, you strained to understand what he was saying and after only a few moments you’re finally we’re able to make sense.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I failed.”

“I need to be stronger.”

“Need to protect you. To deserve you.”

The words were repeated until you stroked the back of his head and softly cooed his name. It was like he was broken out of whatever trance he’d been in. Wrecker looked down at his lap and inhaled sharply at the obscene mess there. Combined release soaked his legs and your thighs while drops of blood littered your sides where he’d been gripping you fiercely earlier. “Sarad, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He moved to pull away from you and give you space. But your ankles locked behind his back and held him close. “Please… I’ve…I’ve hurt you.”

“All the more reason for you to stay still and make it better.” You stroked the side of his cheek carefully while trying to get him to look at you. “Wrecker, I’m ok. Tender. But I’m ok.”

He couldn’t look at you right now, not after being as rough as he had been with you. “B-but. You’re bleeding.” Moving his thumb to your side, he stroked one of the nail punctures. You winced slightly and his heart dropped. He’d hurt you when he was supposed to be protecting and loving you. Gentle fingers wiped away a few of the tears that had escaped his eyes. He hadn’t realized he’d started crying

“I bleed a lot from work and other reasons. I’m ok, my love. I promise.” Your nose ran across the tip of his trying to get him to make eye contact with you. When he finally looked at you, you smiled softly. “I will say that sex may have to wait a few more days. Think I’ll be unable to sit for a while.” He opened his mouth to apologize once more but you raised a finger to his lips, silencing him. “But I loved every moment of it.” His bottom lip quivered as you continued to speak. “You deserve me, Wrecker.”

So you had heard him while he was in his trance. You stated that he deserved you and it broke something within him making him crumble into your shoulder. Cries and sobs shook from the gentle giant still slotted between your legs, your hands rubbing his back the entire time. “He was right there. If I had been stronger I could have pulled him up. I could have saved him.”

Omega had told you what little she knew about what had happened before Tech had fallen. “You were being fired at by enemies. The tram was about to fall. You did all you could.” Wrecker shook in your arms and you shushed him softly. He needed to get this out of his system, to do what you’d told Omega to do earlier. Cry.

He tried to listen to your words and truly understand what you were saying. But the darkness in his mind was telling him that he’d failed his brother and your friend. Your poor friend who’d never get to know how much Tech cared for her. Whose scream of anguish he’d never get out of his head.“But Chai…”

“Chai will understand with time. She’s hurt right now, as we all are, but she understood the risk you were all putting yourselves in. Just like I did.” Leaving back, you pulled his head from your shoulder and stroked his cheek once more. “That’s why we care for you so much and why I love you. You’re soldiers and protectors who put those you care for first.” You pressed your forehead against his and hummed for a moment. “Please. Take what you need from me to help you.” All you wanted at this point was to give him whatever support you could.

Wrecker sighed against your forehead, his nose brushing against the tip of yours. “All I need right now is for you to be safe.”

Your lips pressed against his in one of the most passionate kisses you’d shared with him so far. It made your eyes flutter and your heart skip a beat. His hands cradled your face protectively as he finally freed you from his grasp, a few shaky sobs leaving him still. This wonderful, sweet, perfect man was being so vulnerable in your arms right now. Gentle fingers rubbed his tears away as you pulled back and smiled at him with tears in your eyes. “With you here, I am safe.”

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id0what1want · 5 months

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Same anon as the battle quotes one and I’m so happy you liked my ask! Was a little nervous. Curious on how she’d react to being transported to Hisui, mainly reactions to like. The Galaxy team, the way of life, stuff like that!

Also if you want to do the battle aspect, it’d be interesting to see her quotes for how she’d react to seeing an Alpha for the first time, getting hit by a wild Pokémon’s attack, fall damage, being spotted while sneaking up on a mon, low HP for herself, battling a Noble Mon and stuff like that as well! :>

No need to be nervous anon, I don't bite!! Cereza totally does tho

This is incredibly interesting! I love the mask maker Kieran au in Hisui so I might piggyback off of that! Cereza would be bewildered at first, but considering the wild events of the story, would quickly shrug and be like "yeah that checks". Especially cuz of the whole SadaTuro time travel shenanigans. Honestly she likely ended up in Hisui by fucking with the lab in Area Zero when she definitely should not have.

Cereza would make a beeline for every Pokemon she doesn't recognize, she would be an amazing member of the Galaxy Team but I think they'd be scared senseless of her. I feel like she'd definitely squint really hard at a few characters due to their resemblance to characters she knows *cough* Adaman *cough* The way of life definitely reminds her of Kitakami and it does make her homesick. She was forced to spend multiple months away from Kieran and now time travel has come back to bite her in the ASS and takes her away from him again, she's definitely pissed. If she still has her Tera Orb and Miraidon (both of which she keeps hidden except from maybe the professor and anyone who's tech savvy) she's trying to reverse engineer a way home through them. On that note, I'd love to see them find each other in the mask maker au, that'd be dope. She's very upset that she doesn't have her Pokemon with her. If any of them are with her, it'd either be her Corviknight or her Dragapult, both never leave her side. I'm airing on the side of Charon, her Corviknight. (I have to do her pokemon team post sooo bad :') If Charon is with her, she would refuse to let anyone remove him from her side. If anyone tries, she quickly gets violent. I imagine she does copious amounts of research as a way to distract herself, which she already does in her own time anyway but now she has a whole new TIME PERIOD to record. She feels like Director Clavell when she has to write the pages to her own Pokedex. She does recognize a few Pokemon and puts two and two together, for example Perrin's Hisuian Growlithe, Basculegion is native to Kitakami, and Kleavor can be found in the Canyon Biome of the Terrarium. For this reason I'm sure she has a Kleavor on her Hisui team. She would reach the pond that Turtwig spawn by and cry (She has a Torterra on her team back home named Ginkgo). That and the pond reminds her of Wisteria Lake and she starts missing Kieran again. She would definitely harass a spiteful little fox into joining her team. She loves that Hisuian Zorua, but it definitely tries to kill her multiple times before she catches it. (The two definitely have the 'I only worked with you cuz I had to, we will NEVER be friends' 'Let's get through this together!' 'I HOPE YOU DIE') but they eventually work it out. I think she either invests in a Porygon-Z or a Rotom to try and work out a way back home. If Arceus is talking to her, she's definitely speeding through the tasks he gives her in order to return. She recognizes Ingo and does the surprised Pikachu face. Her reaction to Alpha Pokemon is starry eyed interest. She's with Irida at the time and she spots one and Irida explains the phenomenon to which Cereza books it towards the damn thing. Irida has to physically drag her away. Safe to say on her own time she gets roughed up by a few Alpha Pokemon but it's worth it for research purposes. Getting hit by a Pokemon's attack she can probably shrug off half the time (she spars with her Annihilape for Arceus sake) but the other half she grips her ribs and lets out a heavy sigh with the line "that smarts..." (She's Galarian, but the accent rarely pokes through)

SHE WOULD SUFFER SO MUCH FALL DAMAGE she will straight up forget she doesn't have a rotom phone and jump off cliffs. Charon has to save her SO MANY TIMES. She probably hits the ground and falls over with a groan before face palming her forehead with the heel of her palm like "Dammit, this is getting old..." Being spotted while sneaking up on a mon would normally never bother her- unless it's an Alpha in which she frantically starts rationalizing to it. Like it can hear her. She is so smart yet so stupid. She'd be sneaking through the woods and hear the growl of an Alpha Ursaluna behind her and she turns around and says with a sheepish smile. "Technically it's not trespassing since you don't have a land grant." and she gets freaking socked. Low HP for her probably wouldn't be anything beyond a few winces. Cereza is small but very durable, she prefers the wilderness to the indoors, and in a way, Hisui is amazing for that. She already likes to rough it in Paldea, exploration is like her favorite thing ever, Hisui is a haven for that. Kieran I'm sure remembers how Cereza spent multiple nights in Kitakami exploring the land because she couldn't get enough during the day. She'd come to orienteering the next morning with scuffed knees, messy hair, a little bit of dark circles, and the most excited grin as she asks Kieran about everything she saw the night before. She'd be so good at battling Noble Mon (again, spars with Annihilape) especially coupled with all her pent-up anger. She is probably taunting the damn thing half the time, she would get hit and laugh saying "Oh I'm WAYY harder to kill than that!" it almost looks like she has a death wish. On quiet nights when she can hear herself think, she misses home. Especially her onion boy. Losing him twice is a punch to the gut. She cries herself to sleep some nights into Charon's steel feathers, her only reminder of home. She feels like she's going insane all over again and when she's alone in caves or on top of mountains, all she can do is scream until her vocal cords beg her to stop. Cereza may be chaotic and fun, but she isn't stupid. She understands the gravity of her situation and it guts her. I might do another one exploring a full scenario/au where she and Kieran get thrown to the past and she hears rumors of a mask maker and it's him. THANK YOU FOR YOUR ASKS!! They get me thinking and this scenario is something I've never considered before!! :> Continue throwing in your two cents, anything is welcome!

✨Do whatever you want forever✨

~ Cytoplasm

#dipplinshipping #pokemon scarlet and violet #cereza pokemon #pokemon legends arceus #juliana x kieran pokemon #juliana x kieran #trainer kieran #pokemon kieran #rival kieran #kieran x mc #the teal mask #pokemon sv #the indigo disk #kieran x oc #mask maker kieran au #oc x canon #canon x oc

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undyingmedium · 19 days

Text

MUN'S COMFORT LIST

Comfort food(s): Pizza (like the good Italian peep I am), sushi, spicy things, chocolate and sweets!

Comfort drink(s): Bubble tea and mocaccino on non-alcoholic side, wine otherwise!

Comfort movie(s): Atlantis! I still cry to the beginning and ending scenes and the Crystal Chamber never fails to give me goosebumps. And REC. Calling that "comfort" is a huuuuge stretch, but it's one of the best horror movies I ever watched and nothing ever spooked me as much as that one. Love me some strong emotions!

Comfort show(s): Speaking of strong emotions, Cabinet of Curiosities has been destroying me lately in both a good and bad way, but I'm enjoying in thoroughly and it's probably gonna stay as one of my favourites. On a completely different note, Wander over Yonder and Vox Machina. Something tells me I'll be back to change/add more a thousand times after I post this.

[[EDIT]] Oh shit I forgot Fallout!!! And Pluto!

Comfort clothing: Black/dark t-shirts with nerdy prints and leggins. Also earrings of all kinds.

Comfort song(s): Peter Gundry's entire production and videogames soundtracks/instrumental pieces with emotional intent! And System of a Down and Blackbriar as groups!

Comfort book(s): I'm very attached to the Emerged World sagas because they're the first big trilogies that ever really got me into fantasy as a child ♡

Comfort game(s): I'm afraid League of Legends is far past me without a group of friends that plays with me because of its awful community, but I'll never forget it's the reason why I started chasing my dream job and today I'm finally starting to see it realized. But! Kingdom Hearts got me into gaming during childhood and I'm still respecting it despite the creators' thirst for money and questionable writing, Hollow Knight is going to stay one of my all-time favourites, Minecraft is also fun with friends, Crypt of the Necrodancer satisfies my love for gaming and music, [[EDIT]] Dead by Daylight is my new happy choice for nights with friends and! Last but not least!! TTRPG games - most of them!! Gift me a good story and let me immerse myself in them with a loved character of mine and you'll have my heart for years to come, as my DMs very well know ♡

Also, just for the record, a few honorable mentions: horror RPG maker games and Undertale got me into story-based games, Among us, Slay the Princess struck my heart lately, Ring of Pain was an amazing go-to to fill the time and Baldur's Gate is the best alternative to real campaigns I tried so far. Probably unpopular opinion: I don't like fighting and mechanics that much - some fights are breathtaking but I'm mostly in for the story and the relationships with characters (absolutely not limited to romantic ones) and I can't take it seriously because of the possibility to reload and my lack of discipline with avoiding it. So yes, but also no. Just a mention.

Tagged by @windwithinmyveins || Bring it on~ (Thank you! ♥)

Tagging: @steel-and-fire @witches-and-weirdos @deepseawarlock @aquatic-hybrid @deaddovestellnotales and you!

#dash game #tag game #about the mun

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hermesserpent-stuff · 2 months

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@lirabuswavi and I’s convo about the mystic misunderstanding au

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Au premise: in which hiccup being a runt would have made him revered in the hunter tribe and when they find out they start giving him offerings.

this post focuses on the twins and their adoption!!

L stands for them and H stands for me.

L: Pay too much attention, and the Acumens will have a permanent pair of chaos makers. Oh Hiccup, teach them the way of chaos wranglers!

Hiccup: Distraction works best. Give them something to do, make them feel important, or appeal to their sense of anarchy. If you can convince them it's a bad idea, they'll do it. Reverse psychology is your new best friend.

Acumens: *Taking notes*

H: they make them chief teachers of zippleback riders ontop of hiccups other advice. it sorts itself out

L: No one can teach them how to get in touch with both their wild side and their human partner like the twins. Not every Zippleback rider is a twin, so having someone to help them get in touch is really helpful. To fly a zippleback with someone else, you have to practically read each other's minds. You have to always know where they are and where they're moving, along with everything else it takes to fly a dragon. Their idea of partner bonding exercises can get a little... weird, but damn if they don't produce results.

H: the zipplebacks are really really happy that their fliers are getting along better and give fish and live boars to the twins when they remember to

L: Honestly, giving the twins a set group of people to harass, people that would even invite it in some ways, would really help settle them. They don't have to be as loud to gain attention, people won't just ignore them when they're being 'inconvenient'. They don't have to fight for attention anymore, and they really like that. Hiccup notes the changes, and is haply with them too. The twins are still chaotic, of course they are! The moment they're agreeable is when you start looking around for paint buckets. But their pranks seem less mean spirited, and people are more likely to laugh along. Viggo's kind of wondering what the hell Berk does to their kids, because they seem to only produce Angry Aggressive Arogant (Astrid and Snotlout) or Needed More Attention as Children (Twins, Hiccup, and arguably Fishlegs).

H: i like the idea that someone or a set of someones decides that they are just gonna adopt the twins for themself. Their kids died out hunting dragons and the house has been much too quiet. they are a little horrified that the twins cry over being presented with their own individual set of utensils and plates. They admit to not having stuff like that without having to share before. they tell viggo.

L: They do like being a set, they do. They're the twins, inseparable like the heads of a zippleback. But they have individual needs, ones that people don't pay attention to. Hiccup is one of the few that can always tell the twins apart. Sometimes their own parents got it wrong. But these people gave them individual things, so they don't have to share if they don't want to. They get it wrong, once or twice, but then they apologize and it doesn't happen again. They've never had people treat them like this before... They like it.

H: they even got two different statues! they look the same but there are two!! its very exciting

L: There's something to be said about always being taken as a set. They're the twins with the zippleback, that only ever need one size of clothes because they can swap as wanted. They're Ruffnut and Tuffnut, not just Ruffnut or just Tuffnut. But the people adopting them don't want the twins, they don't want the complete set. They want Ruffnut. And Tuffnut. They want both for who they are, as individuals. They've never really had that before. For a while, their new parents are the only ones exempt to their pranks. But then they sit down and tell the twins that they don't have to change who they are for them to want them. Even if the twins prank them, and break things on purpose or on accident, they won't take the adoption back. More than they can't do so, they don't want to. They knew what they were getting into, chaos and pranks and all.

H: yep!! they get praised if the prank pulled on them was particularly clever and a boar pit is dug behind the house after a brief mention of missing the one back on the edge

L: Chicken is a beloved member of the family. One of their parents, who knits, made Chicken a little hat and cape. It's adorable, and Tuffnut runs immediately to show Hiccup.

H: hiccup has to admit it is adorable and is happy for the two

#mystic misunderstanding au #httyd #httyd au #hermes speaks #hiccup haddock #viggo grimborn #ruffnut thorston #tuffnut thorston

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moondirti · 2 years

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← chapter two

masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Rated: Explicit Word Count: 5.1k Summary: The Mandalorian's quarries are always more trouble than they're worth. Warnings: Canon-typical violence, anxiety, language, self-loathing, pining Notes: the lot of you have been absolutely lovely so far in the response to this story<3 I'm so glad you're enjoying it. We're coming close to publishing all of the chapter's I have on ao3 so far, so after I get chapter four edited and on here, I'll be starting on five.

As it turns out, you haven’t broken new ground with the Mandalorian like you originally thought. In fact, he seemed to be quieter post your little gossip session than he was before.

It’s been a while since the three of you departed from Nevarro. After the first few days, you stopped checking for the time. You found that all of it was useless out here, where it’s just you and Mando trying to coexist without driving the other insane, and a fussy baby quickly growing tired of the dried rations. You couldn’t blame him either, to be perfectly honest. If you have to eat one more portion of expandable veg-meat, you are going to curl in on yourself and opt to starve instead.

But Mando didn’t seem to mind. He managed to occupy himself; always awake and ambling around, cleaning his weapons, fixing the ship, entertaining the kid. Your most interesting pastime is watching him from the makeshift couch you made using old crates and the worn out clothing within them. It wasn’t like you have much else to do; you had already unpacked your medical supplies into an empty cupboard in the hull, then reorganised them a hundred times over. Observing the ever-silent Mandalorian is the next best thing, especially since he doesn’t seem to mind.

You aren’t the best note-taker, nor do you have the deduction skills of anything smarter than a bantha; therefore, you gain little from your studies of the hunter. You gather he’s a neat freak in the most backwards way possible - everything has its place in the Crest, even if you yourself can’t particularly discern the order of things. His visor always lingers on you a moment too long when you don’t fold your blanket post-nap, and your shampoos are always tucked in a neat row by the shower when you go for a wash. Everynight, he stacks his armour (save for his helmet) in a tidy pile before turning in, retiring in only a simple black tunic and black pants.

Which is why you’ve decided to sleep on your makeshift couch from here on out. Without his armour, his scent has bled into his bunk, imbued within the mattress and pillows. Your first night was restless - you couldn’t sleep, no, not when you were still so desperately horny and surrounded by him. Maker, he smells delicious. Smoke, leather and clean linen, with an undertone of something masculine and heady, something that made your toes curl when you ground into the heel of your hand. You wanted to lay there forever, to drink it directly from the source instead, but you had enough sense to stop that train of thought. You were getting worked up over the phantom of him, for Kriff’s sake. It wasn’t something to be encouraged.

So, couch it is. It isn’t too bad. The arrangement is no gunpowder and musk haven, admittedly, but you’ve made it your very own personal spot, right by the medical supplies. With your duffel bag shoved against the nearby wall, functioning as your mini closet, and your blaster tucked away between the couch and the side of the ship (‘that’s right Mando, you aren’t the only one with a weapons stash now’), you’ve affectionately dubbed it Doc’s Corner.

The Mandalorian refused to go anywhere near it, but that’s okay too. You’d think he’d blow a fuse if he saw the pile of laundry by the back hatch.

Currently, he’s disassembling a rifle while seated on a ledge protruding from the wall across his murder closet. He’s been tinkering for the better part of an hour now, turning the arc caster over, screwing and unscrewing bolts, checking the charge then playing with its diagnostics. You are no soldier, by any means, but even you know that his work is meaningless. He’s fidgeting, occupying his hands while his mind is off somewhere distant. You think to ask for a moment, but then he slouches slightly, repositioning himself into an almost lazy stretch, legs spread and gloved fingers still expertly rigging the gun. A rough exhale rips through his modulator. Fuck. Is it normal, what that posturing does to you? That slack confidence, so self-assured in it’s abundance, is pure fucking plasma to the fire roaring at your core. You want to nestle yourself in between those hulking thighs, to run your hands up and down his legs while you choke on his cock. You could be so good for him, so opposite to the loudmouth girl who grates on his nerves every chance she gets.

You groan, head falling back to smack against a cushion.

“What’s wrong?” His low baritone drawl slices through the thick silence that had settled, catching you off-guard. You hadn’t meant to complain out loud, but your lack of self awareness isn’t what throws you off. It’s the question, the mere fact that he is initiating conversation in the first place. Even the baby looks up from his place on the ground, perplexed, grubby hand clenched around a crayon that he’d been using to scribble on the papers his father laid out for him. All at once, though, the menace loses interest in whatever is transpiring between his adults and totters towards the man. He brings his arms up, claws opening and closing in a silent plea for ‘upsies’, and Mando - ever the softie - complies, pulling the kid onto his lap so that he could fiddle with a spare screw in his possession.

Once the child is settled, that cold visor points at you again.

Does he expect an answer? Stars, where to begin… What’s wrong? What is wrong? ‘I don’t know Mando, maybe I’m just tired of soaking through all my clean underwear at the mere sight of you.’ You’re tempted to say, but you had a feeling that wouldn’t blow over with him very well. Instead, you settle on:

“Jus’... forgot that hyperspace travel took so long. How much till the next stop?” It’s an abysmal lie; well, a half-truth. You have forgotten the time it takes to jump from one sector to another, however, your current source of frustration is more engulfing than the intricacies of space travel.

“Day or two.” He’s petting the kid’s abnormally large ears now, the act incredibly gentle for someone so dangerous. You muse on whether he’d treat you like that, like you were something he cared for, or if he’d push your face to the floor so he could focus on only your ass. In truth, you don’t know which you prefer.

His helmet tilts slightly, the overhead lights brightly reflected against the unpainted beskar. You know he’s studying you, taking in your sprawled body and the emotions that are probably written on your forehead in big, bold letters. Your heart suddenly smacks against your chest like it’s trying to escape. Can he smell the lust on you? Is there some sort of enhanced scent function built into that bucket of his? It drives you mad that you couldn’t read him like he could you. Hell, he can probably pinpoint your arousal and the ache in your heart with only his infrared sensors. And, hilariously enough, something tells you he likes that vulnerability, given the way he always pins your petulant ass into submission with his indecipherable steel gaze.

“Tell me about this quarry.” Yeah, change the topic. Changing the topic is good. It’s what you need right now to gather your bearings. You pull your blanket up to your chest, curling in on yourself and refocusing your stare to the ceiling.

“Quarries, actually. Package deal from Karga, as a gift.” He says, almost sighs. “Three pucks for three bounties in the same crew. Pirates who travel sub-light.”

“Hm.” You can understand his hesitation, there’s a unique predicament this job introduces. Mando can’t just land somewhere and track these guys on solid ground like he usually does - no, he’d have to commandeer their ship. What’s more is that he’ll be putting you, the kid and the Crest in danger in doing so. To bring his home so close to his target was risky, regardless of whether he held the upper hand or not.

Then, as if reading your mind, he interrupts. “I’m dropping you guys off on a nearby planet and renting a ship to go seek them out.”

Okay, no - now you’re convinced of your open-book status. Either that or Mando just always miraculously has the words to calm you (and you highly doubt that to be the case, the main words in the hunter’s dictionary are hums and grunts). Still though, the little bug in your brain preens at his plan, squirming around in a part that elicits an emotional response right above desire, to something almost akin to - alarmingly - adoration. You can’t help it, his reassurance strokes some primal instinct within you, one that festers at the display of competence Mando exudes.

The praise slips without second thought. “That’s smart. Wouldn’t have thought of it myself.”

He snickers. “Probably would have figured out something, clever thing that you are.” It’s uttered casually, barely above a rustle but loud enough that you know he intended you to hear it. Your jaw hinges, just a smidge, so that your mouth gapes as you blink rather dumbly at him. What the fuck did he just say? It’s a compliment, you know, you know. But it’s so out of the blue you have a hard time taking it. He couldn’t possibly think you’re as capable as him. So, it's a joke, he’s pulling some sick fucking joke.

Clever… You aren’t clever, nor are you good in any high pressure scenario. He should know that, he should know because he’s had his life on the line too many times to count and everytime you barely kept it together.

You can’t speak, so you gulp and laugh nervously. It sounds as unnatural as it feels. There’s nothing to say; there’s so much to say that there’s absolutely nothing that can encapsulate the state of your mind right now. Your tongue can’t dance around the abstract concepts plaguing you, can’t begin to explain the persistent anxiety that has followed you since you left Corellia. And fuck, there was that cavewoman voice again, tittering amidst the nerves and rolling to the forefront that ball of soft, squishy warmth that has grown rapidly since the last you felt it. The mix threatens to knock you out completely, so much so that you’re barely able to get your answer out in time before it becomes too awkward to continue with the conversation.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

But Mando isn’t looking at you. He’s gone back to his gun, the child gurgling between his arms. You wonder, for a grave moment, whether there will ever be space for you.

You’re awoken by a hull-shuddering shake, a resounding crash accompanying it soon after.

Naps are good for the average human. The average human, however, is not recommended to take upwards of three naps a day while maintaining their circadian cycle. You start to see why when your first thought following the frankly concerning disturbance is whether the baby is piloting. You almost fall back asleep too, grumbling something about irresponsible parenting before another shake of the ship rocks you off the couch completely.

When you hit the metallic floor with a violent thud, your right knee softens your fall only slightly. That just means it takes most of the impact, though, and you can feel it. Oh maker, the searing pain that shoots up your bones as a result is visceral, white-hot and sharp. A scream tears through your throat, hands smoothing over your injury while you roll onto your back. What the fuck, what the fuck. It wasn’t enough to knock the air out of you, but still you struggle to draw in the shaking breaths your sleep-addled mind needs to find reason. Something is wrong, right? It has to be; you know Mando. At least, well enough to know that he wasn’t as reckless as this. He wouldn’t endanger the kid with something as stupid as a joyride. Shit. Did something happen to him? Is he okay?

Of course he is, he’s Mando, he has to be, but…

‘But what if he isn’t?’ Your mind supplies.

For some reason, the notion overshadows all your other concerns, and you grasp on to the spike of adrenaline that racks through you, rising on weak legs. The hull is in shambles; crates have fallen over, their contents spilling out onto the floor. Chunks of metal are soaring off to one point, concentrated on the ceiling. You pause in bewilderment, but then your vision dims, the corners of your peripheral growing fuzzy, and you force yourself to find the ladder at the front of the ship before you pass out. You need to find Mando, you need to find him. Need to make sure he’s okay and that he’s got this - whatever this is. He’d be able to keep you all safe. He’d know what to do. You… You are no good in all of this; you were made for after the fight, not during.

It takes all of your upper body strength to climb up to the cockpit. Your right leg is practically useless, the dead weight only serving to drag you down while you try and pull yourself up. By the time you reach the second level, you collapse in a decrepit pile of pity. Your lungs are working overtime now in an attempt to draw in as much oxygen as possible, chest straining with the effort. You can’t breathe, you’re so fucking helpless and weak - it’s as if all your muscles had decided to give out on you. You can’t breathe.

The ship lurches to one side, and your crippled body goes with it, sliding across transparisteel until your spine smashes against the wall. Sciatic pangs race down your body, twisting along your femur and blazing at your lower back. It hurts so bad you can hardly negotiate the raw landscape that strobes in and out of focus all around you. The emergency red lights have flickered on at one point, blaring in tune to a nearby console alarm. Despite the chaos, only one racing thought occupies you. Mando; you need to make sure he’s okay.

Heaving yourself up on your elbows, you begin to crawl towards the blaster doors of the cockpit until a completely opposite, overpowering reaction throws you back to phase one. The resultant g-force from the ship being out of kilter is devastating to your efforts, blowing you back and restarting your venture. You absorb the trauma each time, kicking forth anyway. You pull, and you drag, and you dig your fingers into the small holes along the floor to use as leverage. Your injured knee grates along behind you, hard-pressed into the metal, but still, you carry on. There’s a thin film of cold sweat wrapped onto your skin, the consequential shivers from it making you nauseous. You almost hurl on yourself. Regardless, you carry on.

With some miraculous measure, you make it to the door. It feels like an hour later, but then it slides open and all rational thought returns to you, and you know it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since you were kicked out of bed. Your breath returns to you all at once, in an overwhelming gasp. Dank farrik, thank the fucking Maker and stars above, there he is. The beautiful, gleaming son of a bitch is standing above you, gripping onto the walls for extra support. You take him in frantically, giving him a thorough once over through your blurry vision. He seems okay, he isn’t hunched over more than he should be. No blood, no heavy grunts.

Relief starts to pool, low in your gut, notwithstanding the foreboding that has begun catching up to you.

“I heard- I… Fuck, are- are you okay? You–” You don’t think you’ve ever caught him this off-guard, like he actually has a million things to say, but you’re nodding and grabbing onto him as he helps you up. You nod even as you heave in great sobs, trying to input as much comfort in him as he did you.

“What… What’s h-happening,” You croak out, limping along when he helps you find a seat on the co-pilot's chair. The baby is strapped into the one beside you, his mouth pulled into a frown and eyes foggy with unshed tears. Your heart tugs at the sight, like concrete is cementing itself within your atria’s. But he’s alright; that, at the very least, should count for something. All of you were well enough.

That doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet.

“Pirates. They’re attacking. They must’ve known we were coming, they pulled the Crest in before I could-” The ship rocks once more and there’s a deafening clatter from the hull. Mando’s hand shoots to the gun on his holster, flicking off the safety. His shoulders square, and all of a sudden, he lives up to his reputation. The fiercest bounty hunter in the guild, the Mandalorian. You should cower at the sight, at the prowess and speed with which he resorts to violence. But you don’t; if anything, you feel a little of your anxiety ebb. He is so big, exponentially more so from this angle, towering over you and filling the small space, absolutely primed for the imminent fight. ‘Big strong man, ready to fight for his son and home.’

‘And you,’ you register. ‘He was worried about you, too.’

There’s a moment of tense silence, where the galaxy seems to still alongside you in anticipation. Then, voices fill the hull. Your eyes widen, heart staggering in its pace.

You look up at your companion, voice hushed. “Mando-”

He suddenly crouches to face you, free hand grasping your shoulder. His grip is tight, fingers bruising into your skin. You find that you welcome it; you need to be grounded. “Hey, listen. You stay right here, you don’t move. You keep the kid, protect him. I’m going to lock this door and you don’t open for absolutely anyone. Understand?” He’s shaking you as he speaks, panic edging the end of his syllables. You blink, suddenly unsure. Not in him, but at the insatiable anxiety that fills you with the thought of him taking on all of them alone. You snap out of your spiral when he jerks you again. “Understand?”

“Yeah…” He is unwavering, unconvinced. “Yes. I-” You begin to stress, but he doesn’t wait for you to finish now that he's satisfied. He gets up, checks on the child, and starts for the ladder. Towards the danger. Away from you.

The blaster doors shut behind him, an extra click informing you that they are indeed locked. It’s a little too late when you comprehend your need to follow. It isn’t bravery, no, nor was it confidence in your own abilities. In reality, you’d be absolutely no help by throwing yourself into a fight you aren’t equipped to handle. That’d only put more pressure on Mando, to both disarm his assailants while defending you. It’s a stupid, stupid, perilous urge.

But… you want to protect him.

As ludicrous as it sounds, you want to have his back. To do more than just wait until he gets hurt and finds his way to you. It’s some hidden part of you that pushes forth the inclination; deep-seated somewhere between your liver and your pervasive fear of fucking everything. And it half surprises you, too, with the way it defies all logic. This… This inane desire to help, to be there with him and cover his blindspots. You can’t fight - you’re fragile in all the wrong places, easily bent to the whims of whatever surrounds you - but with Mando, you feel bold enough to try and push back. He’s so solid, as durable as his beskar, a fucking force of nature that gets hurt way too many times to count, yes, but also always manages to get up and endure it.

Those men down there, they’re nothing compared to him. They are rotten creatures - content to remain idle in space until they can prey on whatever poor, helpless innocent passes. So, of course you don’t doubt Mando can take them, you’ve never been more confident about something in your life. Somewhere outside of the bubble you’ve worked yourself in, you can hear him - those vicious punches he’s undoubtedly throwing, the clinks of his beskar and spear as he manoeuvres his way around the pirates’ flailing limbs and half-assed kicks. He’s beating their asses and doing it flawlessly, you’re sure of it.

Even so, there is no guarantee there wouldn’t be more; he has three bounties to collect but with the size of their ship, you’d estimate there are at least thirty individuals within the crew.

You look at the kid - the lovely little boy who’s currently so terrified he’s shut down into a whimpering silence. His little fists are balled up, gripping onto his brown sack for dear life, and the conviction comes again, tenfold - that urge to preserve. It’s remarkably maternal this time around, something more suited to your tender core, and Mando’s words swim back to you. “Protect him.” He had said. He’d given you a job, a show of faith arguably more meaningful than him entrusting you with his wounds. He’s putting his child's safety in your hands, depending on you to look after him. His child, the thing you would lay all your credits down on as meaning the most to him.

Mando’s words come flying back to you instantaneously - not just his orders, but his rundown too.

In that split second the revelation dawns on you, you make up your mind.

You’d be a liability in a fight, for everyone involved. Leaving the kid up here to run head first into something you can’t handle would be foolish, even by your standards. But you can’t just sit still like Mando had asked, not when he is doing the best he can to save the lot of you. You joined him onboard in order to prevent his untimely death, remember? And you’re set on doing just that.

Jumping up on wobbly legs, you quickly move into the pilot’s chair, strapping yourself in for the astoundingly risky plan you’ve been brewing. The kid somehow senses the sudden change, making a small sound that resembles an ‘eh?’. You shoot him a timid smile in response, not as confident as you intend because your lips quiver with the distress that still curses you. Even so, you hope it’s enough to reassure him when you turn to the console ahead.

Mando had said something about the pirates pulling the Crest in when he had briefed you. It only occurs to you now; the metal pieces in the hull, all moving in tandem as if attracted to something beyond your understanding; the way the ship is tilted to one side, like one of its engines is hooked to a tether. If you were to take a wild guess, you’d say that these pirates use a powerful magnet to keep ships like yours captive while they pillage its innards. That’s your first problem - as long as they’re ship retains control of the Crest, their gang can keep coming through. You need to detach yourselves to cut their manpower off from the source, to give Mando a better shot at winning.

So, either you shoot the ship into hyperspace, or you weaken the magnet they’re using. Given what you can discern about the action downstairs, one of which is more plausible than the other. That clatter earlier was the hatch being demolished, meaning a jump into hyperspace would kill everyone on board.

Weaken the magnet it is, then.

Granted, you aren’t an engineer. There’s a reason your father pushed you towards life sciences over the technological side of things, after all. What you do know, however, is that Mando’s vessel of preference is a pre-Imperial piece of junk. For once, this happens to work out in your favour. While most modern ships use hyperdrives to move through space-time, the Razor Crest still operates on an ion accelerator.

An ion accelerator that produces a rather formidable electromagnetic field.

An electromagnetic field strong enough to damage most magnetic domains.

A force that can work to set you free.

It all sounds good in theory; but there’s a teensy little hitch. In order to initiate a field effective enough, you’ll need to prepare the ship as if it were going to make a jump into lightspeed, only to hold back at the very last moment. It comes down to mere seconds. Any hesitancy on your part can mean life or death.

The weight of the situation is enough to make you pause. Can you really do this? Risk lives when it’s you holding all of fates’ cards? You were never good at Sabacc, luck has never favoured you. You ran out of it on Corellia, when your father had relied a little too much on such a floundering, flakey girl. His face flashes to the forefront of your mind, spurring a hollow laugh. It’s lifeless, and not made in his memory but rather directed towards the sheer ludicrousness of it all, like the galaxy has finally come to a crossroads in this orchestration of karma.

It doesn’t matter if you’re ready, or if you think yourself capable. If this is the universe’s way of testing you, then it’s a fucked existence, but damnit, it sure does know how to pull your leg. You sneak a look at the kid, and you think of Mando, and you know that you have to. You have to. For them more than yourself; to ensure they can continue with their clan of two.

You click three consecutive switches right by the wheel, push a glaring red button up at the front, then wrap your hand around the lever that can propel you into hyperspace. Your estimate is that you’ll only need to pull it three quarters of the way down for the accelerator to muster enough power, and the minute you feel that jolt of breaking away from the magnet, you have to be prompt in pushing it right back up and steering your asses away from that forsaken artificial black hole. The timing has to be so that the Crests’ hind is facing the pirates before their magnets have a chance to restabilize. After that, you’re sure the flames expelled from the thrusters as a result will be hot enough to permanently damage them.

It’s a lot to do in such a short time frame. You chant the instructions to yourself in order, over and over to the beat in which you have to perform them. And when the light by your thumb turns green, signifying the accelerator's activity - essentially, giving you the go-ahead - you don’t think twice before pulling down on the hyperspace lever.

It’s heavy. Dank farrik, the rod fucking resists your efforts to keep it midway. Your shoulder collapses in on itself as you bring your elbow forward to aid your efforts, buckling under the weight. The earlier trauma to your spine returns in full force, washing over you and numbing every nerve completely. It’s paralysing, trying to halt the unforgiving force that is hyperspace impelling itself upon you while breathing through this pain. Your ears start to ring; you feel your consciousness ebbing away now, disintegrating under the horror you faced if you fuck this up and the agony that comes with your sheer refusal not to. But the space surrounding you has almost crumpled in on itself, nearby planets slowly folding, distant stars beginning to warp. Damnit, fuck. No, no, no, no, no, no.

The ship heaves, then lurches.

And when you aren’t immediately dead, you come to a chilling understanding that you’re still in your predicament. Your fingers are pure white with constricted blood flow, clutched around the lever so hard you’ve lost feeling in them a while ago. If you weren’t in hyperspace, if the ship hadn't ripped itself apart completely, that only meant that the sudden movement had been…

The magnets. They’ve been weakened. It worked.

Your victory is hardly lived in at all. You’re pushing up against the lever now with all the fucking brawn you can muster. It doesn’t budge, set on resisting your efforts and completing its objective. Stars, you’re so goddamn stupid, so fucking dumb and short-sighted that you completely neglected the actual possibility of success. You hadn’t imagined the load would be this great, that the ship would fight you this hard. You didn’t realise that the bones in your wrist would snap before you’d ever get it to budge, and that you’d keep pushing, not so much feeling the spasms anymore than you hear the cracks. You’ve started crying at some point, stomach flipped over and bile prickling the back of your throat, your tears pooling with your sweat and snot upon your upper lip. You’re a pathetic sight; inadequate and every bit deserving of the hell that awaits you.

And then you feel your fingers prickle with life, blood rushing to the tips, eager to keep the extremities alive. Fresh, hot, searing pain follows right after, shooting up your arm as the weight eases, your body all at once feeling the agony you forced yourself to ignore. Your hand is useless, limp when it falls to the console, yet miraculously, you don’t need it anymore. The lever is being pushed back up on its own now, as if a phantom has taken pity on you, like the air has solidified around it and taken on its own tremendous strength. You have half a mind to blubber at the scene, rightfully dumbfounded by the impossibility of it all. But you’ll have time to ponder on it later. Now… Now you have to move.

With your only remaining functional arm, you turn the yoke a full ninety degrees to the side opposite of the ship's tilt, your entire body shifting with the movement. When you’re certain the pirate’s ship is fully behind you, you engage the thrusters and pray they burn in your wake.

You can do nothing else.

There’s no pride, nor any hint of satisfaction. It isn’t your victory to celebrate. All you’ve gained is a ruined body, milked for all its energy. You can barely manage it; it takes the smallest remaining sanity left within you to check on the kid.

He’s passed out, slumped and snoring but alive. You’d laugh if you could, but all that absorbs you is the thought of how nice that must feel, to succumb to the darkness that has begun to overtake you too. Your rapid breaths come to a tepid slow.

The last thing you see is the Mandalorian burst into the cockpit, beskar glinting with spilled blood and a vengeance. Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you smile.

He’s okay.

chapter four →