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100lxtters · 1 year

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Special Treat

!! THIS ONE SHOT IS FOR 18+ VIEWING ONLY, MINORS DNI !!

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Boba Fett x fem!reader x Din Djarin 7.7k words Boba knows how needy you get, had teased you about having another person fuck you at once, never knowing he actually would follow up with it. But when he invites his Mandalorian friend you just couldn't let this opportunity go! Dom!Boba, sub!reader, switch!Din Warnings : threesome, eiffel tower, smut, blindfolds mask/helmet kink, oral, PiV sex, age difference(but of legal age!) bisexuality, voyeurism, accidental voyeurism, facefucking, helmet stays on, cum eating, creampie, praise kink, using cum as lube, aftercare, spitroasting Mando'a translations (apologises if the grammar is incorrect!): ad'ika - little one mesh'la - beautiful Lba' mesh'la dala, staabi Djarin? - What a beautiful woman, right Djarin? cyare - beloved cyar'ika - darling/sweetheart cetar par kaysh, ad'ika - kneel in submission for him, little one gar hiibir kaysh uram - you take her mouth tion'jor - why? am at kaysh uram - change to her mouth

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You leaned against Lord Fett's leg whilst he sat on his throne, sitting at his feet so everyone knew you were his. The knowledge of everyone in his court knowing you were his and only his always made you feel special, made you feel important. Everyone aware you had submitted to him and he was the only person you needed.

After Fett's victory over Mos Espa you practically begged for his attention, wanting to give everything to your Daimyo.

You were his, completely and only his.

Fett's hand was resting on your head, every so often stroking it. No words were really said between you both when he held court, but he always made you aware he was there and watching you. Making sure everyone else knew too.

Seeing peoples gaze catch you due to wearing a very low cut dress so your breasts were on show, them being covered in little marks and bites from your lover.

It was a beautiful feeling.

Watching down on everyone, seeing some people sitting in the booths drinking, hearing some people coming up to speak to the king about bounties and tributes. Every so often some would offer slaves for him, which he always declined, mainly due to him being so against the 'culture' around them but also every time would indicate to your appearance next to him. Hinting to them that in that sector he had it filled.

And maker did he. The man was so possessive over you, claiming your whole body.

He would always praise you on how good you were, how pretty you looked doing the most dirtiest things, practically worshiping your body as he ruined it again and again.

Oh how you couldn't wait for his court to end so you could jump back onto him.

It did tempt you sometimes to do it whilst others were here still, make everyone watch as the Daimyo takes over your body. However you preferred the intermittency of just the two of you.

Well, a few times Boba had teased about finding someone else to fuck you at the same time, and the thought did excite you, but you had no clue who he would invite beside Fennec. Which you wouldn't mind, she was an absolutely stunning woman. Yet Fett never asked her, as far as you know anyway.

Your head slowly turns and looks up to him, he was staring out into the room. You just watched him, thinking about how lucky you are to see him without his helmet on as not many others do. He was so handsome, you could never tire looking at his face.

At first it did take you back by how much older he was than you, but you didn't find him any less attractive for it. He did seem a little stand off-ish for a bit, you think it was due to him worrying about your reaction to his age and size, but if anything to you it made him more beautiful. You just wanted him, not caring for his weight or age.

Fett must have felt your gaze on him as his head slowly turned to you. His black visor staring down at you, ''everything okay, ad'ika?'' His voice just loud enough for you to hear, his hand still stroking your head. You just nod in response and give him a small smile.

''Getting a bit tired'' you say.

Then his body shifts and moves to lean down a little to you, ''don't worry, I'm almost done here.'' His hand then strokes your cheek causing you to lean into the touch as he adds ''plus I've got a little treat for you later.''

It's like he permanently has a smirk on his face, constantly able to hear it on his voice. You give him a little confused look, but also get excited by what that statement could entail.

So you shuffle around a little to get comfy again against his leg as you wait for whatever he has waiting for you.

From the tone of his voice it was most likely something sexual, which excited you. You could feel yourself getting aroused slightly already by the idea of it. Having no clue what it could be, but you didn't care, you just enjoyed having this man fuck you so much that you would take anything.

You let your mind wander as you try to think what he was planning on doing since it was probably something different to what he has done before. Spending the whole time next to him questioning what was to come.

Luckily court only lasts another hour, watching the guests slowly exit the throne room, leaving just you and Boba. He is still stroking your head, you wonder if it must give him some calmness or if he just knew you liked the gentle jester.

''Ready little one?'' He says tapping your head softly.

You turn to face him as he hands his other hand out to you, you grab it with a smile on your face and lift yourself up. Standing next to him, taking his stance in and then quickly climbing him. Your dress flowing over his thighs as you placed yourself on his lap.

''Eager one today are we?'' He teases, one hand resting on your hip and then other stroking your thigh.

''You promised me a treat'' you smirked down at him, wanting to know exactly he was teasing you with. You pushed your body down onto him, trying to add some pressure to your pussy.

A low chuckle leaves him as he grips your thigh, ''so needy. Let's move this back to my quarters shall we.'' So you smile at him as you climb back off his body, standing back to allow him to stand from his throne. Oh how powerful he looked in that seat!

When he stands he takes your hand in his and leads the way to his room. He pulls you into his room and practically shoves you to his bed. You sit at the edge of the bed with your legs already spread just waiting for him.

''Look at you, so good'' he mumbles under his helmet. He moves closer to you and places his fingers under your chin so you're forced to look up at his impowering body over you. Boba then strokes your bottom lip with his gloved thumb, slowly pushing it into your mouth and you allow it, dancing your tongue over the leather thumb.

A groan appears from his mouth as he pushes it in further. You just stare at the black visor the whole time, feeling his own eyes meeting yours.

''Maker, can't wait to see your mouth get fucked as I ruin your pussy at the same time'' he says. Was this the treat he promised? Had he asked someone else to join? The thought excited you as you hummed around his thumb.

''Would you want that, princess? Want two dicks ruining your body at once?''

He had pulled his thumb from your mouth, and awaited an answer. ''Yes sir, I would like that'' you admit, feeling a little embarrassed that you were that horny.

Fett then stokes your cheek and replies ''good. Now let me prepare you before our guest arrives.''

Hot flush runs through you, get you ready? Was this person already on their way? Who were they?

Before you can ask anything his hand is on your throat adding pressure that causes your eyes to roll back as his other hand squishes your breast through your dress. Slowly pushing his hand down the dress into your bra to twist your nipple causing a small moan to leave your tightened throat.

''You looked so beautiful out there, wearing your marks with pride so everyone was able to know you are mine'' he praises. It was true, you choose to wear that dress today, wanting everyone to know such. You were submitted and committed to him, and you wanted everyone to know.

He then lets go of your throat and you hear the hiss of his helmet being removed, so you open your eyes to met with his perfect brown ones. You don't think you could ever get tired of looking at his beautiful face, he was so dreamy.

Slowly Boba leans down to you and crashes your lips together. You lift one of your hands and place it on the back of his neck to pull him closer in. His tongue enters your mouth as his other hand travels up your thigh, slightly pinching at the skin.

His kisses were hungry, they always were, like he could never get enough.

The hand on your thigh was getting closer and closer to your wet underwear, you moved your body closer to his, wanting his touch now. But he just pulled back from the kiss and looked down at you, ''I'm in charge, it goes at my pace.''

''But- please. I need you'' you plead, giving him the softest look to hope he would give you what you wanted.

His hands then both wander to the edge of your dress, so you lift yourself up to make it easier for him to pull it off your body. He takes his time, slowly watching your body be revealed to him.

Once the dress is off he throws it across the room and leans down to attach his lips to your neck, causing a slight whimper to leave you. One of his hands massage your breast over the bra, whilst the other just rested on the bed next your thigh.

Fett's mouth travels down to your breasts as he starts to suck down on the sensitive skin, adding another mark to them. You bite back a moan, your pussy growing wetter by the minute.

''Boba, please'' you whisper.

''You know you've got to ask for what you want, princess'' he says as he pulls your bra down and attaches his mouth to your nipple, pulling it between his teeth.

Your head rolls back as you let out a heavy breath, ''need yo- your fingers or mouth... please.''

Before you can carry on begging he pulls back and pushes your body onto the bed, laying down under him. You watch him lower himself between your thighs, adding little kisses and bites to them. This causes your body to almost shiver in anticipation.

His mouth gets closer and closer to your aching pussy, you dare to push your hips forward but you don't as he may stop.

You almost jump back as he places a kiss onto of your underwear, right on top of where you need him. ''Please, sir'' your voice so quiet.

Thankfully he listens, he pushes your underwear aside and attaches his mouth to your mould. A low moan leaves you as you shuffle yourself closer to his face. He is giving you little licks between your folds, your body relaxing under him.

One of his hands crawls up your body and sneaks under your bra, pinching and pulling your nipple, causing your hips to rise before he quickly pushes them back into the mattress. His tongue moves down to your hole, fucking you quickly with his tongue, your hands grip onto the sheets as you become a moaning mess on his bed.

Everything this man always did was so good, he knew exactly what you liked and how to do it. You wonder if this guest will be as experienced as him, wondering what they could give you.

Then his hands switch, playing with your other nipple as the hand from your hip moves further down. Boba moves his mouth onto your clit as he pushes two fingers into your pussy. ''Oh, B- Boba'' you quietly moan out. The fingers inside you stretching you out, adding so much pleasure to help with his tongue.

He removes his mouth for a moment to say ''want you to cum for me first, need you to know you're mine.''

A hot flush runs through you as his mouth reattaches. When he gets possessive it's so attractive, wanting you to know that regardless of who he has invited here will only be here for this one time but you're always his. And that's really all you want.

Moans growing louder as he gets you closer and closer to your orgasm. Your body itching to get closer and closer to him, needing your release.

''I'm getting... close, sir'' you whimper out.

His movements carry on the same, but you can feel the urgency sneaking in. You didn't realise it was due to the footsteps climbing up the stairs that only he heard that had made him hurry.

''Cum for me'' he mumbles against your clit.

Your head completely pushed back as your back arching more as you reached your high. Fireworks exploding behind your eyelids as your pussy clenches around his fingers, cumming hard.

His licks slow down, just pulling you through your orgasm. Once he can tell you're done he pulls back and stands up, resting his hand on your cheek as he praises ''you did so good for me, little one.''

''That was one hell of a show'' a voice appears from the doorway.

Your body freezes up, your legs trying to close but Boba is stood between them. The voice sounded like it was under a helmet, it was deep and sounded like honey. It wasn't a voice of anyone you recognised, is this the guest?

Boba gave you a warm smile as he placed a kiss on your lips before standing back up, and you sit up slowly.

Now you could see the figure. They were wearing Mandalorian armour, similar to Boba's, but all silver and shiny. They had one hand on their hip and the other resting on their belt as they leaned against the doorframe.

You watched Boba turn around and head towards the other Mandalorian. The Mandalorian was much taller than Boba, his hand reached under the helmet and rested on their chin, just like how he did to you. ''Nice to see you again Mand'alor'' Fett says, his voice so soft but also so powerful.

You see the Mandalorian's hand rest on Boba's cheek as they say ''and you.''

The pair of them then turn to you, you feel so small and embarrassed. Sitting in only your underwear in front of two men in armour. Them both not saying anything, just taking you in. You had no clue where the Mandalorian's gaze was due to their helmet.

Now you think of it, it was more arousing. You press your legs together as your underwear begins to soak again.

''Lba' mesh'la dala, staabi Djarin?'' Boba says to the other person. You had picked up a bit of Mando'a since you started things with Boba, but the only word you recognised was beautiful, which caused you to blush at the idea of him talking about you.

The Mandalorian just hums and nods against Boba's hand.

''Cyare, this is Din'' Boba introduces them finally, ''I asked him if he wanted to join us, is that okay with you?''

You stare at the other man, Din, and take a moment to consider this. Boba seemed to trust him enough since he was wanting him to touch you or whatever, so by that logic why wouldn't you? Plus he seemed familiar, you think he may have been the armoured person who helped Boba fight in the Mos Espa battle?

So you nod and say ''yes sir.''

A smirk once again appears on Boba's face as he lets go of Din's face and move closer to you. Once he is right in front of you, you bend your head to look up at him, ''promise?'' he asks.

''I promise, I want this Boba'' you reassure him, reaching up to kiss him.

You hear Din's footprints move to behind Boba, his hands resting on your lovers hips. As Boba leans back you are staring into the dark visor on Din's helmet, wondering what he looks like under there.

Boba runs his thumb over your lips again, you open your mouth slightly as he pushes it in again. Din lets out a low groan behind him, ''you going to show him how much of a good girl you are?''

You nod as he removes his thumb, moving out the way so Din is just towering over you, ''you can touch her, Djarin'' Boba says before moving out of your sight.

''That okay with you, cyar'ika?'' His voice was so handsome, it sent vibrations through your body. So you nod in response, you were starting to grow eager and wanted these men to start what they had planned.

So then Din reaches his hand out and unclips your bra, setting your breasts free. You feel almost nervous, you met this man only minutes ago, but you are so attracted to whatever he is doing right now. Din's gloved hands grab both your breasts, massaging them before pinching and pulling at your nipples, causing you to let out a quiet moan. His grip was soft compared to Boba's, like he was savouring the moment.

''Mesh'la'' he mutters, which makes your body feel like it's on fire, ''you let him claim your tits like this?'' indicating to the marks on them. You again let out a small whimper in response, wondering if Din would add any marks to you.

In the corner of your eye you notice Boba has reappeared, taking seat on the stool in the room. His legs spread as his eyes are fixed on you two. ''Cetar par kaysh, ad'ika'' he orders. Once again knowing what he was asking of you since he has used the same phrase countless times.

Din's hands move off you and he moves more towards Boba, you get up and follow him. The pair of you are stood right in front of Boba, making sure he can have a full view.

Your hand reaches up to his helmet, but he grabs your wrist. ''Sorry sweetheart, I don't show my face'' Din informs you. Part of you feels embarrassed for not checking, but then the other part of you gets hornier, loving the idea of him keeping his helmet on. You loved it when Boba did it, so you can imagine how hot it would be with Din.

Din lets go of your wrist and you slowly sink to your knees, your hands laying flat on your thighs. You stare back up at him and await for his commands.

''She knows who's in charge Djarin, so show her'' Boba says. You turn your head to him and see the bulge growing in his pants, oh how badly you wished to reach out and touch him. The look in his eyes was full of desire, you could see how badly he wanted to watch this, but also how badly he wished it was him at the same time.

But then Din's hand pushes your cheek back to facing him, ''if you want a dick so badly, you can take mine first.''

Your eyes move down to the tent in his own pants, watching as he unbuckled the pants. Just watching as he frees his cock, maker he was big! Your mouth already watering at his length.

Boba was thicker, but Din was longer.

The image of taking both of their dicks at once makes you whimper out, making both men stare at you.

''Oh, I think someone is excited'' Boba teases. He knew how badly you wanted this, ever since he teased the idea of another person fucking you it had been playing on your mind. The fantasy excited you, but you weren't sure if it was just something said in the moment or if he really wanted it.

You stare up at Din with your mouth open and your tongue pressed out, waiting for him to slide his dick into your mouth.

''You've got her trained well Fett'' Din praises.

His gloved hand guides his throbbing length into your mouth, slowly sliding it in, holding the top of your head to guide it in. It doesn't take long for him to reach the back of your throat, your mouth full of him.

He lets out a low groan as he just holds his cock in your mouth. You then start bobbing your head slightly, making sure you could feel him completely. He tasted almost the same as Boba, the same muskiness on his cock that you didn't mind really.

Din grips your hair a bit as he thrusts into your throat, causing you to gag a little but you didn't care, you just wanted this mans cock. You think Din pauses for a moment due to your reaction but Boba then reassures him ''she knows her safeword and to tap your thigh if it's too much.'' Which he was correct, and since you didn't tap his thigh Din took this to carry on.

He was filling your senses so quickly, he felt so good slowly entering your throat and back. Next to you every so often you could hear Boba groan, clearly enjoying the show.

''Maker, you look so pretty taking his cock. My talent little girl'' Boba praises. Causing you to moan against Din's cock and your thighs press together, your hand daring to go down and touch yourself until you hear Boba tusk and say ''no, you're just pressuring our guest now, not yourself.''

Which causes you to groan against Din's dick again, his hand tightening in your hair as he thrusts deeper. So you reach your hand up and grip the base of Din's cock, moving your hand up and down on the section that won't fit into your mouth.

''Keep doing that mesh'la'' Din moans. You feel his cock throb more in your mouth meaning he was already close, so you do as you're told. You let him fuck your mouth as you run your hand up the remaining part of his length.

Din pulls your head back a little as he mumbles ''gonna cum in your mouth, cyar'ika.''

With that warning he does as he said, warm salty liquid filling up your mouth quickly, feeling some of it leak out your mouth a little. He lets out a grunt as you swallow his cum with his cock still in your mouth.

Once he pulls out you look up at him with an almost dazed look, your jaw being a bit tired already. Din strokes your head and says ''she's so good Fett.''

''I know, come here pretty girl'' Boba commands, and you just crawl over to him, your knees feeling too sore to stand right now. When you reach him he leans down and pulls your face to his. You are about to protest due to still having cum around your mouth, but he seems to clean it off, moaning quietly to himself. You start to realise that as much as this is a treat for you, it is for him too.

Boba's tongue enters your mouth as he pulls you closer in, you can feel your underwear sticking to you, already ready to be touched by him again. You reach your hand out and massage his bulge over his flight suit, he smirks against your lips as he mutters ''so needy.''

''Please, sir'' you beg against him.

He moves back and looks up at Din, saying ''what do you think, Djarin? Think she deserves some reward?''

Din's hands rest on your shoulders, pulling you back to sit in front of his legs. You look up at him with pleading eyes, your pussy dying for attention off these men.

''She did do a good job at making me cum, but I kind of want to see just how needy she can get'' his tone is darker than before. His visor set straight on you as he teased the idea.

Boba leans down and strokes over your underwear causing you to flitch at the slight stimulation, chuckling quietly to himself. ''I say we see how much we can get her to beg'' he hums.

You want to protest, but yet you're enjoying this too much. Enjoying them talking about you like you weren't on your knees sat in between them both. You wanted both of these men to use you how they wanted, wanted them both to claim you in whatever ways they wished.

Then Boba's hand grabs your chin and pulls you closer, ''what do you want, little one?''

''You, both of y- you'' you quietly say, ''I want you both... so badly. Please, Lord Fett.''

''Sit on the bed then'' Boba orders, so you push yourself off the floor and hurry over to his bed. Sitting on the edge whilst both men towered over you again.

It was like they were both trying to figure out what to do next, or how they were going to do their next plan.

You watch Din lean into one of pockets on his belt and pull out some black fabric. ''You okay with being blind folded, cyar'ika?'' His voice is so soft as you nod to allow him to blindfold you for whatever reason he wished.

He passed the fabric to Boba who moved to behind you on the bed, placing a light kiss on your shoulder and traveling up your neck to your cheek. You leaned back against him, one of his hands traveling up the other side of your body, maker you were getting more and more desperate as the minutes passed.

Finally Boba's hands move in front of your face, the fabric coming closer to your face. Then suddenly your vision is gone, everything black. You feel Boba move your hair as he ties the blindfold, you're unable to see anything now.

''Safeword?'' Boba asks against your ear. Your senses are on full alert now due to your sight being gone, his hot breath against you made you shiver.

''Starship'' you reply.

He places a soft kiss on your neck as he praises ''good girl.''

Then you hear a hiss, a sound you knew very well, the removal of a helmet. Meaning Din was removing his helmet for Boba. You weren't sure why you couldn't see his face, you assume it must be a Mandalorian thing you don't know and due to Boba wearing the same armour he is allowed to see his face.

You hear the helmet be placed on the floor and feel his gloved hands run up your thighs. ''Fett, can I?'' His voice sounds different without the helmet, still just as handsome, just a bit softer.

Boba just hums and then before you can react Din places one hand on your cheek and pulls you to his lips. You lean into the kiss, feeling a moustache run along your lips as he pressed further into the kiss. The taste of caf on his soft lips filled the kiss.

Daringly you reach up and place a hand on his cheek, waiting to see if he would push it away, but he doesn't. So you run your hand along his face. Feeling the stumble on his cheeks that ran into a beard along his jawline, able to feel the little scars along his face. Your hand travelled further up, playing with his hair. It was soft and short, more scars hidden underneath.

You guess he was a bounty hunter too by the way he dressed and the amount of damage his body had been through.

Din then slowly pulls away from your lips, you let out a quiet moan as you miss the feeling. You feel him shuffle off the bed, placing his hands tightly on your thighs, and then feeling his breath on them.

Oh maker, please. Two men eating your cunt in one night? What a dream!

His hands snaked up and slowly dragged your underwear down, exposing your soaking pussy to him. You were glad you were blindfolded as you would be red in the face if you could see his reaction. Well you already were burning in the face, but you imagine if you saw his face you'd be on fire.

''She is drenched Boba'' he mutters, placing kisses on your thighs.

Boba's hands runs up both sides of your body as he pulls you back more, leaning your body against his cold armoured one. ''She always is, always so needy. Aren't you princess?''

You whimper in response, and whisper ''please.''

Both of these men knew what you wanted. They were just prolonging it for the sake of teasing you, wanting to see how far they could push you. And they were starting to get too close, you needed this pressure released.

Thankfully you don't wait long as Din pushes your legs wider as his tongue slides between your folds. You let out a quiet moan, your body completely sagging against Boba's, your hands gripping the sheets under you.

His tongue was just as talented as Boba's, tracing along and taking you fully in. Every so often poking into your hole, making your hips jerk up as he pushed them back down.

Then Boba moves one hand around and pinches your nipple again, a loud moan escaping your throat. This feeling was so beautiful, these two men touching you where you wanted, them doing what they wished as you just lay between them.

Din's tongue enters your hole making your hips jump again, but this time he doesn't push them back down, his hooked nose rubbing against your clit. You let out a very breathy moan at the sensation.

''Djarin, grid her against your face'' Boba orders. And Din does exactly that, causing your eyes to roll back behind the blindfold.

''You enjoying this, mesh'la?'' Boba asks you.

''I- I am, sir'' you moan.

He hums as he brings his other hand to your other nipple, bringing your body closer to feeling overstimulated.

''Tell him then, I've told him how good you are, thank our guest.''

You swallow and catch your breath a bit before you say ''this f- feels so good Di- Din... Thank y- you.''

Din hums against your hole which causes you to moan loud again. He tightens his grip on your thighs and rocks your clit more against his face, trying to bring you closer to your release.

Behind you you can feel Boba's cock digging into your back, feeling a bit guilty that he hasn't had a release yet. But you think he must be enjoying this as if he wanted to cum he would be getting you to help him already.

The pool in the bottom of your stomach grows, you can feel your own release getting closer. Fett must have picked up on your breathing changing as he whispers ''are you getting close, little one?''

''Yes'' you utter out quickly.

''Think she deserves to cum Mand'alor?'' Boba teases.

You feel Din's head remove himself for a moment, you whimpering from missing the feeling already and from your stimulation pausing. ''I think so, she's been so good for us so far'' he replies.

''Plea- please Din'' you almost cry. You wonder how much more you must plead to these men tonight just so they would give you what you wanted.

''You heard my girl, make her cum'' Boba said, his smirk always on his lips.

As Din's head reappears you reach down and grip his hair, since you don't have many opportunities to do such with Boba, not that you minded. He goes back to grinding your pussy against his face as his tongue fucked your hole, bringing you closer by the second.

Boba's fingers just work on pinching your nipples to help your stimulated body.

''I- I'm... cum. Gonna-''

''Cum princess'' Boba orders and you obey in an instant.

Gripping the sheets harder as you let go of Din's hair, your thighs squishing his head and your back arching until he pushes you back down. You see stars as you cum hard, harder than earlier.

''Good girl'' Boba praises as you moan against him from another mans mouth.

Din works you through your orgasm until it's too much, that your legs are shaking and your body is physically jumping back from his mouth, the overstimulation being too much.

He removes his mouth and you feel him rise, ''want to taste her?''

Your brain is foggy and it takes you a moment to release Boba is leaning up, hearing his lips meet Din's. The pair of them letting out quiet groans, sharing the taste of your release between their mouths.

One of Boba's hands leave your body to, you assume, touch Din's face. You were still unable to see what was happening but very much able to hear it. Getting more and more turned on from hearing the two men make out above you,

Then before you know it one of Din's hands reach down and grab your bare breast. Both men holding one each, both pinching a nipple each. You quietly whimper under them, clearly wanting to make sure you were still involved with the events.

''She tastes beautiful, doesn't she?'' Boba mutters above you.

''I'm glad you offered to share her with me, I can see why you've been held up with her'' Din replies.

You feel yourself blush, unsure if they were even looking at you, but not caring for a moment. The way these men spoke about you was beautiful, that even though they both wanted to dominate you and you wanted them both to claim you, that they still felt like they were worshipping you in some sense.

''Gar hiibir kaysh uram'' Boba says.

''Tion'jor?'' Din replies. You were completely clueless to what they were saying, you knew only pet names and a few compliments in Mando'a, the rest of their conversation was just confusing you, plus you were focusing on the feeling of them still playing with your nipples.

After a little while they both remove their hands, and you feel them both get off the bed. ''What's happening?'' You ask, still laying naked on the bed with the blindfold still on.

You heard two hisses, one after another. Did they both put their helmets back on?

No words were spoken still as you are sat up and feel the blindfold be untied. Your eyes squint as you readjust to the low lighting in the bedroom.

Both men stood in front of you, still in full armour with their helmets now on, however both their cocks were freed. Your mouth opens into a little 'O' as you let out a heavy breath.

''You going to do as you're told, babygirl?'' Din says, his voice back to sending a vibration through your body with the modifier.

You nod and whisper ''yes, sirs.''

''So obedient. You want both our dicks to fill you? Have two kings ruin you?'' Boba adds.

''Please, I really do.''

Two kings? Was Din also a king? Boba did keep referring to him as a title, it wasn't one you'd heard before. But the thought excited you, being fucked by two kings at once.

''End of the bed on all fours, face towards the end of the bed'' Boba orders and you do as so.

Watching as Boba stands in front of you and Din moves himself onto the bed behind you. His hands landing softly on your hips, adjusting you to be level with him. Both of them in front of a hole each, waiting.

Boba's hand rests on your cheek, soothing you slightly. You were a little nervous, you hadn't done anything like this before, but you were excited nonetheless. ''Ready?''

''Yes sir.''

You open your mouth and lean your tongue out, Boba lining himself up. He just rests on the end of your tongue as he waits for Din, his gloved finger dances along your hole, teasing it. You groan out of impatience, as much as it felt nice you just wanted him to fuck you.

Then he does. He lines the head of his dick to your hole, holding your hips as he slowly fills you up with his length. Your body pushing forwards as you take Boba's cock further into your mouth.

Both men push themselves as deep as the can in you and hold it.

Kriffing maker, you felt so full! They weren't even moving, but feeling both their lengths fill you was magical.

You swallow around Boba's cock and he says ''she likes it rough'' to Din. Slowly feeling empty as Din pulls back before he snaps his hips back to you, pushing Boba further down your throat.

Your eyes already start to fill with tears, how did it feel this good already? They only just really started.

Boba grips your hair as he pulls your head back a bit so he can fuck your mouth easier, whilst Din's pelvis slaps into your thighs as he tightens his grip on your hips. Your body being rocked between the two armoured men, them using your body exactly as they want.

Above you the sound of their helmet clank together, you assume they are giving each other a keldabe kiss, a motion Boba had done with numerus times whilst his face was covered.

Both their hips still rocking into you, each of them removing one hand. You look as far as you can up and watch Din's hand rest on Boba's cheek under his helmet, their motions with each other seeming so soft as they fucked you numb under them.

Your pussy clenches around Din, this entire moment making you feel so much.

''You getting close again pretty girl?'' Din almost mocks. Humming against Boba's cock, you then feel his hand move onto your clit, clearly moved off Boba's face.

Din runs little circles over your clit, pushing his cock slowly and deeply into you. ''Do you want to cum on his cock baby?'' Boba asks.

Again you hum and nod against his cock, your eyes looking up to see his helmet staring down at you. He reaches under your body and pinches your nipple once again. Your eyes threatening to drop the tears, your body feeling so overstimulated.

''Cum, ad'ika'' Boba commands.

Your eyes slam shut as your pussy tightens around Din, as Boba pushes his cock further down your opening throat. ''Good girl'' Din praises, but then he speeds up and fucks you hard through your orgasm.

You were stuck, unable to move whilst both men had you trapped between them. Your body spasming and shaking from your high, but neither men slowly down or easing up for you. But you didn't feel the need to stop, you enjoyed the feeling of it.

''Am at kaysh uram'' Boba says.

Then both men pull out from you, you let out a mix of a moan and whimper. You stare at Boba with a confused expression. ''Don't worry, we're not finished with you'' he pats your head as he moves to where Din was stated as Din appears in front of you. Oh, they're changing positions?

You open your mouth again for Din to slide his cock in, tasting yourself in the prosses. It wasn't the first time, a few times Boba had made you suck him off to cum in your mouth after, so you were kind of used to the taste now. Like before as you sit with Din's dick in your mouth Boba lines his up with your pussy.

His thick cock pushes through your sensitive walls as you moan against Din's length. Once again full from both men's cocks. You could get used to this feeling, hoping Boba would invite him around again.

''Maker you really do look good whilst someone fucks your mouth as I take your pussy'' Boba says recalling his comment from earlier, when he first told you someone would be joining.

''Not sure which one of I'm more jealous of'' Din groans.

You are on fire under them, the way they spoke about you made you weak, you were enjoying yourself so much.

Boba's grip on your hips tighten as he goes deeper causing your pussy to clench against him. ''You close again mesh'la?''

Din chuckles as you hum against his cock and he answers for you, ''I think she is.''

''Can you hold on a little longer? Want you to cum with me baby'' Boba says. You let out a mumbled whimper, the knot was right there, you were so closer.

Tears run down your face, holding yourself back. Trying to just focus on sucking Din's cock, hoping it would prolong your desperate need to cum. Din lets out a low moan as he holds your head tight, clearly enjoying your focus on him, trying to pleasure him the best way you could with your mouth for the second time tonight.

Boba's cock starts to throb as his thrust speed up, ''cum princess'' he moans.

Din pulls out your mouth as you let out a really loud moan, it echoing through the bedroom. You arms collapse under you with your ass and pussy still held up by Boba. Clamping around Boba's length, cumming harder then ever before, feeling his own release be stuffed deep inside you. Filling you with his cum, like he was trying to get it as deep as possible.

''So good'' Din praises above stroking your head. You shake a little under his touch, Boba still slowly rocking his softening dick inside you.

Once he does pull out Boba turns you on your back, ''you're nearly done, just need to make Din cum now, little one.''

You look up at Din, he was fisting his own cock as he stared at the mess between your legs. He slowly moves around the bed to where Boba is, placing himself next him. Both men kneeling next to your sensitive, leaking pussy.

Din uses his free hand to push two fingers into your hole, making you moan from the sensation. He does a few thrusts before pulling them back out. His black gloved fingers covered in the white liquid of both yours and Boba's release. You watch as he takes them under his helmet and sucks them clean.

Boba lets out a low groan as his hand leans down to help jerk Din closer, ''want his cum inside you too?''

''Please'' you whimper.

Din moans under Boba's grip, almost allowing his dominance to be swept away as Boba touched him. His gloved hand running up and down the Mandalorian's long length, you just waiting in anticipation. Wanting more cum to fill you, unsure if it was even possible honestly, but you were excited to at least feel it.

Boba then helps line Din back up to your sensitive heat, his cock almost ready to burst.

Din slowly rocks his hips back into you, using Boba's cum almost like lube. Filling your tightened pussy, moaning quietly under him.

''Cum inside my girl Mand'alor, use her how you wish'' Boba says to him, pulling all the strings now.

You feel Din's pace stutter as you once again feel your walls be coated with cum, quietly whimpering out from your sore and tired pussy. ''You two look so pretty like this'' Boba praises to you both.

The hiss of his helmet fills your ears as his handsome face comes back into your view. He leans down and places a kiss on your lips, you calm against his mouth. ''Don't forget to thank our guest, don't be rude princess'' he mutters against your lips.

So you move your head to the side, watch as Din pulls his soft dick from you and tuck it away. ''Thank you D- Din'' you say, giving him a dazed smile. He reaches down and strokes your cheek softly, you shut your eyes as you leaned against his palm.

Maker you were tired, quite literally all fucked out.

''Djarin can you start the bath for her'' Boba voice now so soft again. Din nods and exits to the fresher. Boba gaze turns back to you, cradling your head in his hands, his eyes so soft and caring now. ''Did you enjoy that?'' He asks so softly it could make you cry.

''I did, thank you'' you reply, giving him a warm reassuring smile.

He leans down and places another kiss on your lips, this time it was soft. He was clearly tired now too, his touch so gentle against you now.

Din remerges from the fresher to indicate the bath was done. So Boba moves his mouth off yours and lets Din pick you up, carrying you to the bath. You didn't really require both men to help clean you, but you also weren't going to turn them down.

You quietly whimper as the warm water touches your sensitive and fucked out cunt. Boba grabs the usual cloth to wipe around your face, making sure the cum from earlier was gone, and cleaning the drool, sweat and tears too. Din helped make sure between your legs was clean, making sure it wasn't sticky and rough between your legs anymore.

You once again felt special, having these two big men look after you after they both fucked you tired.

Din helped you out the tub as Boba wrapped a towel around you, picking you up and carrying you to bed. Din helps dry you off whilst Boba jumps into a quick shower.

''So, you and Boba...'' you start, wondering what was happening there.

''He was there for me when I needed someone, when I needed comfort. Then he filled another void I didn't even realise I had. But nothing serious, don't worry. He's all yours'' Din's voice so soft now, there was no jealousy or venom behind his words. It seems like they just hooked up a couple of times and that was all.

You just nod as you yawn laying down, pulling the covers over yourself. Just as you do you see Boba exit the fresher, just a towel wrapped around his waist.

But maker, yes! You wanted this again.

#boba fett #din djarin #100lxtters #100lxtters one shot #boba fett x reader x din djarin #boba fett x reader #boba fett x din djarin #din djarin x reader #f!reader #boba fett x f!reader x din djarin #fanfic #one shot #18+ fanfic #18+ one shot #star wars #the book of boba fett #the mandalorian

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italoniponic · 2 years

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I've returned again- because I can't sleep. Swimmy needs sleep but Swimmy has a small confession and a short HC!!! A long time ago, probably a month or two by now? During the MC clothing saga, I was the one who sent the ask about MC getting all dressed up in a ballgown and the guys fighting over her. 🤣 I thought of something else related to it that could SORT OF tie in with the random proposal/courting asks I've sent you.

I don't know if it's actually canon or not that Crewell designs clothing and makes it. I think it is, but I can't remember. I know almost everyone kind of goes along with the HC though.

Anyways, I like to imagine Crewell asks for your help, as he's designing a wedding gown and he needs you to model it so he can see how it fits, make adjustments and add more details, etc. He's finished it, but then Grim runs in, sees you all dressed up in a beautiful wedding gown, looking like a perfect bride with a veil and everything. He gets the wrong idea- you're getting married and you're going to move out of Ramshackle and leave him to fend for yourself. You see him enter the room and turn to smile at him, lifting your veil gently and Crewell is beaming (over his wonder gown). This just destroys Grim and confirms his incorrect suspicions. Grim then runs out of the room, sobbing and blubbering and wailing about how you're marrying Crewell and leaving him all alone... you chase after Grim yelling "it's not what it looks like -COME BACK GRIM I'M NOT LEAVING YOU!!!" and chasing the poor baby. Your veil and gown are flowing behind you and Crewell is chasing you yelling about the dress not being done. The students are torn between being in awe of how absolutely stunning you look (and subconsciously trying to imagine you at the alter with them) and being highly concerned over the chase-scene that they are witnessing...

Several boys join in on the pursuit, even if they don't know why. But by the end of it, you're hugging Grim tightly and he's still sobbing and begging you not to leave him. Crewell is PISSED because the dress is tattered and torn- and somehow he's wearing the veil now. Things are on fire. Ace and Deuce have a broken arm and leg respectively. Azul is trying to figure out how to profit off of your bridal image. Idia is having ghost bride flashbacks and passes out. You stepped on Silver at some point. Kalim thought you were playing tag. Malleus has now made it his life goal (as well as other boys) to see you in a wedding dress again- of course, at your own wedding with him... Cater took like, ALL the photos and captioned them with #RunawayBride #NRClife #IDont #HereRunsTheBride #CrewellDesigns. Rook is the first one to join the chase because he *is* a hunter after all. Jack's heart said "fetch" but his pride said "no".

- Swimmy 🏊‍♀️

OH SO IT WAS YOU? AAAAW SWIMMY~ sharing hcs with me since the beginning <;3 [this ask in question, oh God, finding tags on my blog is a nightmare]

GOD THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING LOL Grim misunderstanding things, he doesn't want to lose MC after all and MC goes after him, making this whole run with other students after them like is the Dodo and the running animals in Alice's movie. I LOVE IT

more mumbling under the cut~~

The beautiful white bride dress now all messed up and Crewel rolling up the veil in his arm, almost crying, he also forgot his wand thing with the whip in the teacher's office so he can't whip all of you

GRIM WHY ARE YOU SO CUTE AND PROBLEMATIC? But I love you bb <3 I would probably hug him tight like I do with my cat sometimes he hates it

W-why Ace and Deuce have a broken arm and leg???? did they fight to see who would get close to MC in the run? Ace gave this sick kick in Deuce's leg and in revenge, as he was falling, Deuce twisted Ace's arm????

OF COURSE Azul is trying to think how obtain money from this. Maybe a whole session and promotion sale in Mostro Lounge that the brought of 3 special drinks, you can take a wedding photo with MC as your bride lol

Idia having serious ptsd </3 I think he's never gonna look at wedding-ish game events like the same before

SILVER BABY I'M SO SORRY and Kalim... oh, such a precious boy. Never get what's happening but if it seems fun, why not join in?

Malleus standing in the hallway, looking up, daydreaming about your wedding day set in the human deco style. If it suits you, then he's fine by it <3

CATER HASHTAGS HAD ME ON GROUND FAINTING LMAO I'm not surprise that Rook was the first to follow along, hunting Grim for MC but also holding the dress's tail (idk if this is the proper way to name it, it's like the longest part of the dress) so you can run without problems

JACK HOW- YOU BETTER RUN AFTER ME *I climb on him, shaking his shirt* YOU'RE ONE OF MY POTENTIAL HUSBANDS DAMMIT but so him trying to contain himself and get away from all this mess. "Prestigious college with proper students" his tail

Swimmy, as always, I loved all this <3 Thanks for presenting me with more funny headcanons! You're the best :D

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yorprincess · 1 year

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Headcanon: What Anya calls Yor

Okay so some of this is headcanon and some of this is drawn straight from the Anime and Manga.

In the Manga/Anime, Anya calls Yor "HaHa" which does translate to Mama, but it's the incorrect term in Japanese. According to THIS video, the term "HaHa" is reserved for when you are talking about your mother to someone else and is considered disrespectful to use in conversation with your mom. That's the background.

Now onto the headcanon.

Yor accepted very quickly that Anya wanted her to be her mother. The moment the little girl called her "HaHa" she repeated it back with a stunned, almost reverent air, as if she couldn't believe that someone like her would be genuinely called that. It wasn't until the interview at Eden that Yor understood why she had been granted the title "HaHa" and not "Mama". Because Anya loved and always will love her first mother.

This is something Yor accepted. She's just a player in the game called the Forgers after all. And Anya loving her Mama more makes sense. A little girl should love her birth mother, even if she is no longer around. Yor wouldn't dare try to take that place from the original Mrs. Forger.

So if there ever comes a day when Anya calls her Mama... she will be confused. Maybe this happens when all the secrets are out in the open, maybe this happens right before everything comes crashing down, maybe this happens in one of the quiet moments when it's just the two of them in the apartment drinking hot cocoa. But whenever it does happen, Yor will freeze. "What was that, dear?" she'll ask, not quite understanding. And should Anya repeat "mama" back to her... she'll question why and whatever Anya's reason for changing how she addresses her Step Mother will probably break Yor.

Because she'll know then that she became the one thing she didn't want to at the beginning - she replaced the original Mrs. Forger (or if she knows that Anya is adopted, her birth mother). That'll be both heartwarming (to be accepted as she is and loved unconditionally by the girl she has always considered her daughter) and heartbreaking (because she never wanted to replace the woman Anya shed tears for).

#Headcanon : Tell my story #Anya : I am that girl's mother #ooc : rachel

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longstand · 2 years

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Carla madison recreation center

#Carla madison recreation center full

Notably, our Shop Applied Hardware Department installed the hardware on the doors before shipment and we field installed everything ourselves. Doorways provided the hollow metal doors and frames, wood doors, and architectural hardware.

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#Carla madison recreation center

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embroidery-pro · 2 years

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10 Machine Embroidery Mistakes

EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 1: WALKING aloof from YOUR EMBROIDERY MACHINE Don’t go forth from the machine whereas it's sewing out a style. One powerful lesson I’ve learned is that as shortly as I go forth from my embroidery machine is that the moment that every one hell breaks lose. In my 1st embroidery category, I truly asked my embroidery pedagogue if it absolutely was cool on behalf of me to steer aloof from the machine whereas it absolutely was sewing and she or he said… “Sure, if you wish.” This, however, was TERRIBLE recommendation. once walking aloof from my machine one too again and again whereas it absolutely was running and having one thing black happen. i might prefer to revise that Associate in Nursingswer to an emphatic “no.” it's not an honest plan to steer aloof from your embroidery machine. When you area unit obtainable and might either hear or see that one thing isn't right, STOP THE EMBROIDERY MACHINE. I even have saved quite an few comes once the machine was obtaining decorated up as a result of I ran over and turned off the machine, cleared the matter and got started once more. Multi-task if you need to (iron, trim thread, organize your notions drawer…) Do what you need to to avoid falling asleep at the machine, however don't go forth. EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 2: making an attempt TO HOOP EVERYTHING One of the primary comes I tried on my embroidery machine was monogramming towels. Not knowing any higher, i attempted hooping the towels. i need to have tried a hundred times to urge the towel aligned properly within the hoop and not have it begin. it absolutely was rough, however I assumed i might bounce back at it in time. When my saw sister saw what i used to be doing, she laughed at ME – stunned that i might truly plan to hoop a towel. however what alternative selection did I have??? This is after I learned to float towels (and with regards to everything else) within the hoop. you merely hoop the stabilizer than stick the towel on high. you'll either use temporary spray adhesive to urge the towel to stay to the stabilizer or use sticky back stabilizer. such a lot faster and easier. EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 3: NOT victimization STABILIZER OR victimization the incorrect KIND. The only time you must embroider while not stabilizer is: ne'er. Stabilizer is required to stay your garment/fabric/towel, etc… in situ whereas you're embroidering. There area unit many various styles of stabilizer, however 2 major classes area unit cut away and remove. In general, “if you wear it, don’t tear it.” Cut away stabilizer ought to be used on the rear of something worn, particularly if it’s elastic, i.e. sweatshirts, t-shirts, etc. remove is healthier for significant duty comes like embroidering on towels. Learn a lot of regarding stabilizer for machine embroidery. Water soluble stabilizer is stabilizer that melts away once it comes into contact with water. It’s used for several in-the-hoop comes, creating patches and free standing lace. It addition to victimization the correct sort of stabilizer, it’s conjointly necessary to form certain the stabilizer is hooped firmly. It ought to be flat and force tight, therefore tight that a coin may bounce off it. ESSENTIAL STABILIZER FOR MACHINE EMBROIDERY EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 4: victimization the incorrect sort of THREAD It may be tempting to begin victimization your embroidery machine with no matter thread you have got available, however you'll seemingly be thwarted with the results. Embroidery thread contains a completely different composition and appears abundant nicer once sewed out. There area unit many various styles of embroidery thread, and nearly each embroidery enthusiast has her favorite complete. I would counsel not over-investing in one complete before decisive if you machine “likes” the complete. Some folks swear that bound brands of thread oftentimes break on a specific machine. I, personally, don't have a powerful bias toward a specific complete. Learn a lot of regarding thread for machine embroidery. In addition to victimization embroidery thread (as against regular thread), it’s conjointly crucial to use embroidery reel thread within the bobbing. Embroidery reel thread is far agent than regular thread that helps pull a lot of of the highest thread to the rear of the garment, making certain no reel thread shows on high. Learn a lot of regarding reel thread for machine embroidery. EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 5: NOT check sewing When you obtain a font or a brand new embroidery style, check sew it out 1st on some scrap material. The check sew sample serves multiple purposes: you'll get nice observe, see what the finished piece can appear as if, and have a sample to indicate potential customers within the future. Having samples is particularly handy once it involves act with customers. you'll show them the sewed out samples to assist them select a font or style. contemplate stitching out each font and style you own on white material, then write in Sharpie pen the name of it and also the sizes you have got. Then place the samples during a binder for straightforward viewing. EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 6: selecting the incorrect sort of EMBROIDERY OR APPLIQUÉ style FOR the incorrect material Be sensitive once it involves style and material choice. Most embroidery and appliqué styles area unit created with a sew density set for a regular weight cotton material. after you try and sew these styles on alternative styles of material, you'll got to create some changes, like adding additional layers of stabilizer. the truth, however, is that some styles don't seem to be about to sew out fine on some materials. (think high sew count styles and delicate fabrics). EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 7: NOT TRIMMING JUMP STITCHES BETWEEN every THREAD COLOR Yes – i do know the new fangled embroidery machines truly trim jump stitches as they're sewing out. should be nice. My recent archosaurian reptile of Associate in Nursing embroidery machine doesn't. So…. If you have got Associate in Nursing embroidery machine that doesn't trim jump strings whereas it's sewing out the look, then you must mate yourself. even supposing a well digitized style has lowest jump stitches, they will seldom be avoided altogether, and long jump stitches cause the material to pucker. because the style is sewing out, once every thread color is finished sewing, trim it as on the point of the look as attainable. EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 8: NOT TAKING THE TIME TO check EVERYTHING BEFORE getting down to sew Sometimes i purchase therefore excited to begin a project that I forget to see a number of crucial things, and this could usually result in a disaster or at the minimum, unsatisfactory results. To avoid common embroidery mistakes, run through a list before getting down to sew, which could include: Is the material hooped within the right direction? You don’t need to sew out the look the wrong way up or revolved ninety degrees. Is the style properly placed? an excellent tool to assist you discover the acceptable spot for Associate in Nursing embroidery style for a spread of comes is that the good Placement Kit. Is there enough thread (top and bobbin) to finish the design? typically shopping for constant thread doesn't guarantee a match! Do I even have all the thread colours i want to sew out this design? Is the hoop connected properly to the machine? Does the ring have space to maneuver around or may it run into something? Is the garment of cloth I’m sewing on further from the bottom of the hoop? may it simply get force into the design? Do I even have enough time to finish sewing out this design? Do i want a water soluble sulky to travel on high of the material I’m stitching? Am I victimization the correct needle for this material I’m sewing on? Is the needle focused over the marked center position on the fabric? Do I even have the proper color thread on the machine? Making a habit of inquiring this list before touch your begin button might spare you some dissatisfactory results. EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 9: NOT ORGANIZING FILES Almost each embroidery junky contains a TON of embroidery files. however once you begin to accumulate a bunch, it’s simple to forget what's what. Organize your files into folders that creates sense to you. and so – back them up! Another nice strategy is to stay all of the e-mail confirmations from {the style|the planning|the look}s you buy in one folder in order that you'll return to the shop and request another transfer just in case you lose the design. EMBROIDERY MISTAKE 10: NOT MAINTAINING MACHINE. Embroidery machines want love. after you pay attention of them, they're going to reward you with superior performance. Some straightforward, however importance maintenance tasks, include: Clean the reel cage with a makeup brush often. Change the needle each 10-15 comes. Clean your embroidery hoops. Take machine into dealer for service once a year. Cover machine to avoid obtaining dirt within. Power machines down once not victimization them. Screens will blow out and that they area unit costly to switch. Trust me. Read the full article

#embroidery #embroidery designs #embroidery machine #embroidery software #embroidery tips #sewing #sewing machine #tutorial

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snackhobi · 3 years

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this is my part of the rockin’ around the christmas tropes collab with @yeojaa, @underthejoon @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna, @untaemedqueen, @xjoonchildx ✨ MERRY (early) CHRISTMAS Y’ALL

summary: yoongi is your favourite regular. he’s patient, polite, and predictable, a-large-black-coffee-to-go-please, no cream, no sugar, thank you. rinse and repeat. the seasons might change, but yoongi’s order stays the same.

and then one fateful day in winter, yoongi asks about the weekly specials, orders a cup of christmas and sugary sweetness, and everything starts changing.

pairing: yoongi x barista f!reader / word count: 14.8k / genre: coffeeshop!au, fluff, dash of smut (NSFW)

warnings: slow burn, terrible drink concoctions, pining, miscommunication (kind of/reader comes to incorrect conclusions based on literally nothing), the tiniest bit of swearing, heated makeouts, oral (m receiving), I think that’s it

a/n: I have a lot of people to thank: thank you to my loveliest most beautiful wife @yeojaa for the beautiful banner 🥺💖 thank you to @morndas for helping me name this fic and suggesting some of the awful weekly specials featured within 🥰 thank you to @yeoldontknow for letting me have multiple meltdowns at her and for letting me pick her brain about working in the music industry, and for helping me with plot points I wasn’t sure about!! 💕

also thank you to @hobi-gif for helping me brainstorm the original fic idea with her; she hasn’t beta’ed this fic because I am TERRIBLE and literally finished this like an hour before posting. that’s on me and not her. I am a shambles without her indomitable proof reading skills; any mistakes are down to me, and I apologise for that. I’ve only read this through like once, sorry in advance, I’m literally formatting this while I should be getting ready for work

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

Like, okay, you’re on your feet for hours at a time, the pay isn’t exactly the highest in the world, and coffee beans have a tendency to end up in the weirdest places (how did you get the light roast in your bra?)—but it’s not entirely terrible.

Here’s a (totally not comprehensive) list of good things about working at the Paradise coffee shop:

The free drinks (y’know, for taste testing purposes)

The free food (you probably eat more than you’re actually allowed, but who’s telling?)

Your coworkers (like Taehyung, who is—yep—currently shoving a whole mini panettone in his mouth)

Most of the customers are pretty nice, too (you have some lovely regulars)

(If you had to be more specific, there’s one regular in particular that you really, really like—)

(Yoongi appears like clockwork every week. Just after the Tuesday lunch rush, the bell above the door will sing out its greeting as he steps inside, ordering the same drink each and every time he’s here—a large Americano, to go, plain and simple and unadorned, no room for cream or milk, no added sugar or sweetener.)

(Yoongi really is the perfect customer. He has been from the very beginning, a point of quiet in a churning sea of hot, sweaty people all begging for frappés and milkshakes, the hottest point at the very peak of summer. The queue had been growing longer and longer, out of the doors as the blenders whirred their way through a neverending cascade of sugary, iced blends; the counters were a mess and all the baristas were running around and everything was chaos and in had walked this guy, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes, even in the height of summer—you were ready for death at this point, hands sticky with syrup and apron streaked with flecks from almost every drink from the summer menu, and you’d braced yourself for some terse words, impatience and passive aggressive comments on the long wait—)

(—and this intimidating man had just patiently asked for an iced Americano, calm and quiet and polite.)

(You’d fallen a little in love, then and there. Fallen in love with that simple order, quick and easy to make, and fallen a little in love with the dichotomy of the man who looked like nothing but sharp edges being the softest customer you’d had all day. There was nothing rushed about his motions, no desperate need to get his drink and get away, no anger at having waited for so long.)

(He’d been ready to pay, too, no fumbling with his wallet or money; he’d tapped his card, easy and breezy and all lemon squeezy, but he’d left a tip in change, dropped almost thoughtlessly into the jar. He’d collected his cup with the smallest upturn to his lips, a tilt of his head, and then he’d left, other customers parting before him like the Red Sea.)

(The only thing that’s changed over the months is that the iced coffees of summer have changed into hot Americanos for the cooler months, autumn and now almost-winter, warding off the chill in the air. Everything else is the same; his dark eyes and low voice and patient smile, small but ever present, pressed lightly into the surprisingly soft line of his mouth.)

(So, yeah. Yoongi is your favourite customer. Even if you’ve barely spoken, really, the two of you dancing through the same short script each time he comes in—the longest conversation you’ve had so far is the one where you’d tentatively asked if he’d like a rewards card, and after a moment of contemplation, he’d quietly agreed.)

(You like to think that you’re Yoongi’s favourite server, too. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but—)

(Taehyung had been stunned into speechlessness, because, to quote his words exactly: “I tried getting him to sign up for a card last time and I swear he just pretended he couldn’t hear me? He just straight up didn’t respond? What?”)

(—you know Yoongi likes you at least a little bit.)

Anyway. You’re getting off the point. Paradise is a decent place to work, the people are nice, and the building is pretty and airy and welcoming and warm, toasty and cosy in the upcoming cold of winter. It’s one of the things that keeps people coming back, that lovely atmosphere.

Another thing that people apparently love about Paradise is the constantly changing menu. It’s not enough to have seasonal menus, no—you need to have weekly specials, apparently, to keep people interested. It’s like a gachapon, but instead of cute little capsule toys, it’s a random mix of concoctions that are hit or miss.

“Well, I liked the Peachy Keen Jelly Bean,” Taehyung says, around a mouthful of sweet bread, still chewing his way through the panettone.

“You’d be the only one,” you reply, swiping a cloth over the counters and crinkling your nose at the pile of coffee grounds you gather. “Iced peach tea with blackberry and vanilla and cherry and watermelon syrup has got to be one of the worst things we’ve ever served.”

That had definitely been one of the misses. This week’s special, though, is far more palatable, if incredibly sweet—Crystal Snow, a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and a crystallised sugar stick to stir in. Sugar on sugar on sugar, basically. (Your teeth ache just thinking about it.)

But there’s always something so fun about making the winter specials, no matter how sugary they are; the smell of the sticky syrups, the swirl of cream to top off the cup, the dusting of cocoa or cinnamon, everything mulled in the sweet warmth of winter. Even if the drink you’re making is questionable, you get so excited about it, genuinely enthusiastic when you recommend them to customers, carrying everyone into the spirit of the upcoming holidays. You’d hardly describe making coffee a billion times a day fun—it’s pretty exhausting, actually—but you’ve always had a weird affection for the winter menu and the weekly specials alongside it.

You don’t upsell the drinks because you have to. You do it because you want to.

(You’re pretty good at it too. Not a flex: just a fact. Your customer service is on point.)

The only person you’ve never tried to persuade into trying something new is Yoongi. He might not be rude or short tempered, but he clearly knows what he wants, and you hate the idea of ruining the easy flow of his visits. You’re not about to embarrass yourself by asking Mr No-Cream-Or-Sugar if he’d like a drink that's nothing but cream and sugar. Asking about the rewards card had been nerve-wracking enough, even if it had been worth it for the genuinely-unintentional-but-definitely-not-unpleasant brushing of your fingers when you’d handed the card over to him.

(Okay. Look. Yoongi is patient and pleasant and polite and cute. You never thought that you’d crush on a customer, but here you are. He just… oozes masculinity in an understated, self-assured way that has you internally swooning. He looks intimidating and serious but when he smiles his eyes go soft-soft-soft, his voice a low rumble as he gives you his gentle thank you, and everything about him is just so… attractive. Even the way he holds his coffee is hot, fingers loose around the lid as he makes his way out of the café, your eyes tracing every motion as he goes. Like. Come on. Of course you’re crushing on him.)

(Just a little bit, though. Just a little bit. It’s just an itty bitty crush. A teeny weeny crush.)

The bell above the door chimes. Your kneejerk reaction is to snap your head over to see who it is—but you hold it together, instead letting your head turn at a normal, natural pace. It’s just an unfamiliar woman, rearranging the tassels of her long scarf with one hand and holding her phone with the other as the door swings shut, and you deflate.

(... It’s a small crush, you swear. It’s not like this is around the normal time Yoongi appears and you’d thought it was going to be him. Nope. Definitely not that.)

As the woman lingers near the counter, eyes flicking between her phone and the chalkboard menu on the wall above your head, Taehyung finishes licking the panettone crumbs off his fingers.

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

“It’s just past two o’clock,” he continues.

“I know,” you repeat, glancing at him quizzically. “You told me what the time was less than five minutes ago.”

“I did.”

The bell chimes again. This time, a gaggle of giggling girls come bubbling into the café, cutting you off before you can ask what Taehyung is trying to say. You go to flick your cloth at him before thinking better of it, not wanting to rain dark roast everywhere.

“Go wash your hands,” you say, just as the scarfed woman approaches the counter, ready to order. A bright smile splits your face, voice rising into its usual peppy Customer Service tone. “Hi, welcome to Paradise! How can I help you today?”

She barely glances up from her phone as she orders, asking for a latte macchiato and croissant, a distracted ‘no thanks’ when you ask if she’s interested in this week’s special. Oh well. The girls behind her, though, all seem incredibly excited when they catch wind of it; they all eagerly listen as you describe what a Crystal Snow is, your eyes lighting up as you mime piping the cream and dusting the sugar on top, laughing when they ask if they can buy extra sugar sticks to take home, because of course they can, you’d be happy to do that for them, would they like those in to-go bags? Yes, the bags are cute, aren’t they, the snowflakes are lovely, you agree.

Taehyung’s just finished wiping the steam wand when you give him the next order. You see the way his face crumples before his brows lift and his lips purse, pleading as he looks at you with big eyes, and you just roll your own eyes affectionately.

“Yes, yes, I’ll make them even though you’re meant to be on the bar, it’s fine,” you say, and Taehyung’s whole face lights up.

You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough by now to know that it takes him until at least Wednesday to memorise how to make whatever that week’s special is. And there’s not a queue, so you don’t mind taking over, pulling espresso shots and steaming milk and pouring everything together, puffing air in Taehyung’s face when he peers at your cream swirling technique. (No matter how many times you’ve tried to teach him, he’s never been able to get it right, usually just farting a mess of cream out of the nozzle and hoping for the best. Results are… mixed.) Maybe the flourish you put into dusting the sugar on top is unnecessary, but, hey. It’s fun. You smile to yourself as you give a small flick of the wrist over each drink, powdered sugar floating down like snow, and, done.

You don’t like to toot your own horn but the drinks come out Instagram perfect, each latte glass set on a tiny napkin on a saucer, sugar stick on one side, and you take a moment to admire your work.

“They’re so pretty,” Taehyung says, and your smile grows wider.

The girls all agree, cooing over the drinks in a way that only makes your smile grow even more, wide on your face. You watch as they squirrel themselves away in a corner, talking and laughing and nibbling their food and sipping at their drinks, pleased at the way their eyes widen at the first taste.

Yeah, it’s the small things that makes your time here good. Being a barista is a thankless job most of the time, as relaxed as Paradise usually is, so you try to appreciate the small things. Like having fun when you make a drink, for example. Making nice customers happy. (Having cute regulars that you can quietly ogle.)

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

You tear your attention away from the table of girls at the sound of Taehyung’s voice. “My what—?”

There’s someone in front of the glass display, hunched as they slowly and quietly peruse the selection of pastries and food inside—and you realise with a jolt that it’s Yoongi. You have no idea how long he’s been there, so distracted with patting yourself on the back for making a few nice drinks; oh, God, what if Yoongi had seen your pleased expression? Do you look smug? You probably look smug. Great, now he probably thinks that you’re a self-obsessed clown, honking your nose like some sort of narcissist.

“You’re spiralling,” Taehyung points out mildly, voice low enough that Yoongi doesn't hear.

His surprisingly perceptive comment snaps you out of aforementioned spiralling, and after shaking yourself off, you glance over at him. “Why didn’t you serve him?”

He shrugs. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to be served so I just left him to it.”

To be fair to Taehyung, he’s not wrong. Yoongi is staring intently at a slice of carrot cake—even if he’s never ordered any before—and it’s not until you move to your usual spot behind the till that his attention finally rises, meeting your gaze with his deep, dark eyes.

Your inner schoolgirl feels like she needs to sit down. Your entire stomach and chest is a looping mess of frantic butterflies after making eye contact with the cute boy who you’re crushing on, but you’ve got a great poker face; you’ve worked as a barista long enough that you’re good at shoving your real feelings down, none of your internal turmoil playing across your face as you smile. Customer service mode activate.

“Hi, and welcome back to Paradise. What can I get for you today? The usual? Large Americano, to go, for Yoongi?”

You’re a little softer than you would be with other customers, a little more subdued, dialing down how upbeat you normally are to match Yoongi’s level. His lips lift almost imperceptibly, the faintest smile playing across his mouth, and it takes all your strength for your knees to not immediately buckle.

“Hi,” he says. His voice is soft and low, faintest drawl at the end of his words, and yep, just your weekly reminder that you’re enamoured with him. Cool. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

He already has his card ready, you know he does. He always does; card to pay, loyalty card to swipe, tip to drop in the jar, quick and smooth and easy. This is normally where you’d rattle off the price—as if he doesn’t already know what it is—but you pause, thinking about how intent he’d been on the pastry display, as uncharacteristic as that is.

“Did you… want something to eat, too? I couldn’t, um, help noticing that you were eyeing up the carrot cake?”

Yoongi blinks, wispy lashes fluttering. You can see the muted surprise that flashes across his face, and you wonder if you’ve misstepped, thrown off the usual rhythm of his visit. It’s an unusual step away from your regular script, an ad-lib that he wasn’t expecting.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he says. “Maybe… next time.”

He’s polite as ever, thankfully. You’re not surprised at his answer but you do have to wonder why he was looking at the cake so closely if he hadn’t planned on getting anything; you know he likes getting served by you the most, if the evidence over the months means anything at all, but you don’t think he’d stare at cake just so he would avoid Taehyung. You’re making assumptions based on the fact he just drinks black coffee and literally nothing else, but you’ve guessed he doesn’t have a sweet tooth. (The only time he’s ever ordered food had been two months prior when he’d asked for a single croissant, and nothing since. Taehyung still talks about the croissant sometimes.)

Well, it doesn't really matter. If he doesn't want cake, you're not going to force it on him, and the rest of the transaction goes as normal. Yoongi hands over his rewards card, fingers long and knuckles knobbly and altogether lovely, pays for his Americano—made by Taehyung, cup wrapped in the sleeve that you’ve written Yoongi’s name on, black sharpie bleeding into the cardboard—and smiles at you both when Taehyung hands it to him across the smooth wood of the counter.

“Thanks.” He gives you that slight tilt of his head that he always does, and you smile helplessly back.

He’s a gentleman, through and through, even if he looks as distant as ever; dressed in all black, his ripped jeans the only splash of lightness in his dark outfit. Maybe you’re biased, but no matter what he wears, he looks stylish, somehow. It’s something in his aura. All cool understated elegance and power.

And here you are, in your cream jumper under the dark mulberry apron of your uniform, a flower blooming next to the name on your badge. All chirpy customer service, smiling broad and wide as you go through the same motions over and over with each new person that comes in. Sometimes you wonder what Yoongi thinks of you, as different as you are to him, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter—because he keeps coming back, doesn’t he?

“Have a nice day,” you say as he turns to go, and when he glances over his shoulder and says you too, smile soft and eyes softer, you know he really means it.

(And if your eyes always trail after him once his back has turned, who’s telling?)

“You’re staring.” Taehyung’s telling, apparently.

You tear your eyes away from Yoongi, bell tinkling as the door swings shut behind him. “He’s my favourite customer,” you say. As if that explains why you were staring.

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

“He’s my favourite customer,” you say again, emphatically. “He comes in, he gets the world’s simplest drink to make, is always polite, always leaves a tip, and he goes. Literally the perfect customer.”

“Alright, true,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered that before now. “Cute, too.”

You sigh. A little wistful. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, he is.”

Taehyung opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else when someone spills their drink on their floor with an unholy clattering sound, even if nothing breaks; without saying anything, both you and Taehyung raise your hands, eyes narrowing at each other.

"Rock, paper, scissors," you chant. Taehyung promptly loses, and the pout that forms on his lips doesn't disappear until he's finished mopping everything up.

(“Why do I always end up having to clean spillages?”

“Because you never win rock-paper-scissors. You always choose scissors, Taehyung. You literally always choose scissors.”)

The tradition of the weekly specials at Paradise is a weird one, truth be told. Each Monday whoever’s on the opening shift will enter the coffee shop and find that the board on the wall has been updated, the recipe typed up and laminated, waiting on the counter for the baristas. You all assume it’s the mysterious owner, who no one has ever seen, and no one even knows the name of, apparently.

“Someone has to know their name,” you’d said, once, back when you’d first started, only to receive a shrugs from everyone.

“I heard one of the old baristas say the owner’s name was Jackson,” Taehyung had said, and you’d just blinked at him.

“Huh?” you’d said, but Jimin had rolled his eyes and told you to ignore him, so you had.

This week’s drink is the Marshmallow World. As always, when you and Taehyung start your shift together, you read the recipe and follow it step by step to learn how to make it. Warmed milk, vanilla syrup, topped off with marshmallow fluff instead of whipped cream—not bad in theory, if you like sweet things, although it does pose one significant problem.

“It’s clogged my hole,” Taehyung says sadly.

You sputter on your own drink, desperately hacking your lungs out as you try to stop milk from going down your windpipe. “I’m-sorry-it’s-what,” you wheeze all at once, struggling for air.

Taehyung tilts his takeaway cup at you, gesturing at the lid. (All the mugs are still out back or on a rinse cycle so laziness had forced you to make do.) “My drink hole. It’s blocked,” he explains. “The fluff is getting in the way.”

So, yeah. It clogs people’s holes, apparently. But other than that, you have to admit it’s pretty nice, and if you drink it in the café (and thus out of a mug) then you’re fine. You just get into the habit of warning the customers if they order it to go and laugh about it with them and it’s all fine and dandy and everyone is happy.

It’s starting to get busier, now. The nights are getting longer and the days are getting colder and everyone’s starting to think about Christmas, which feels both close and far away, all at once. Close, because you still have presents to buy and there’s never enough time for it; and far, because the lights have yet to go up and Christmas songs aren’t dominating the radio yet and you have yet to experience the real winter rush. Students home for the holidays and families out to see Father Christmas and workers grabbing Secret Santa gifts, everyone desperate for something warm and soothing, hot and comforting in the face of the snow which has yet to fall.

But there’s something in the air, that cool hush that lets you know it’s nearly here—the changing of the seasons, the burnt sunset colours of autumn melting into the iced blues and greys of winter. No matter if you prefer hot or cold weather, there’s something about the beauty of wintertime that’s undeniable.

And it’s a lot easier to sell something like the Marshmallow World on a day like this, the nip in the air almost solid, biting cold into the apples of your cheeks, nibbling at fingers that are so cold they feel frost-bitten. Once again, your genuine enthusiasm shines through, persuading people to give the drink a go, happy to add a shot of espresso for whoever needs it, desperate for caffeine to buoy them up through the day.

You’ve just finished laughing with a lovely old couple, wearing matching scarves and hats—awwww—waving them goodbye as they go to sit down, when you come face to face with Yoongi, blindsided by his sudden appearance. You’d been so caught up, once again, too busy giggling your way through the conversation with your other customers, able to persuade them to try one special to share alongside everything else they’ve ordered.

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” you say. Your hand is still by your face after you’d given the couple a cute wave, and when you realise, you freeze. Flustered. Behind you, Taehyung is struggling to spoon the marshmallow fluff neatly on the vanilla steamer, making small noises of distress, but you’re too caught up in your own distress to really notice.

Once again, you have no idea how long Yoongi’s been there. You’re slipping. You’re normally aware of him as soon as he steps into the coffee shop. (You know, because you’re always aware of when a new customer steps in. Like any good barista would be.) Had he witnessed you enthusiastically waving your hands and talking about marshmallows and s'mores? Seen the way you'd grinned and laughed as you'd gotten excited over the weekly special, yet again?

Well, if he had, he doesn't seem perturbed at all. His usual smile is on his face, though you would swear it seems a little softer around the edges, almost fond.

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it.

There’s no addition of his usual that would be great, and that’s when you realise you haven’t asked about his coffee. In fact, your fingers are still curled near your chin, almost like a claw. You clear your throat and let your arm fall to your side, fiddling with the tie of your apron.

“Hi,” you repeat. Flounder for a second. Try to remember your usual line. “Large Americano?”

“Y/n.” Taehyung whines your name from the bar, loud enough that it catches your attention. “The marshmallow isn’t staying. Why do you keep recommending Marshmallow World? Why must I suffer through this torture? Every day I wake up and I make coffee—”

“Sorry, sir, one second,” you say, face scrunching in apology at Yoongi.

“It's just Yoongi,” he replies, gentle, and your heart thuds in your chest. "You don't have to call me sir."

Your face feels warm. "Um, okay, Yoongi." You've said his name before, of course, said it dozens of times to confirm his order, but never like this—by invitation from the man himself, an acknowledgement of familiarity.

Taehyung makes another noise. Yoongi's expression turns into one of faint amusement, eyes drifting over your shoulder to your friend; when you turn around, you can see why.

The other barista’s managed to get marshmallow fluff all over the edge of the glass, on the handle of the cup, all the way up the spoon, on his fingers—everywhere except on the drink itself. It’s funny, in a sad sort of way.

“Wow.” You have no idea how he managed it, but you’re here to help. “Alright, go wash your hands, Tae. I’ve got this.”

The cup is a goner. There’s no way you’ll be able to wipe off the sticky marshmallow. You’re acutely aware of Yoongi at the counter, able to watch your every move, but then you get distracted as you salvage Taehyung's attempt at a Marshmallow World. You just feel grateful that it’s a steamer so you can pour it into a new glass, not having to worry about layers of coffee and milk and foam; it’s a pretty easy fix. Good. (You don’t want to keep Yoongi waiting, as patient as he may be.)

It doesn’t take long to spoon the marshmallow on, whipped peaks in the sticky white, and by the time Taehyung returns you’re ready to present him with the picture perfect drink, not a single lick of fluff anywhere it shouldn’t be. You've got your hands on your hips as you survey your work proudly, and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you.

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

“You’re welcome,” you say. “Alright, shoo, go take this over to the table before they start wondering where it is.”

When you turn back, Yoongi’s watching you. Contemplative. You tamp down the flush that threatens to spill onto your cheeks, face burning, but before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Was that the weekly special?”

You blink. Blindsided. Yoongi’s never asked about the special before, never commented on the A-frame outside, the sign on the wall that sits next to the regular menu. No surprise there—why would someone who only drinks Americanos want to drink ninety-nine percent of the weekly specials you offer? “Um, yeah,” you say. “We’ve got the Marshmallow World this week.”

“Would you recommend it?”

You can’t help it. You light up. You love when customers ask for recommendations, and the fact that it’s Yoongi—whose blood must be made of coffee at this point—who’s asking about it? Americano Yoongi, asking about something without caffeine? Black coffee Yoongi, asking about a weekly special that’s nothing but sugar and sweetness? Something inside you switches on, a Christmas tree, all flashing lights and shimmering tinsel and excitement.

“Oh, if you like sweeter drinks, absolutely! It’s great for a cold day like today,” you gush. Maybe you should reel it in, far more exuberant than you usually are with Yoongi, but. You can’t stop. “It’s warm milk and vanilla, so it’s a lovely comfort drink, and we can add a shot of espresso too if you were wanting a little pick-me-up. And then you’ve got marshmallow fluff on top for some extra self-indulgence. We were meant to, uh, toast the top, actually, but we don’t have the necessary health and safety clearance for blowtorches. I guess you could do that at home if you really wanted to. Everyone likes toasted marshmallows, right?”

Yoongi hums, and you wonder if you’ve maybe gotten ahead of yourself. Oversold it. Maybe he was asking out of curiosity. Just because he’s asking about it doesn’t mean that he wants one—

“Can I get a Marshmallow World, please? Large, to go?”

—or maybe Yoongi is an official convert to the world of sweet drinks, changing after a lifetime of drinking unadorned, unadulterated black coffee. Holy shit. Holy shit? Holy—

“And a large Americano to go, too, please.”

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.

Yoongi of-the-black-coffee is ordering his usual drink, and another. Both large. Too much for one person to reasonably drink before one of them got cold. He’s not ordering for one person; he’s ordering for two people. Of course Yoongi wouldn’t order something as heart-stopping as the Marshmallow World—not for himself, anyway.

Mental maths. Two plus two is four, four plus four is eight; one large Americano and one Marshmallow World is two people. Yoongi and one other person is two people, a couple of people, a couple—

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? It’s sort of like that, but rather than remembering your life, you immediately recall every moment over the months where you’ve looked at him or thought about him with even the smallest iota of longing and you want to crawl under the counter and never come out.

You feel weirdly guilty. Like… like you’re some sort of unintentional homewrecker. Even though, you know, you thought Yoongi was single and you haven’t made a single move on him and nor had you had any plans to. The guilt bubbles up inside you anyway.

All at once, you feel immensely, incredibly embarrassed. Of course he’s taken. There’s no way he wouldn’t be, as attractive and nice as he is, and you’ve just been sat here crushing on him like a big dumb idiot.

You are the worst.)

You manage to squeeze this internal breakdown into the span of a few seconds. You’re grateful that you have your customer service face locked on, giving nothing away—from the outside the smile looks just like that, a smile, rather than the rictus of deathly mortification it actually is, burning through you like a wildfire.

Yoongi seems none the wiser, just patiently waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his order. Most of your brain power is still taken up with the mish-mash of humiliation and guilt that’s roiling through you. Luckily, though, the part of your brain that’s still in the moment (trying to drag you back to the real world, shame-faced as you are) forces you to move before things get weird.

“One large Americano, one large Marshmallow World, both to go.” You tap the drinks into the till on auto-pilot, dimly noting that Taehyung’s been pulled into conversation with the old couple at their table, having delivered their drinks and food to them. It’s just you behind the counter, no one else to man the coffee machines. “Let me get those started for you.”

Luckily, making the drinks means you can turn your back to Yoongi, oscillating through the five stages of grief as you fiddle with hot milk and coffee grounds and paper cups. You always take pride in your work—especially when it comes to Yoongi—and you take even more pride now, determined to make these drinks as lovely as they can be. His Americano is fairly simple, but the Marshmallow World requires a bit more finesse, and you lavish attention on the fluff, swirling it beautifully, even though you know it’ll stick to the lid anyway.

(Okay, listen. Whoever this person Yoongi is seeing must be as nice as he is. They both deserve nice drinks.)

There’s something sweet about it, actually. Before the lids go on, you spent a second staring down at the drinks and the juxtaposition between them; black coffee and white marshmallow, bitter and sweet, night and day. It’s lovely, really, these two opposing things coming together. You wonder what Yoongi’s partner is like. Exuberant and bright, rather than his subdued warmth? A balance, yin and yang, opposite but complementary.

(Isn’t that a nice thing to think about? Finding someone who’s different to you but matches you so well?)

You firmly press the lids into place, making sure they’re secure. The protective cardboard sleeve of Yoongi’s Americano has his name—the name you’ve memorised, written out countless times—while the Marshmallow World has a scrawled happy face, and an enjoy! on it, for this mysterious person who likes sweet drinks. You do sincerely hope they enjoy it. You really do.

“The fluff blocks the hole,” you warn, sliding the cardboard tray for both drinks carefully across the counter. “It’s probably a better idea to just take the lid off.”

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, too fast for you to identify. But then he nods, lifting the tray up with equally careful hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

He’s always polite to everyone, Taehyung and the other baristas, but he seems to smile at you the most. He’s smiling at you now, curling at the corners of his lips, and you smile back, fighting through ten layers of embarrassment and self-inflicted shame to do so. Just because he smiles at you the most doesn’t mean anything. You can smile at people and not have it be weird; it doesn’t mean you return their ill-fated attraction.

Why, oh why, oh why.

By the time Taehyung returns to the counter, having escaped the chatty, kind clutches of the elderly couple, Yoongi is long gone. Your fellow barista finds you crouched down in front one of the cupboards with your head in your hands.

“Y/n?” He sounds incredibly concerned. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Are you sick?”

You let out a quiet noise, a mix between a whale dying and a hippo trying to swallow porridge, muffled into your palms. “I’m such a doughnut,” you say. “Just an absolute doughnut.”

Taehyung crouches beside you. “A glazed doughnut or a jam doughnut?”

Your hands drop away from your face as you think. “Plain,” you say, eventually. “Unglazed. No toppings or fillings.” A little sad and disappointing. It seems fitting.

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder, warm and comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You feel embarrassed all over again, thinking about admitting your (now-squashed) crush to your friend. It was stupid in the first place, crushing on a customer, especially as you’d barely spoken to him; Yoongi might be cute, and nice, but your crush was silly and dumb and you’d been silly and dumb not to think that he was already in a relationship.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just going through it. And by ‘it’ I mean life generally, you know?”

Taehyung makes a noise of understanding, patting your shoulder. “Big mood,” he says sombrely. He always knows what to say, empathetic to a fault.

“Uh,” a customer says, craning over the counter to see the two of you. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I get a refill on my coffee, please?”

That effectively kills the conversation, which is good. Keep yourself busy and distracted. By the time you see Yoongi next week, this crush will be dead and gone and you’ll be fine. Just fine. Absolutely fine.

He’s dyed his hair.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the café is full of people, and Yoongi has dyed his hair.

You’d spent all of last Tuesday alternating between all-consuming guilt and embarrassment, Taehyung catching you with your head in your hands in one moment and furiously cleaning the steam wand the next, channeling your tumult of emotions into anything that will distract you.

It had worked. Mostly. You’ve had a week’s worth of time since, to get over this month’s long crush, your brain consistently reminding you that Yoongi is in a relationship, with someone who’s probably lovely and attractive and all around just wonderful (just like him). You remind yourself about this every time you find coffee grounds under your nails, or notice milk flecked on your apron, soured and off-white after a day of work; your life isn’t a meet-cute, and you’re not the cute barista who falls in love with the cute regular. You’re the tired barista who makes more cups of coffee in a day than most people probably drink in a year, and Yoongi is the cute regular who’s already in a long term relationship and comes to Paradise just because he likes the dark roast you use. That’s as far as it will go, because this is real life, and not a romance film or novel. (Even if you wished that it was.)

You’ve come to terms with it. Really, you have. But then he has to step into the coffee shop looking like that, his hair bleached so blond it almost looks white, silver hoops in his ears, and he’s still dressed in dark clothes but he’s wearing glasses, no, this isn’t a drill, Yoongi’s dyed his hair, he’s all light and dark, soft and sharp, and you want to crouch behind the counter again. Because he looks so good and of course he’s in a relationship because he’s hot, and you feel dumb for not having realised it sooner.

You can’t hide behind the counter, though. There’s a queue of people, all waiting for your attention and your time, and it’s still just you and Taehyung; none of your usual Christmas temps are back yet, still away at uni, hence the we’re hiring! posters that are up for all the customers to see (and mostly ignore). The seasons are changing and the weeks are passing and the really eager people are starting to think about Christmas shopping; you swear you don’t even need a calendar, able to trace how close you are to Christmas just based on the amount of foot traffic the coffee shop gets. You’re definitely hitting peak.

But it’s fine. You have this down to a fine art. You and Taehyung are both good on the till and scarily efficient at making drinks and plating food, dancing past each other with an ease that only comes with time spent working together and friendship alongside.

People aren’t ordering the weekly special as much, either, not today. You can’t blame them. Candy Cane Dreams is a white hot chocolate, flavoured with mint and coloured green, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles of candy cane bark and red and green drizzle too; it’s… pretty overwhelming. So it means you don’t have to take over for Taehyung from the bar, focusing on smiling at customers and soothing them after their wait, taking their orders and shuffling them along as quickly as you can. You keep a smile plastered on your face as Taehyung pulls espresso shots and grabs tea bags and heats milk, routine and familiar.

When Yoongi steps up to the counter, you’ve barely had time to mentally prepare yourself, so focused on serving everyone else in the queue; it feels like a slap to the face, a kick to the knees, but then you take one deep breath and exhale. Long, deep, slow, forcing air out of your lungs and thoughts out of your mind, and you smile.

You’ve been so careful up until this point, wanting to keep Yoongi happy, wary of misstepping—but he’s just a regular customer. You feel more confident, now, less worried about breaking this tenuous thing you thought you’d had; less worried about what you’re doing being construed as some weird, roundabout way of flirting, because. You know. He’s in a relationship, so it doesn’t matter either way. He’s definitely not interested. You can talk to him like you would anyone else.

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

And, just like you suspected, Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered that you’ve broken your usual script. “Oh, yeah.” He reaches up, touches his head, as if he’d forgotten. “I did.”

“It looks nice,” you continue, because it does.

He’s smiling back at you. He looks pleased; maybe a little bashful, even, as surprising as that is. “Thanks,” he says, warm and genuine. (The tiny gremlin of a crush that’s still lurking in your soul lets out a wistful sigh.) “Can I get a large Americano and a—” he squints at the board— “large Candy Cane Dream, please?”

(One plus one is two, Yoongi and his other half, the sugar to his coffee.)

“Sure!” Your voice is bright. “I’m guessing the Marshmallow World went over well?”

There’s a brief beat of silence, but you don’t notice, too focused on typing Yoongi’s order into the till.

“Yeah, it was great,” he says after that moment of quiet, and you smile. Good. You’re glad they enjoyed it.

“I’m really happy to hear that,” you say, genuine and bright.

“What’s actually in the, ah, Candy Cane Dreams?” Yoongi asks, and you laugh, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“It’s horrendous,” you say in a low voice, as if you’re sharing a secret. “Have you ever seen green hot chocolate before?”

You’ve never spoken to Yoongi like this, easy and light, and it’s… nice. He gives no indication of surprise at your sudden friendliness after months of barely talking. If anything he looks pleased, and at one point he even gives you a smile you’ve never seen before, wide and wonderful, flashing his teeth and gums. (The crush gremlin rattles at your ribcage like prison bars, trying desperately to escape, but you don’t give it a chance.)

“Alright, let me just swap with the other barista, he’s still not gotten the Candy Cane Dreams recipe down.”

You hear a suspicious crunch as you make your way over to Taehyung. He turns to you with a guilty smile, edged with sugar, munching on shards of candy cane while his back is to the customers.

“You’re terrible,” you say affectionately. “Go take over on the till, I have a special to make.”

Taehyung glances over, sees Yoongi making his way down to the collection point. “Huh. Alright.”

The Candy Cane Dreams recipe might be a questionable one, but it’s definitely fun to make (watching the white hot chocolate turn green makes you feel like a kid all over again, mixing shampoos together in your bathroom and calling them potions), and maybe you’re overly generous with the candy cane bark, giving Yoongi’s beau more to nibble on and enjoy. It’s not Christmas yet but you’re already in a giving mood, so sue you.

“Here you go.” You slide the drinks towards him, the man busy reading one of the vacancy fliers, eyes flicking away from the poster when you appear. Your lips quirk up. “Looking for a job?”

You’re expecting a huff of a laugh, a small shake of the head, but he answers you seriously. “Not me, but I have a friend who is,” he says, reaching to take the tray.

You realise your hands are still curled around the cardboard; you quickly pull away so that there’s no chance your hands will brush. (You might have shoved your crush down as far as it will go, but you have to be careful with your weak, gooey heart.)

“We could do with any help, honestly. Your friend is more than welcome to apply.” You glance over at the queue, which is small but ever present, and you know it’ll only get worse as time goes on. “And, hey, if you ever decide for a change of pace from whatever it is you do, we’d be glad to have you, too.”

This gets a laugh from him, a warm burst of sound. (The gremlin points out that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh, really laugh, a little raspy and a little quiet and altogether lovely; you beat the gremlin back with a stick.) “I’m better at drinking coffee than I am at making it,” Yoongi says, eyes soft with lingering amusement. “I’ll leave that to the experts.”

You might have gone off script, but the nod he gives you is his usual one, that familiar tilt of the head. “See you next week?” His eyes are dark, dark and deep, and it’s so hard not to fall into them, to fall all over again.

“See you next week,” you echo, hoping the smile you plaster on your face doesn’t look as forced as it feels, as you struggle once more. Yoongi is just nice, okay? He's just being nice, but still. He needs to let a girl breathe.

(He needs to let the gremlin of her crush wither away, instead of making it threaten to come back as strong as before, fuelled by his smile and his eyes and his everything.)

(... maybe you’re not as over this crush as you thought you were.)

It seems like the we’re hiring! posters actually worked.

“I’m Jungkook,” says the new starter, all crooked smiles and warm eyes and thighs so thick they threaten to split the trousers of the café’s uniform, ties of his apron emphasising his small waist.

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

It’s the last week of November and even though Jungkook is still learning the ropes, he’s a massive help, and you know he’ll be a lifesaver over Christmas. He’s eager, learns quickly, and gets stuck right in, material of his shirt straining across his shoulder blades when he rips a bag of coffee beans open with his bare hands, rather than having to use scissors like you or Taehyung.

Taehyung watches with stars in his eyes as Jungkook pours the beans into the grinder. You cover your smile by sipping at one of the espresso shots Jungkook has pulled—full-bodied and dark, rich in your mouth.

“This is really good, Jungkook,” you say. He looks over, eyes squeezing into a smile.

“Thought it would be,” he says, and you can’t help but huff a laugh into the tiny espresso cup. He’s cocky and competitive, telling you that he’d never made coffee before but he was going to do a better job than any of the other baristas here. He’s too endearing to come across as arrogant, though, and you have to admit that the coffee is good. (Not as good as yours or Taehyung’s, of course, but still. Pretty good.)

Taehyung coos at him and reaches out to shamelessly squeeze his bicep. “Jungkookie is a natural barista.”

Jungkook’s cocky smile turns equal parts pleased and flustered. You continue to sip at the espresso as Taehyung moons over him, then the bell above the door rings, and the mooning temporarily is put on hold. (Temporarily, because Taehyung continues to moon over him for the rest of the shift, insisting on doing the bulk of his training, which is fine by you.)

It’s the 1st of December tomorrow, so not only do you have to clean after the café is locked up, you have to put out all the Christmas decorations, too. But it’s more fun that it is work, the three of you dragging the tree out of the storage room and decorating it with a menagerie of tinsel and baubles; Jungkook lifts Taehyung so he can get the star on the tree, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist and hoisting him up effortlessly, leaving your friend with a pleased smile on his face.

Jungkook is new, only on his second shift, but he’s slotted in so easily. He laughs at Taehyung when he wiggles his butt along to the Christmas songs you've put on to play, and he helps steady the stepladder as you string garlands of snowflakes on the ceiling, even if he doesn’t really need to.

He absently readjusts the reindeer headband Taehyung had unearthed from the storage room and proudly placed on his head. “Yoongi-hyung talks a lot about this place,” Jungkook comments, offhand.

If you’d heard this a few weeks ago, you probably would have fallen off the stepladder, inner gremlin grabbing your heart with both hands and squeezing tight-tight-tight. As it is you only pause for a moment, one of the larger snowflakes cradled in your palm, before you go back to your job of hanging them up.

“So you’re the friend he mentioned that needed a job,” you say.

“That’s me.” Jungkook grins, boyish and bright, and you laugh. “He really, really likes this café. Wouldn’t shut up about it, even before he told me that you were hiring.”

You can’t imagine Yoongi gushing about a café to his friends, but then again, he clearly is passionate about his coffee. Jungkook will know him better than you, having a real friendship rather than this patron-and-customer back-and-forth that you’ve had, so who are you to imagine what’s normal for Yoongi and what isn’t? You didn’t even know he was in a relationship, after all. You don’t know anything about the guy, really.

“Well, we appreciate his custom,” you say. “I know Yoongi is the one who actually comes in, but you can thank his other half, too, and I hope they enjoy their drinks as well.”

You’re too busy hanging the garland to see the way Jungkook’s face twists.

“Huh?”

“You know. Yoongi always comes in for his Americano and the weekly special for his partner,” you say.

You’re focused on stepping down the ladder without falling to see the expression on Jungkook’s face, nose scrunched and lips pursed, like there’s something he’s smelled that he really doesn’t like.

“Did he say that to you? That it was for someone else?”

“Hm?” You pause in grabbing another string of snowflakes, glancing up. “Oh, no, I just worked it out, you know? Yoongi is a religious coffee drinker, why else would he order something that’s basically hot sugar water? I think it’s cute,” you add, belatedly. “That he always comes in to grab something for them, too.”

(You wish you had someone to do that for you.)

There’s a beat of silence. Jungkook’s holding the stepladder, ready to move it, staring at you in a way that’s weirdly intense. “I see,” he says, like that isn’t weird or mysterious at all.

Then he drags the stepladder’s rubber feet across the floor with such a loud noise that Taehyung startles, bauble falling out of his hand and shattering. Jungkook, of course, profusely apologises and insists on cleaning it up—but not before making sure Taehyung is okay, of course, grabbing his hands and looking over them, as if the bauble had broken in his palms and not the floor.

Taehyung looks immensely pleased. You just smile quietly to yourself, roll your eyes lightly, and go back to hanging snowflakes as Jungkook speaks to Taehyung, soft and low.

You think your favourite thing about training a new starter is witnessing their reaction to the weekly special.

“So,” Jungkook says, slowly. “You put in the whole gingerbread man—gumdrops and icing and all—and just blend it?

“Yep.” Taehyung’s reply is cheery. “Straight in and whizz it all up.”

This week, it’s You Can’t Catch Me, I’m the Gingerbread Frappé which is a) probably the longest name known to mankind and b) probably the most questionable name known to mankind and c) who orders a frappé in December?

These thoughts are clearly playing across Jungkook’s face as Taehyung coaxes him to drop the gingerbread man into the blender, and you’re too busy enjoying the consternation on Jungkook’s face to notice someone stepping up to the counter—until they clear their throat, that is, and you all turn.

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

It’s chaos. Frappé ends up everywhere, splattered over the counter and the floor, splashed across the wine-red aprons of both of your fellow baristas, as close to the blender as they were—saving you from any of the sugary fallout, unwitting human shields.

There’s a beat of silence, where you all stare at each other—

And then Yoongi laughs.

You’ve never seen Yoongi laugh this loudly, eyes squeezed so hard you wonder if he can even see, almost cackling as he laughs at Jungkook’s expression, joyful and loud and free. It’s another dimension to him, another new part you witness as Jungkook wipes gingerbread and ice off his face and Taehyung stares at the mess spattered across his hands and arms.

It makes you think of a paper crane. Yoongi is this unfinished thing in your mind, each new thing you learn about him another fold that you add, a flat sheet of paper turned into something entirely and wholly new. You wish that it weren’t so alluring, watching it come together, finding out more and more about this man you’ve technically known for months, but only recently started to get to know.

(You wish that it wasn’t so easy to keep falling for him.)

Once the counter is cleaned, both Jungkook and Taehyung retreat to replace their aprons, leaving you—once again—alone with Yoongi. He’d stopped laughing to tease Jungkook, to gently rib him, but you can see the smile that’s etched on his face, the echoes of mirth written across all his features.

“We usually train the baristas to keep the lid on, I swear,” you say, and Yoongi’s face splits into another smile.

“I was going to say that it’s an unorthodox blending technique,” and you can’t help but smile back at this, even if you’ve been trying not to laugh. Professionalism barely wins out, your lips trembling as you try to hold your giggling back, but Yoongi spots it anyway, looking pleased, like he’s accomplished something by getting you to (nearly) laugh.

You’re not laughing when you have to make one of the special frappés, though. You stare at the gingerbread man as you hold him above the blender, at his cheery iced face and his cute little buttons (not the gumdrop buttons), and brace yourself to drop him.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and let him go, before quickly slamming the lid on top and turning the blender on so you don’t have to look at the betrayal you’ve just committed.

When you turn, Yoongi has an expression of sympathy on his face; for you or the gingerbread man, you can’t tell, but his face smooths the second he notices you looking at him, blinking innocently, as if there’s nothing unusual going on. It’s disarming, seeing that expression on his face, when you’d gotten used to seeing him act more reserved, but it’s cute.

(It is cute, whether you’re crushing on him or not. It’s just a statement of fact, okay? It’s nothing more than that. Even if that tiny gremlin of a crush still lives in your chest, scuffing its feet against your heart, reminding you of its presence when you least need it.)

(It digs its heels in when you put the frappé and Americano side by side, nestled snug in their cardboard tray. You slide it towards Yoongi and you’re a little too slow, fingers brushing his when he reaches for them; you’re surprised by how quickly he moves, how eager he seems to be reaching for his order, fingertips dragging across the back of your knuckles, and the gremlin kicks your heart, pulse rising just at that glancing touch. Even if you know it’s fruitless, useless, you can’t help but like Yoongi anyway.)

(“See you next week,” he says, and you can’t do anything but smile helplessly back.)

You normally love snow. You love waking up to the sight of it, pure and pristine white, adding another dimension to your familiar world—you love snowball fights and snowmen and snow angels, even if it all leaves you feeling cold, chilled right to the bone, nose running and hands freezing. The best part about winter is getting warm again, the season of throw blankets and hot water bottles, knitwear and scarves, tea and hot cocoa, all cosy and lovely and wonderful.

It’s a bit different when you have to work all day, though. You watch as the snow on the streets outside is threatened by the spray of salt and a thousand spinning car wheels and busy feet, ice turned to slush water; for now the snow is winning, though, and judging from the weather forecast, you think that’ll be the case for the rest of the day. You hope it lasts through to tomorrow, too; by the time you get home you’ll be too tired and it’ll be too dark to play in the snow, and it leaves you feeling disappointed and sad.

(Winter is lovely but it can be a hollow season, too, something about the leafless trees and fogged windows making everything feel like an empty dream.)

At least Paradise is warm, even if you’re cooped up inside, safe from the still-falling snow that keeps trying to turn the world into an untouched, frozen wonderland. It’s quiet in the coffee shop today. Only the bravest of people have ventured out into the not-a-blizzard-but-basically-a-blizzard, plastered against radiators and putting drinks to their faces, letting hot steam heat their cold cheeks.

It’s why you’re both surprised and unsurprised when Yoongi appears, bell chiming above his head as the door swings shut and he stamps his feet on the front mat, knocking snow off his boots. He somehow looks disgruntled and soft all at the same time, a royal blue beanie on his head forcing his fringe down to sit messily over his eyes, bundled up warm even if his face is scrunched up and his cheeks are red from the cold.

“I hate cold weather,” he tells you once he reaches the counter, gloves peeled off his fingers so he can reach for his wallet, his nose tinged pink as he sniffs.

You proffer him a box of tissues. “You look like you need it,” you say gently, and he smiles at you, a warm hearth in the cold winter.

“Thank you.” His voice is equally as gentle as yours, and something aches in your chest.

It’s just you behind the counter right now, so you take Yoongi’s order and make the drinks too—one large Americano and one large Latteggnog (a basic latte made with eggnog instead of milk, rich and thick and creamy), this week’s special: everyone’s favourite Christmas drink, but with a twist of coffee.

The quiet gives you time to think. Jungkook and Taehyung are out back, the older barista coming up with the most ridiculous excuses to take them away from the counter; you don’t mind that they’re taking the time ‘counting the coffee beans’, as deserted as the café is.

The café is practically empty and Yoongi hates the cold but here he is, venturing into the ice and snow to get this person he cares about the drink they want, because they’re that special to him. (You hope they realise how lucky they are.)

You’re normally okay being single. Don’t really think about it. But there’s something about today, this moment, that has you reflecting; Taehyung has this budding thing with Jungkook, Yoongi has this steady thing with his love, and here you are, by yourself, alone. It’s hard to summon up your usual energy, going through the motions as you make the drinks. You tilt your head forward, dusting nutmeg on the eggnog latte, watching the way the sprinkle of spice settles delicately and softly in the foam. No flourish, no flick of the wrist, not today.

(There’s two cups in front of you now, but later, when you’re home, there’s just going to be one. Yours. Yours, and no one else’s.)

(When you get home, you’re going to do what any self-respecting single person would do: order too much takeaway, rewatch The Good Place, get emotional over Eleanor and Chidi’s relationship—they’re so different but they’re so perfect for each other, why can’t you have that?—mope for a bit, rewatch The Princess Bride, get emotional over Westley and Buttercup—where’s your cute farmboy who saves you from an evil prince?—mope a bit more, before finally climbing into bed and hugging a pillow to your chest in the space of having someone else there. You know. Perfectly normal single person things.)

When you turn to Yoongi, drinks ready and raring to go, you’ve forced a Customer Service Smile onto your face. They say that just the act of smiling makes you happier, right? Maybe if you smile hard enough, you’ll cheer up, chasing away this sudden sadness that lingers in the back of your throat, scratching at your lungs like black ice.

“Here you go!” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet hush of the café, but you roll with it anyway. “Enjoy your drinks!”

Yoongi takes them from you, hands carefully cupped around the tray, but his eyes don’t leave your face. He doesn’t return your smile, as convincing as it should be (even Taehyung struggles to tell between your real smile and your work smile, sometimes); he stands for a moment, looking at you.

You think he’s about to say something when he clearly thinks better of it. He tilts his head, like he always does, but you’d swear his expression is tinged with concern. “Thanks,” he says. Pauses. “The roads are really icy. Get home safe, okay Y/n?”

Blink, blink. Your eyelashes flutter. You suddenly realise that he’s never said your name out loud, never had a need to, even if he must have known it all along from the badge on your chest. It sounds so good in his mouth, soft and safe.

“Oh,” you say, slow with surprise. “Thank you. I will. You, too.”

Yoongi nods again, as if to himself, before he turns to go.

He stops one more time before he goes. He stands at the open door, glances over his shoulder before he steps out, dark eyes meeting yours, as if checking that you’re still there, still tethered to the ground. Seems satisfied when he finds that you are. He gives you one last smile, all soft around the edges—that’s something you know intimately about Yoongi, that he’s soft through and through, even if he can look sharp, as cold as the ice outside—and then he goes, back into the falling snow to deliver a steaming sip of warmth into the hands of the person he loves.

(Your heart aches.)

It’s the week before Christmas. The whole world has that feeling it always does at this time of year—excited and bright, if a little frantic, the hanging lights in the city a backdrop to people’s last minute shopping, their breaths pluming out into the air as they rush around in the cold. The whole world feels full of life, that final push towards the end of the year; the hearth fire of Christmas before that weird in between before the new year, that held breath of potential, before the clock ticks over and the world is thrown into the next year.

Paradise has been busy. It’s like summer, only instead of sundresses and shorts, everyone is in knitwear and scarves, shivering as they wait to be served, desperate for a drink to warm them up, something to eat to fill their bellies. You spend more time in the coffee shop than you do at home, pulling overtime shifts to help your fellow baristas out—everyone thinks Christmas is a time of relaxation and coming together, but it doesn’t feel like that when you work in a customer facing job, oh no. It’s just non-stop busyness and being rushed off your feet.

(You’d barely had a chance to speak to Yoongi, café full when he’d stepped in, your pace frenetic as you’d danced around behind the counter with Taehyung and Jungkook; you’d slid his drinks towards him, his Americano and the special, and maybe your smile had looked more harrowed than you thought because he’d caught your hand and squeezed it.

“I hope you get a chance to rest over Christmas,” he’d said, concerned and sincere, as you’d stood in stunned silence, not expecting that almost-intimate touch, gentle against your skin.

“I will,” you’d said eventually. Yoongi had seemed to suddenly realise he was still touching you, fingers clasped around yours, and he’d withdrawn quickly, giving you a smile that felt like a whispered secret, before leaving you to deal with the ever-growing queue.)

Suffice to say, it’s been a long week, and you’re tired, and your feet hurt after all the running around you’ve been doing, and you just want to go home. You just need to finish the close, need to finish setting everything up for the open tomorrow, need to finish cleaning everything, and then you can get some sleep.

At least, that’s what you thought. Instead, you’re standing across from Jungkook and staring at him incredulously. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Wait.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What do you mean, we need to deliver some coffee?”

You don’t know if Jungkook is being deliberately obtuse, but he just stares at you as if you’re the one talking nonsense right now, and not him. “We have a customer order to deliver,” he says.

“Yes, I gathered that,” you say. “I just mean, why did no one tell me sooner?”

Paradise doesn’t do deliveries, as such. You cater for events, and you technically do deliveries then, but it’s less ‘one coffee to go’ and more ‘enough sandwiches and pastries and bagels and coffee to feed an entire office’. It’s not that you can’t bring someone their order directly, it’s more that you just… don’t.

“Taehyung took the order,” Jungkook says, as if that explains everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose again. You can’t ask Tae about it, the other man having had to leave just as you’d been about to flip the sign to closed (‘Jimin says Tannie peed in his shoes again! I have to go clean it up! I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll cover a close for each of you next time!’), so it’s just you, and Jungkook, and the slip of paper on the counter between you. You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough to trust his judgement and his decisions, as inexplicable as they might seem sometimes, but you do think it’s weird that he’s taken this delivery on board.

“It’s not too far from here,” Jungkook adds, peering at the address on the paper. “It won’t take long.”

“We have to finish closing, Jungkook,” you say.

He shrugs casually, carelessly. “I’ll do it, I don’t mind. You can just do the delivery and then go home straight after, it’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” you mumble. “Why can’t you deliver it?”

“You’re the senior barista, you’re a better representative of the brand,” he says, and you have no idea where he pulled that from. (You blame Jimin. You know they’ve had shifts together, and Jimin is too smooth-talking for his own good.)

As much as you want to argue, you can’t help but cave, because the prospect of getting home early is one that you’re not about to sniff at. (You’d worry that Jungkook would get home late, what with the amount of prep he still needs to do for tomorrow, but you half suspect that Taehyung will reappear at some point, anyway.) You’re too tired to want to argue. “I just want to say this is a one off, and normally we cater for events, we’re not really a delivery service, okay?”

“Duly noted.”

It’s a simple enough order, anyway—it’s just two drinks. The first is a large quad shot latte with caramel and toffee syrup, extra whipped cream and cinnamon on top (something you’d definitely order, you think, indulgent and milky and with enough caffeine to kick you up the ass). Jungkook dutifully cleans as you start the second drink. The special this week is far, far less sweet than normal; a Rudolph the Red-eyed Reindeer: a simple red eye with a pinch of holiday spice, coffee with an extra espresso shot and topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. You take in a deep breath, swallowing down the warm smell and letting it flow through you before you double check the details on the note.

It takes you a second as you squint at the address, wondering why it looks familiar—and then you pause. This is Yoongi’s office, you think to yourself, and it feels a little like there’s an apricot pit sitting heavy in your stomach, heavy and hard. Paradise had catered a breakfast for them last week, and it hadn’t been on your shift and so you hadn’t gone, but—you’d heard enough about it from Jimin, the type who gets to know everyone and everything the second he walks in the door. You’d heard about the team that Yoongi manages, found out that Yoongi works in music, in artist and repertoire, and when you’d had the chance to Google exactly what that meant, you’d been bowled over. He has such a complex, high skilled job, and here you are, struggling to get a job with your degree, hence the barista thing. (Thanks, economy.)

You hastily shuffle past the address, trying to ward off your sudden sense of inadequacy, focusing on the name instead. What sort of name is Suga? you think to yourself, and then shrug. Probably one of the workers had enjoyed the breakfast the other week and was still hanging around before going on holiday for Christmas, or something.

“Alright, I’m off.” You’re ready to advance into the cold outside: coat on, scarf looped around your neck and hat secure on your head, cardboard tray of drinks clutched in your hands. “If you need help closing, just call me and I’ll come back, okay?”

“I won’t, but, thanks,” Jungkook says, equal parts self-assured and reassuring. “Don’t fall on your ass!”

It is icy outside, the entire world a winter wonderland, beautiful but cold and daylight long gone; snow drifts slowly from the sky above, dusting your shoulders and the top of your hat, flakes caught so softly by the weave of your clothes. It’s the kind of day that’s perfect spent indoors, curled up with the people you love, warmed through and through—and here you are, picking your way across the pavement slush to deliver a coffee to someone. (You’re not even getting paid for this.)

At least it’s not too far, really, just a few blocks away. The building is small, which is a plus, because it means you won’t have multitudes of rooms and offices to trawl past to get to your destination. The receptionist is more than helpful, too, when you say that you have a delivery for Suga; she gives you exactly directions and then she smiles at you, pleasant and pretty and lovely, and that gremlin that’s still clinging desperately onto your feelings for Yoongi whispers: what if this is Yoongi’s girlfriend? She’s beautiful.

Shut up, you think, before smiling back and thanking her, and heading on your way.

This close to Christmas you’d think that the building would be almost empty, but you’d be wrong. It’s not a buzzing hive of activity but there are still people walking around, speaking behind closed doors or laughing through open ones, decorations and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. Up ahead you see a someone come out of a room, shutting the door behind them before they walk in your direction. It’s a man who looks like he’s just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and as you pass in the corridor he pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. Not suspicious, just surprised.

“Uh, I have a coffee for Suga,” you say without prompting, as if he was about to accuse you of some sort of nefarious scheme and your coffee delivery is the only thing saving you from that.

“Oh,” mister-model-handsome says, suddenly smiling widely, like this is all perfectly normal and not weird at all. He’s got some of the poutiest lips you’ve ever seen. “You’re nearly there, he’s just down the corridor and on the right. Have fun!”

“Uh, you too?” you reply. (Is he Yoongi’s boyfriend? He’s tall and broad shouldered and incredibly attractive, with the type of smile that makes people’s hearts race, and Yoongi definitely deserves someone like that.)

Your destination seems to be the office the (probably) model just came out of. You look around the corridor, which seems to be deserted now, the hubbub of people elsewhere in the building. You knock quietly, not wanting to disturb the hush that’s filled the air around you.

A beat. Then: “Come in,” someone says, voice muffled through the door.

It swings open easily at your touch. You stand on the threshold, mouth open around the announcement of your delivery when the words die on your lips.

Yoongi’s there, sitting behind a desk and his head bowed as he scribbles something in a notebook. He doesn’t look up. “Shut the door,” he says. Dumbstruck, you do just that, and it’s not until the door’s quietly clicked shut that he starts to raise his head. “Hyung, I already said that I don’t need to eat—”

And then he spots you standing there.

He stops mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes widening. He looks as shocked as you feel, utterly taken aback and agog, and even now you can’t help but notice how good he looks. He’s in a black button up, sleeves rolled to the elbow and top button undone, revealing the pale skin of his collarbones. It’s another juxtaposition, the Yoongi that you’re familiar with (an aura of effortless authority and attractiveness) in a place you don’t know at all, completely professional, his desk neat and the entire space put together. There’s a tastefully decorated tree in the corner but it doesn’t throw off the balance of the room at all.

“Uh.” You cough lightly. “I have… a delivery… for Suga?”

Yoongi stares at you.

“Is this… not the right room? I can go,” you mumble, gesturing over your shoulder with a thumb.

This seems to snap Yoongi out of whatever thoughts he was having as he shakes his head. “No, this is… Suga’s office,” he says. “I just didn’t order any coffee.”

You open your mouth. Shut your mouth. You don’t have an Americano on the tray, but he’d probably like the red eye, coffee with extra coffee, no sugar or cream. Just a little pinch of spice.

“Maybe it was a surprise, or something? Couples get each other gifts all the time.”

Yoongi’s lips quirk up. “I’m not really the type that gets surprised with gifts.”

Something about this strikes a discordant note in you. He’s always delivering gifts of coffee—he deserves those expressions of love returned to him. You can’t help but say as such.

“You’re always giving gifts, though,” you say. “Those weekly specials. I wouldn’t be surprised if your other half is returning the favour.”

Blink, blink. He looks perplexed. “I don’t have an other half?”

Your mouth opens again. “Uh,” you say eloquently. “What?”

“I… don’t have an other half? I’m… single?”

“You’re…” Your face scrunches up, wrinkled in confusion. What? He’s… what? “But you always buy two drinks?”

Silence. Then: “I… the Americano is for me,” he says. “I usually just pour the special away. I only started ordering them because you got so excited talking about them and making them. I never planned on drinking them.”

Your mouth falls open, soft around a quiet breath, a soft oh. “You—wait. You ordered them because I got excited about them?”

Yoongi’s eyes are so dark, so gentle; melted chocolate, warm. “You started to talk to me more, after the first time I did,” he says, and you know you had. Because you thought it was safer to talk to him, though you were secure in the knowledge he wasn’t single—but he is single. “So I kept doing it, because I wanted to talk more to you. I thought you knew? And that’s why you started having real conversations with me.”

You’re frozen in place, eyes as big as dinner plates. Min Yoongi, your futile crush, who looks as sharp as a knife but is as sweet as spun candyfloss, has been coming back week after week—for you. He’s not in a relationship, and he’s been flirting with you.

Or at least he thought he had been. You, however, hadn’t even realised.

“I was going to ask you on a date after Christmas,” he continues, calm and steady, as if your brain isn’t melting. He’s still sitting behind his desk, and there’s something about his tousled hair and bared lower arms—watch on one wrist and a few bracelets on the other—that has your heart pounding, that casual air somehow not at odds at the weight of the surroundings. Because the world is a backdrop to Yoongi, and he makes it work.

“What the fuck,” you say. You realise you’ve never sworn in front of him when something flickers in his eyes; not a bad flicker, no. Definitely not. “I thought you were taken.”

“I’m very single,” he says lightly, belying the weight behind the words. And then his eyes drop to your hands. “You said you have a coffee for me?”

Which leads to this: Yoongi, in his chair, you, leaning against his desk. He’s taken the red eye (of course) while you sip at the latte, relishing the punch of espresso, the flavour of the syrups.

You’re both staring at each other as you drink, air in the room growing thicker by the moment, when Yoongi breaks the silence. “This is probably the only weekly special I’d actually want to drink.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Black coffee with more espresso? That’s you all over,” you say. “The other specials aren’t so bad, though. I think you just need to give sweet drinks a chance.”

You’re speaking without thinking, but the second those words leave your mouth, the air turns electric. Yoongi’s still staring at you, unwavering and intent, and everything inside you is melting, leaving you flushed and hot. The smile hasn’t left his face, which had been warm but it’s changed, evolved, edged with something sharper.

“If you say so,” he says. His eyes are on your lips. “Let me try?”

His fingers are so gentle on your face, hands cupping your jaw as he tilts your head down. All your thoughts leave you. There’s nothing in your mind but Yoongi, his warm hands and dark eyes, the heat of his body so close to yours, his mouth; you can’t help but look down, tracing the shape of his lips with your gaze, a small soft pout that’s so at odds with the weight of his intensity.

When he kisses you, it’s featherlight. Barely the softest of pressures, the potential of something more—and then he pulls you in deeper, and there it is, that heat flickering in your stomach jumping into a full fire. The kiss turns hot and wet as he licks the flavour of caramel and toffee syrup out of your mouth, and he tastes like coffee, dark and bitter; you make a noise against his lips and he swallows it down, pulls you closer.

You’re straddling his knees, a little awkward and cramped in his office chair, but you don’t care. You’ve been wanting to kiss Yoongi for so long, even when you felt like you shouldn’t, thought about his dark eyes and pink mouth, the curve of his lips, the paleness of his hands; a steadying presence around your waist, holding you in place.

When you pull apart, Yoongi’s lips are flushed, kiss swollen. It looks good on him. Really good on him.

“I’ve thought about that more than I’d like to admit,” he says, and you can’t help but feel warmed by it, the realisation that you’ve wanted to kiss him but he’s wanted to kiss you, too.

“This really isn’t comfortable,” you say, wriggling a little—your ass is starting to go numb, sat on Yoongi’s knees—and Yoongi sucks in a quick breath at the way you’re all but squirming in his lap, even if he doesn’t say anything.

Oh, you think.

When you move away, he lets you go without protest, hands sliding off your waist. It’s not until you fall to your knees that Yoongi realises what you’re doing, his eyes widening.

“Y/n,” he breathes. “You don’t have to—”

“Please, Yoongi, I’ve wanted to do this for months,” you say. Maybe it was a little crass to start with, wanting to get on your knees for a man you barely knew just because he was hot and polite to you, but now you know he wants you back. You’re not about to let this opportunity pass you by, staring up at him between his knees, hands braced on his thighs. “But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

He looks torn, just for a second, eyes darting away from your face and to the door. It’s shut, but it’s not locked, and though the building is quiet there’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk in at any second.

Without thinking, you lick your lips. Yoongi’s eyes flicker back at the motion, watching how your tongue moves, and you can see how he crumbles.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, and you dig your nails into his trousers, electricity shooting through you.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down,” you warn, and reach for his zipper.

It’s a struggle for him, you can tell. He’s already biting his lip by the time you’ve tugged his trousers and boxers down, hardening under your grasp, and you knew his dick would be as pretty as the rest of him. You don’t have the luxury of worshipping him the way you want to, acutely aware of the fact you’re in his office, but it doesn’t mean you’re not going to make Yoongi feel good. It’s dirty and messy, the way you suck his cock into your mouth lewd and wet, lavishing attention on the most sensitive parts; his hips jump as you circle the head with your tongue and jerk the rest of his length with a hand.

Everything’s sloppy with spit and precum and Yoongi’s biting off curses, hand tightening in your hair as you take in as much of him as you can, relaxing your throat and swallowing him down, down, down. When you look up at him through your lashes he looks wrecked, the paleness of his skin flushed pink, and you can’t wait to see that all over. Can’t wait to see Yoongi entirely bare in front of you, when you have the luxury of time and pleasure.

But there’s something about this, too, that has your heart racing, cunt throbbing. You’re running your spit slick lips down the side of his shaft, tonguing the throb of the vein there, when you hear footsteps nearby, muffled through the door. It doesn’t sound like they’re coming in this direction and Yoongi seems almost entirely lost to the feeling of your mouth on him, but you flick your tongue across the spot where the head of his cock meets the shaft and he bows forward, swallowing down the noise that threatened to spill from his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this, falling apart under your hands and mouth, and you know he’ll give as good as he gets.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. You smile up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, jerking him off hard and fast as you lick and suck—and when he cums it’s with a noisy exhale of breath, a muffled groan, and even as you’re swallowing down his cum and mouthing at him until he winces with oversensitivity, you’re imagining what he sounds like when he doesn’t have to be quiet.

He’s not shy, either. You’ve barely tucked him back in when he’s reaching for you, kissing you. There’s no taste of coffee any more and you shiver, molten and boneless at the way his tongue presses into your mouth.

“Still want to take me on a date?”

You’re being cheeky, voice light as you joke, but Yoongi’s responding look is equal parts serious and affectionate. He sweeps a thumb over your cheekbone and you relax into his hands, feeling like a cat that got the cream. Here you are, on your knees in his office, the glittering lights of his Christmas tree thrown across your hair and skin, warmed by the touch of a man you’ve wanted for months but never thought you would get.

“Of course,” he murmurs, gentle-gentle-gentle, as if you hadn’t just sucked his soul through his dick—and you love that about him, love his inherent soft core, his big heart. You might not know him as well as you’d like—not yet—but you already know that much about him. “I owe you a present, too.”

Your face scrunches. “What, because I gave you a blowjob?”

At this he laughs, mouth split wide and gums on show as his whole body shakes with the intensity of it. “No, because you brought me a coffee,” he says. He still has your cheek cupped in his hand, palm warm against your skin. “But if you want to say it’s because of the blowjob as well, then sure.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” You smile at him, gentle expression at odds with the meaning behind the words and your position—still on your knees.

You don’t know if they ache when you stand, because Yoongi is kissing you again, distracting you. And it’s easy, this back and forth you have, comfortable as you finish the (now lukewarm) coffees and get ready to go, because Yoongi insists on walking you home. Because he’s a gentleman, your gentleman, and he even holds the door open for you.

You’re not sure if you can reach for his hand, if that would be too forward in his place of work, if he doesn’t want to when this thing between you is so tentative and new. But you’re barely halfway down the corridor when he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm; when you look over, he’s smiling at you, and then tilts his chin up.

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say.

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove

#btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #magicshopnet #houseofddaeng #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts #yoongi au #bts au #yoongi #yoongi scenario #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #PLEASE feel free to message me with any typos or whatever and I'll get on those when I have a chance

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madness-manic-antics · 2 years

Text

On the Track to Victory

Part 4: Genesis

Victoria wakes up with every inch of her body aching. It's dark, nearly pitch black, and it feels like there's cloth all over her and around her, tangled.

She doesn't recall how she got here. Again. Was she kidnapped? Dropped through another wormhole?

Her head pounds. Rage and betrayal and beaded blood are all she recalls. She struggles against the cloth, feeling a strange sensation on her skin. Her ponytail brushes against her back and she hisses in displeasure.

"Miss Victoria!" A familiar voice says (there's an undertone of… something…some strange inhuman noises almost double speaking alongside the words), and purple clawed hands move the cloth aside.

Wait. That's… her Galaxy uniform. Piled around her, huge in comparison.

Victoria, stunned, looks down.

A pair of black-tipped white paws is what she sees. Her mouth drops open and she realizes it's hidden under a big white, almost scarflike ruff. With context now firmly in place she realizes what she thought was her ponytail under her bandana was actually a mystically floating tuft of fur, tipped in blood red. She looks up and at the Hisuian Sneasel in front of her. A familiar hat on his head and a familiar coat wrapped around his shoulders, hanging onto the grass with the sleeves rolled up a bunch of times-- she can see his Pearl Clan tunic abandoned a little ways away on the grass.

"Something went wrong." She says calmly. Victoria can hear the Zorua cries under her own voice.

That's an understatement. That's factually incorrect. Because a lot of things went wrong, she just doesn't remember what they are beyond that they made her deeply angry and bitter, even moreso than when she was kicked out of Jubilife Village.

He nods. "It seems we have been turned into Pokemon from what happened."

"And what happened?"

"I was hoping you knew."

Fantastic. More memories lost, for both of them.

She manages to scramble out of the clothing pile, stumbling a bit. Four legs are a lot harder to deal with than two. And she's so small. Not fair. Why is she a lil' Zorua? At least Ingo is bipedal!

"Are you hurt?"

She is in a cloudy haze of pain. She shakes her head anyway, then considers her surroundings. A forest? Her nose twitches. What a strange feeling.

Victoria stumbles clumsily back to her clothes, looking through them, moving the folds aside with desperation until she locates her satchel.

She tries to open it using everything short of resorting to her mouth until Ingo takes pity on her and opens it for her, being extra careful with his long purple claws.

She huffs in frustration and drags it over and out of the clothes pile, then dumps it out onto the grass. Jet balls, Great Balls, one Ultra Ball, several berries (that smell very enticing, especially the Razz Berry), a honeycomb, and a dozen muffins. How all this stuff fits she has no idea. Bagin is a wizard. Her crafting kit and flute come out…

No Plates. The Plates are gone.

Anger. She feels a deep seated anger. Did someone rob her? Was it those annoying bandits? She worked hard for those.

"It seems you're missing the Plates and your team. I also have no Pokemon." Ingo observes, beginning to pack everything back into her satchel. She snatches the Razz Berry up before he can grab it, munching it down quickly.

No wonder it's easier to catch Pokemon after they'd had one.

"Right. You are a growing girl, we need to find you some proper food. And water. Everything else can wait." He finishes packing up both their clothes in his own satchel, which is a normal satchel not updated by a packing wizard. He clips it on and then ties Victoria's around her middle. She can feel it rubbing against her fur. Weeeeird. Ingo seems to be adjusting well to the claws as he works, and she hopes she picks up on walking just as fast.

Something is wrong, but she'll deal with it. She always does.

While she was musing, Ingo moved to pick her up. She lets out a startled yelp. "Uncle Ingo, what are you doing?"

"We must not become uncoupled for any reason. I don't believe we have time for you to relearn how to walk before we find water. We do not know where we are and we do not know what is going on. Water, then we will look around to see if they're any landmarks we know."

She wants to protest, but he's right. And being held like this is kind of comfortable. Between thick fur meant to help survive the Icelands (it's so cold that even Ghost types need that) and the familiar scent of her uncle's coat she feels safe. Small and vulnerable, but also warm and cozy.

Ingo adjusts her bandana and she feels her ears pop up. She hadn't even noticed it was covering them.

She's exhausted. Still in pain, still confused, and it feels like she ran a marathon while she was out of it. Ingo must be equally tired, but he keeps going on. He's always been the only one in Hisui to understand that she's still only fifteen. Still just a child. Victoria remembers him letting her hold his hand in Wayward Cave when Melli made it dark and dangerous.

Her eyes flutter closed.

#pokemon legends ingo #on the track to victory au #transfer error au #hey no implied murder tag today #victoria pokemon

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lightlyblooming · 3 years

Text

The Mighty Nein React to a Scared Reader

Mollymauk

As the Mighty Nein settles down and creates camp for the night, the wind picks up and the leaves of the surrounding trees rustle. Scared, you take the first watch with Mollymauk, only to prolong having to lay down.

For the first hour or so, you two sit in complete silence, glancing at the surrounding scenery. The wind picks up and you jump as a branch creaks.

Molly's first reaction is to laugh, but when he sees how genuinely scared you are, he sobers. He distracts you by telling you stories of his time in the carnival and recounting all of his misadventures.

Soon enough, your fear wanes and your watch comes to an end. Just then, the wind picks up. However, before your fear could overtake you, Mollymauk brings you into his tent and promises to not let any stray beast (humanoid or otherwise) harm you.

Caduceus

Walking through a forest with the Mighty Nein, you tag along near the back of the group with Caduceus. The shadows of night are growing longer and strange sounds seem to emanate from the greenery around them.

It doesn't take long for Caduceus to notice your fear. Instantly, he jumps in, explaining all the plants and harmless animals that could be causing the noise.

He steps behind you, a large firbolg pillar, and promises to intervene with any animal that should wish you harm.

That night, when the Might Nein finally decides to take their rest and set up camp, you and Caduceus choose to bunk together. When sounds grow again, and your fear rises, Caduceus steps in to tell you stories of the forest and the animals in it, recounting his recipes for tea and food alike, distracting you until sleep could no longer be pushed aside.

Caleb

While travelling down the endless roads of the Empire, you and Caleb were both placed into the back of the cart as a safety precaution, since the two of you were the most physically weak out of the rest.

Everything was going well until there was an attack on the cart, supposedly by some bandits that saw how well-guarded it was and thought that there was something worth fighting for inside. Unused to battle, you cowered in the cart, overtaken by fears at the shouts of pain coming from friend and foe.

Seeing your fear and not wanting a loved one (however secret his true emotions were) getting hurt, Caleb got up and very bravely fought for your and the other's protection, not letting anyone get close enough to lay a single hand on the cart.

Afterward, shaken by the whole encounter, Caleb sits down next to you and silently orders cat Frumpkin onto your lap, where he curled up, purring. Lulled into comfort, you and Caleb spend the rest of the day's trip in companionable silence.

Fjord

On a trip to the Menagerie Coast, the Might Nein takes a detour to the ocean. Having lived on the mainland for your whole life, you had never seen anything so vast before.

Everyone else, save for Nott, seemed excited to go into the ocean and feel the water. Especially on such a hot day. Everyone, once realizing that Nott would rather die than go in the water, started goading you to go in. Having never been near a large amount of water, you had never learned how to swim.

After everyone backed off, you quietly admitted this to Fjord. Expecting him to joke about it like everyone else you'd told had, you were surprised when he was very understanding about it, despite everything.

Still scared to swim, he guides you into the water and stays by you the whole time, explaining to you the different sea plants and sea life that you come across so that you don't get too scared by the unknown.

Jester

Walking through the crowded streets of Zedash, you nearly get parted from the Mighty Nein multiple times. However, Jester is right there, keeping track of you and grabbing onto your hand to guide you through the thicker sections.

Overwhelmed by the huge, bustling crowds, you stay quiet, sticking next to the group and following them around, wanting nothing more than for the crowds to thin or for the day to end.

As you get exhausted, your fear starts to take control, and you worry about getting separated from everyone, despite Jester sticking to your side. Quickly picking up on this switch of emotion, Jester guides you away from the crowds to somewhere less crowded.

There, the two of you find a nice bakery, get a large, lovely amount of sweets and sit down on a bench. You eat the food that Jester had bought you as she talks endlessly about her life in Nicodranas and all the jovial pranks she'd played.

Beauregard

In the midst of battle, you find that all your spells are used up and, being quite injured, you don't trust yourself going further into the fray, lest someone deals you a death blow.

Standing back and watching, one of the enemies sneak up on you. Even though you could handle yourself, you paralyzed by fear. Seeing how they looked at you, leering, dangerous, unstoppable.

Right before the enemy was able to deal a blow that undoubtedly would've killed you, Beau jumped in front of you, engaging them in battle and pushing them away. Everyone else was struggling, but Beau couldn't handle losing you. The one person that truly understood and knew her.

She shouts over her shoulder, "You looked fucked," which wasn't really incorrect. For the rest of the battle, Beau stayed close to you, guarding you with her life. Later, still stunned from the fight, you lay, unable to sleep. Beau begrudgingly stays up all night to guard you, though you could see the pride she took in the position.

Yasha

With nowhere else to stay, the Mighty Nein are forced to stay at a very seedy tavern, full of people that keep leering at you and flirting with you, no matter how many times you ask them to stop.

In the bedroom which you bunked in with Yasha, you were stuck awake, worried that one of the people that had flirted with you were going to come through the door.

Hesitantly, you wake up Yasha. She responds harshly at first, reaching for her sword and lurching into a defensive position. The surprise passes soon and Yasha instantly starts scanning the room, searching for the enemy. Quietly, you explain why you were scared.

Not wanting another person she cared for to get hurt, you and Yasha then switch positions on the bed so that you're up against the wall and she's facing the door. It was a little squished, but seeing (and feeling) Yasha there, protecting you, took away your fear and put you to sleep.

#mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #critical role #caleb widogast #caduceus clay #jester lavorre #yasha nydoorin #beauregard lionett #fjord critical role #caleb x reader #cadueces x reader #jester x reader #yasha x reader #beau x reader #beauregard x reader #fjord x reader

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like-rain-or-confetti · 3 years

Text

Who Knew? (Demetri Volturi x Reader)

Who Knew - P!nk

You took my hand You showed me how You promised me you'd be around

Demetri came into your life with a charming smile. You had no choice but to be in awe of his beauty- he and his coven. Just like it stunned you with every other vampire you met. However Demetri told you why that was. It was apart of the vampire genes, to lure in prey.

He had said it was his pleasure to meet you but you couldn't help that the pleasure was yours alone. In fact, you were almost certain that Demetri said that to everyone. A charmer, just as his smile had told you when he first met you.

Slowly, he broke through any walls you set. Trickling into every crack of those walls until it was pointless to have the wall. He acknowledged your hesitation around him and his kind. He even pointed out you felt a little more safer with the Cullen's. It was understandable but he wouldn't hurt you. In time you'd see that. He told you more about his kind and his backstory. He was honest from what you could figure out. Just when you had begun to somewhat consider him a friend, there was talk about him and the other Volturi leaving. To your relief, he promised you it wouldn't be the last you'd see of him. You were still human after all.

I took your words and I believed In everything, you said to me

He told you the Volturi's perspective upon the Cullen's actions and suddenly the Volturi didn't seem so villainous as the Cullen's had made them out to be. It led to you questioning him as to why you were still alive. You were human and knew the secret. Demetri would simply smile at you. "Not for long, darling." It became apparent why Demetri was so truthful. In all honesty, he had no reason to lie. "Would you rather I lied to you?" Demetri asked. "No." You said firmly. He smiled. "That's good, I'd find it difficult to lie to you. I am quite fond of you." You scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm nothing special, especially to you." Demetri's eyes gleamed. "My dear, you are very incorrect but...there's another time for that."

If someone said three years from now You'd be long gone I'd stand up and punch them out 'Cause they're all wrong I know better 'Cause you said forever and ever Who knew?

"You know this can't last forever." Bella said quietly. She continued as you narrowed your eyes on her. "He'll have to go home eventually and you haven't got any intention to go with him." "Yet." You reminded her. "I will one day, just not now. If I leave now there will be questions." "I get that. I just...worry. I don't want you to get hurt." You scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous Bella, I'll be fine. Besides, it won't be for long." You smiled brightly.

You never anticipated how difficult it could be to leave your human life behind. Yet when their was an opportunity, you hesitated. Bella made it all look so easy and so hearing those words from her set a fire of anger on your chest. One you had to fight back every single time. You didn't doubt your feelings for Demetri, not even once. So why did it seem to be the case to everyone else? If anyone knew Demetri and yourself better than anyone it was you and Demetri. Demetri promised you forever, and forever is exactly what you'd get.

Remember when we were such fools And so convinced and just too cool

Many of the Volturi, Caius especially, thought you and Demetri were fools. Yet somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to care and neither could Demetri for that matter. No one could ever tell you two otherwise. In his eyes, the bond was too strong fight off and on your eyes, no one else understood. It was the perfect formula for you and Demetri against the world.

I wish I could touch you again I wish I could still call you friend I'd give anything

Now that you and Demetri had been apart for months. You wanted nothing more than to be with him again. You understood he was busy but how could you not miss him? You missed the way he held you, even down to the simplest of details as the feeling of his jacket against your skin. Sometimes, you couldn't help but wonder if it was gave been easier if you two weren't mates, if you were simply friends, would that have made things easier between both the Volturi and the Cullen's? Would you have been as separated for as long as you had been?

When someone said count your blessings now 'Fore they're long gone I guess I just didn't know how I was all wrong They knew better Still you said forever and ever Who knew?

You didn't anticipate being apart for so long. You tried to remain positive, anything to hold back the emptiness and constant reminder that Demetri wasn't around. You tried to acknowledge just because he wasn't, doesn't mean it's all bad. There was plenty of good things in your life other than Demetri. It was all about perspective, what you chose to focus on. Although you couldn't help but recognise that they were right in the end. The Cullen's, Bella and even the Volturi warned you that this was coming and you were too in love to heed their words. Only one thing mattered in the end. Demetri promised you forever.

I'll keep you locked in my head Until we meet again Until we, until we meet again And I won't forget you my friend What happened?

From the day you parted, Demetri would keep you in his memory. Locked away in his head, safe and with him. He'd often imagine you before him, dressed in the same clothes you wore that day with a heartfelt smile. He'd raise a hand to your cheek and feel the heat radiating from your skin. He'd hold you as you said the most strangest of things. Things that never always called for an answer. "If a dream is an experience, doesn't that make it real?" You said that often and Demetri couldn't help but wonder if maybe that was his mind trying to repair the empty hole in his chest now that you were apart for who knew how long. You'd stay there until the day you came back to him, locked in his memories and imagination. Always meeting him with that same lovely smile he had grown addicted to. You wouldn't be forgotten, not even for a moment. Never. Thinking back to those times together, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to bring the two of you divided for so long. Although he'd wait forever and a piece of him, despite you being human, knew that you would too.

If someone said three years from now You'd be long gone I'd stand up and punch them out 'Cause they're all wrong and

Regardless of what anyone said, he had promised you forever and he meant it. Anyone who ever got in the way would be annihilated. Anyone who thought otherwise would be proven wrong because they were. If he had to break a few bones or rip off a few limbs to prove a point.. then so be it.

That last kiss I'll cherish Until we meet again And time makes It harder I wish I could remember

When Demetri had a spare peaceful moment alone, his mind often drifted towards you. He thought about you a lot but tried to keep it to a minimum whilst on duty.However, when those peaceful moments arrived. His mind wandered to you. What you were doing, what you were thinking, did you think about him as much as he thought of you? He'd think back to that last kiss he had shared with you. The feel of your lips against his. He'd run his thumb across his bottom lip, as the memories ran through his mind. He remembered every one. However the last kiss you two had shared was more important.

It was the kiss that you both shared knowing that neither of you knew when you'd see each other again. He cherished that kiss every single day and he would continue to do so until you met again. Although as each day passed, he wished he'd remember that difficult it was to be away from you. Time wasn't always forgiving to a vampire, it might have made something easier but in this particular situation, time only made it harder.

But I keep Your memory You visit me in my sleep My darling Who knew?

Even if Demetri was miles away, you kept him in your heart, day and night. You'd miss him throughout the day, even within the minutes before you went to sleep. Although when you fell asleep, he was with you again, giving you that charming smile. Sometimes you'd dream that he was there with you as you slept, watching him smile down at you. You didn't know when you'd next see your love again. Although you'd wait for him, your comfort being the memories you both shared. Neither of you knowing at the time you'd be apart.

#twilight #songfic #song inspired #volturi #the volturi #reader #one shot #oneshot #demetri volturi

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ladyfloriographist · 3 years

Text

Descent of Man

[Image source]

Pairing: Commander Joseph Lawrence (The Handmaid’s Tale (TV)) x femme!Reader

Warnings: SPOILERS, Canon-Divergence, Non-Canon, Post Season 3, Repression, Oppression, Dystopic Future, Dystopian Themes, Older Man/Younger Woman, Mentions of Pregnancy, Mentions of Death, Traditional Gender Roles, Religious Extremism

XXXX

“Straighten your back, dear. Don’t slouch.”

“Yes, Aunt Lydia.”

You tighten your grip on the handle of your red leather suitcase as you walk up the concrete path that leads to Commander Joseph Lawrence’s front door. Nerves in your legs tingle back to life. The drive from the Red Center was long, and Aunt Lydia had counselled you to mind your patience when you’d grown restless. But now, as you make your way to the crescent-shaped steps, you can’t help but hope for even one minute more in the van.

The overcast sky looms grey and ominous overhead.

“Remember, the Commander is a very powerful man.” Aunt Lydia’s cane clacks on the concrete alongside your footsteps. “He is very well respected, Ofjoseph. This is quite the opportunity for you.”

“Yes, Aunt Lydia.”

The old Victorian becomes grander and more imposing with every step you take towards it. Your gaze lifts higher and higher: first floor, second storey, then dormers and a tower that let light into what must be the attic. Stonework and Roman arches over the windows and doors signal the age of the house—it has to be at least one hundred years old.

“He has suffered great losses recently, as you well know.”

“Yes, Aunt Lydia.” She had recited the story over and over—and made sure you could tell it back to her, too. Your and Aunt Lydia’s footsteps fall into stride along the concrete path, fast approaching the stairs up to the house.

“His dear Wife, Mrs Eleanor Lawrence—may God protect and keep her—and then his Handmaid, too.” The Aunt tuts. “Oh, that wretched girl. I’d had such hopes, Ofjoseph—but you won’t disappoint me so, will you, dear?”

“No, Aunt Lydia.” The knot in your gut tightens.

“No, good girl.” Aunt Lydia modestly raises her brown skirts to ascend the concrete steps with grace. “Posture,” she says pointedly, brow arched, looking back at you with an appraising, approving glance before she knocks on the large black front door.

Just before you bow your head to look to the concrete beneath your feet, your eye is caught by something to the right, attached to the burnt-orange bricks that make up the gloriously antiquated home.

It’s a black wooden plaque, with three golden numerals in the centre framed by a golden ovoid ring.

132

You glance down quickly. You should not even be making an attempt to read, whether it be letters or numbers or anything. If Aunt Lydia saw recognition register on your face, she’d march you straight back to the van to return you to the Red Center for the swift removal of one of your fingers.

Leniency, for your first offence.

“The Commander has been very gracious in accepting you, Ofjoseph. You have a privileged place here.”

“Yes, Aunt Lydia. Praise be.”

“Mm,” Aunt Lydia hums in righteous agreement. “Praise be.”

…But still, it strikes you as unusual, as you stare at the grey concrete, that such a plaque should even exist, now. Such decorative tiles are relics from the time before Gilead—forbidden, now, and what’s more, utterly useless. How could such an inscribed plate remain intact when there are no more street signs to direct your way let alone numbered houses?

The front door swings open, shocking you out of your thoughts.

“Blessed day. Come in, Aunt Lydia.”

A female voice. Younger? Deferential.

A Martha: one of the two you’d been told to expect here.

“Blessed day, Sienna, thank you,” Aunt Lydia replies pleasantly. “Come along, Ofjoseph,” she says promptly, without a look back at you as she steps inside.

The interior of the Commander’s house greets you like, once, a warm hug might have done. Off the foyer is two sitting rooms, and they seem dark, but not sinister inside. The walls are papered with cranberry-red brocade and muted-toned, aging florals, or else—painted with rich, deep hues of colour. Dark-stained wood pocket doors with etched glass inserts lead to one sitting room and an archway with a stained-glass transom at the top leads to another. The heavy, patterned curtains inside make the sitting rooms feel cosy and private—even, dare you think, warm. Full and ornate bookshelves, rugs of paisley and Persian patterns, and an abundance of leather seating furnish the cluttered rooms.

“This way, please,” offers the Martha named Sienna, gesturing through the open pocket doors.

You follow Aunt Lydia, your eyes struggling to adequately absorb every detail of the room. Lamps on side tables, artworks from many different Schools arranged effortlessly on the walls, chests, sculptures, a chandelier, a fireplace.

Cushions and blankets strewn over the leather couches. Stacks of books lazing on armchairs.

An old, freestanding record player in one corner.

Knowledge, art, and music all reside here.

The house is lived in. Still. Even now.

“Can I getcha a tea, some coffee, Aunt Lydia?” comes a man’s voice from the far end of the room.

Before you can think better of it, your gaze snaps to the sound of his voice—relaxed, even casual in tone. He stands just inside another arched opening, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. A generous head of ghost-white hair tops his head. He has thick grey brows and a white beard peppered with silver and grey. Thin-framed glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. He wears a waistcoat, and a buttoned vest with a scarf tied like a cravat, in an ascot knot.

It’s the first you’ve seen a man of Gilead not dressed in a black suit and black tie.

“Commander Lawrence,” Aunt Lydia smiles, with only a slight waver in her voice. “Blessed day, Sir.” Your raised wings catch in her periphery and she glances at you with beady eyes.

You drop your head immediately, quickly and quietly pretending like you’d been studying the many colours in the Persian rug beneath your brown boots.

The Commander’s gaze flicks to you—not that you see it—before he looks back at the Aunt. “Hi, yeah,” he says, “blessed, good morning.” He calls down the hallway, “Sienna?”

You shift on your feet, tightening your grip on your own gloved hands where they rest in front of you. The Commander’s casual, informal, incorrect greeting stirs a sense of unease in your stomach. Was he merely distracted or… wilfully disrespectful? Could you even think such a thing, about a man like him?

Beside you, Aunt Lydia bristles, drawing in a sharp, quiet gasp. But she settles herself quickly.

“Sienna!?” calls the Commander again, louder this time before turning back to his guests.

Well, his one guest, who brought with her the newest member of his household.

“’d you say coffee, Aunt Lydia? I think Beth made scones.”

“Ah…” the Aunt hesitates, gathering herself in a way you’ve rarely seen her need to do. “Oh my. Tea would be a delight, Commander,” she recovers. “No need to waste your delicacies on me!”

“Hm,” Commander Lawrence huffs a mirthless laugh in response to Aunt Lydia’s self-deprecating smile, and the resulting silence is broken by a set of hurried footsteps that quickly enter the room.

“You called for me, Commander?”

The young Martha, her rich brown eyes wide, a sheen of sweat making her warm-brown skin glow, her voice slightly breathless.

“Auhm, yeah,” says Commander Lawrence, swivelling to address her. “Tea, please, Sienna—and bring three cups, would ya? Some of Beth’s scones, too.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Three cups?

“Thanks.”

“Three?”

Aunt Lydia’s incredulous voice cuts through the room like a warm knife in soft butter. It’s so abrupt, so much shriller than you are used to that your gaze flicks upwards.

The Aunt’s round, wrinkled face is dropped in an expression of pure shock. The room is silent, even Sienna’s retreating footsteps have ceased, as the three of you look between each other—stunned in the face of this blatant and brazen flouting of Gilead-sanctioned decorum.

It seems, as tested as Aunt Lydia has been since arriving at the Commander’s house, that this act of hospitality extended to you, a Handmaid, is the extent of what she can handle.

For the first time since meeting him, you spot a hint of a smile flicker across Commander Lawrence’s face, as elusive as the passing of a shadow, or a ghost. “Three, Lydia,” he says quietly, with a self-assured confidence that dares her to question him further—especially since he refused to use her title.

The air is thick with tension. You hold your breath.

Aunt Lydia’s lower lip quivers as she searches for words. Her brow creases, her small eyes flitting between his as she holds the Commander’s gaze.

You hear her suck in a breath before she speaks again.

“Th-hank you, Commander Lawrence.” Aunt Lydia swallows. “Praise be, you are most generous, Sir.”

Everything breathes again. Footsteps recede down the hall once more, the walls themselves sigh with relief. For a moment you almost think you hear birdsong outside—but that’s next to impossible, over all the radio chatter.

“Welcome,” the Commander replies, lazily omitting words in his speech once more. His tone is breezily self-assured once again, but his dark eyes have hardened into a cold stare. He turns his gaze on you. “Sit.”

You look to the floor so quickly there’s a twinge in your neck, and you drop into the nearest seat. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Under His Eye, Sir.”

“Alright,” the Commander cringes at your nervous rambling. “No problem, just, yeah. Siddown.”

You clasp your gloved hands together in your lap, your eyes fixed on the tiny balls of lint that have gathered near the seams. Everything about this man, from his clothes, to his manner, to his home, is contrary to what you’d been told to expect.

“Please,” says the Commander to Aunt Lydia, gesturing and offering for her to take a seat also. He walks around one of the armchairs, picks up a stack of three books and unceremoniously drops them on top of the existing stack on a nearby side table so he can sit down, too.

Aunt Lydia, frazzled and just barely recovering from the disrespect afforded her by the Commander, uneasily sits down on one of the brown leather couches. She sits like she’s perching on it, not quite setting down all her weight, on an angle to take up only the smallest possible amount of space.

She clears her throat. “Commander,” she forces a smile, shifting to face him, “it is my great hope that Ofjoseph will bring some,” she pauses, anxiously looking around at the many artworks and stacks of books that decorate the room, “stability, to your household, Sir. By His Hand.”

“Thanks,” says Commander Lawrence. “’ppreciate it.”

“I…” Aunt Lydia stammers again, stumbling over the Commander’s audacious disregard for social custom. It’s unorthodox—or rather, much worse—it’s a deliberate, transparent, shameless violation of his role as a Commander in the Republic of Gilead.

Lost for words, Aunt Lydia merely nods her head in deference. Her fingers flex around the gilded handle of her cane.

The Commander hums to clear his throat as Sienna brings a laden tray into the room. One teapot, three teacups, a plate of scones, and one small ramekin of butter.

The Martha sets it all down on the coffee table and the porcelain rattles softly in the stifling silence.

“Thanks, Sienna,” says Commander Lawrence, leaning forward to pour himself a cup of tea as the younger Martha leaves the room. “Hey, uh,” he sits back in his armchair, cup and saucer in hand, “you.”

You feel his eyes on you. This is how he chooses to address you? To draw your attention to him? ‘You’?

The stillness in the room is expectant, now. You tell yourself to lift your head.

“Ofjoseph?” Aunt Lydia prompts you.

Commander Lawrence speaks over the top of her. “Look at me.”

You lift your gaze to meet his. There’s nothing hard or soft in his stare, nothing warm or cold in the way he regards you. He merely sees you—his eyes observing, his lips in a line that neither smiles nor frowns.

He’s a wall, but built to defend or protect, you can’t read right now.

“My last Handmaid was a bit of a rabble-rouser,” he says easily, his voice nonchalant, “so I'm gonna say to you the same thing I said to her, ‘kay?”

You swallow, absorbing his candour. Aunt Lydia had told you never to speak of the last Ofjoseph, even if it was asked of you. But this particular question posed by the Commander requires more than a passive response. You get the sense that a number of conversations with him will be like this, and so you steel yourself to speak with a clear voice. “Yes, Commander.”

He keeps his gaze locked with yours, and brings his steaming teacup to his lips. He takes a slow sip, eyes trained on yours, and you resist the urge to shrink and shrivel into yourself.

The Commander swallows and sets his cup onto the saucer. It clinks, and after letting the small sound land for beat he says lowly, “You’re not gonna be any trouble, are you?”

Your breath catches, your voice stalling in your throat. Staring at him heats your blood, makes your palms perspire in your gloves. The man is dignified; he holds himself almost regally wherever he sits or stands. Is it the power he holds that makes him handsome, or is innate attraction purling in the pit of your gut?

…What will the Ceremony be like with him?

“No, Sir,” you say, your voice so soft it cracks. You gulp and collect yourself. Timidity does not seem to be a quality Commander Lawrence respects—another lesson you’d ardently learned only to be proven useless in his house. With more confidence, but not too much, particularly for Aunt Lydia’s benefit, you say, “Praise be to you, Commander, and may He make me truly worthy.”

You can feel Aunt Lydia’s presence lift with pride. You can see the smile spread across her face without needing to look at her, and can hear her words in your head without her needing to speak them.

‘Very good, dear,’ comes the Aunt’s voice in your mind.

The Commander looks you over, stoic as ever. “Ya,” is all he says in reply.

“Ofjoseph is one of our most promising Handmaids, Commander, allow me to assure you,” Aunt Lydia chimes in, now, finally, feeling on equal footing again. “Since the horrendous tragedies that your household has withstood, we thought it right and just that you be unburdened in at least this regard, Sir.”

“Unburdened?” the Commander replies flatly, his stalwart gaze now fixed on the Aunt.

You’re not sure whether you can look away from him. Does he wish for your eyes to remain on him? Does he expect you to look at him and from him at your own discretion? Would he like you to use your own judgement?

Regardless, it is clear that the decision of the Red Center Aunts to provide a pious, docile new Handmaid as consolation for his wife’s death is—at the very best—unappreciated by the Commander.

But whether or not Commander Lawrence appreciates the gesture and the gift that the Aunts have made you into is, ultimately, not your concern. Your first and last and only priority is that you fall pregnant with Commander Lawrence’s child as soon as humanly possible—or it’s the Colonies for you.

However, you being his sixth Handmaid, the Commander needs you to fall pregnant with his child just as quickly—given, especially, the sudden exodus of most of Gilead’s children seemingly overnight.

“Forgive me, Commander,” Aunt Lydia frowns, her eyes softening apologetically. “I only meant—”

“’s fine,” he interrupts, setting his cup and saucer back on the tray. “Tea’s gone cold, anyway,” the Commander stands from his seat and straightens his waistcoat, clearing his throat. “You can find your way out, Aunt Lydia?”

“Certainly, Sir,” Aunt Lydia assures him, mirroring his movement and standing from the sofa, somewhat uneasily on her injured leg. On instinct, you rise to your feet too.

“Til next time,” the Commander says, his voice laced with sarcastic fondness, as he strolls from the room and into what must be his private study. He doesn’t spare you a single backwards glance as he pulls another set of pocket doors closed behind him.

Silence settles over the sitting room like night.

Just like that, the visit concludes, and the realisation washes over you.

You’re not leaving with Aunt Lydia, when she goes, which she’s sure to do in just a moment.

This is it. The transaction is complete.

Your place is here. This house is now your home.

“I’ll be back the day after the Ceremony, dear,” Aunt Lydia says, leaning on her cane to stand. “In about, oh!” she pauses, looks at you with bright eyes, “seven days! Oh, sacred number. Blessings, Ofjoseph. May God bring forth His miracle.”

You muster a smile for her. Despite how this woman screamed at you, berated you, withheld your food and your sleep and denigrated your sense of self until you believed you were worth nothing more than being impregnated and delivering a healthy baby, her absence from your daily routine will be an adjustment.

You say, “Under His Eye, Aunt Lydia.”

She cups your cheek. “Under His Eye, dear.”

The Aunt makes her way to the door, met by Sienna and the second Martha, Beth, who stand in the foyer to see her off. The front door closes behind Aunt Lydia, and as soon as the latch locks it’s as if a dark, heavy storm cloud lifts from the house.

The Marthas sigh and relax, chattering eagerly and bickering animatedly about tonight’s dinner and even complaining about the Commander’s fussiness as they strut down the hallway to the kitchen. From the other side of the house, you hear a flare of music go up: some kind of Big Band era song, with trumpets and tubas and horns playing vivace—lively and fast.

The sun peeks out from behind the shroud of overcast sky, lighting up the sitting rooms with the glow of mid-afternoon.

You take a breath.

This old house feels alive.

#commander joseph lawrence #joseph lawrence #commander joseph lawrence x reader #commander joseph lawrence x you #joseph lawrence x reader #joseph lawrence x you #the handmaid's tale #g writes

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rostovs-lover · 3 years

Text

settle

din djarin x reader | a bounty, smooching, way too much flowery language| gender neutral | fluff | wc.1594

this is all flowery writing and i still haven’t watched the second season, so. also, researching for this somehow led me to a 2017 1D gangbang fic on ao3 so that-

hey hey, if you want some requests, i’d love some first kiss fluff with Mando??? however you want to handle the mask thing go for it, i just need some tlc from Din 🥺 if you wanna of course

despite how connected you are to each other, you and Din have only limited yourselves to mere hand touches. but he’s in love and it needs to come out.

The Razor Crest shifted in the air, shaking the bundle of flower against the windshield. They had been picked in a small village, temporary lodging for you and the Child while Din tracked a smuggler from several planets over. It was calm and lush and green and you had been thrilled to present your companion with the little purple bouquet. It wasn’t much, small, half wilted, and tied off with a thin piece of sewing string from your pack but he’d taken it gently in his hands and vowed to put it somewhere he’d always see it. To always have a reminder of you.

When all was said and done, the bounty caught, and you’d found your way back into the ship something had seemed different, more domestic. Floating around in an endless expanse of darkness, just talking. It was so simple, so innocent. Din wasn’t accustomed to the gentleness of domesticity, with his legs stretched out onto the dash and your soft presence floating around the cabin. He sat, still and quietly, listening to your voice, absolutely entranced. He had lived years, decades, on his lonesome, lone bandit doing as he pleased with a lack of regard to anything else. He could go and do terribly risky things. He could almost get himself killed and then thrive off of the adrenaline of living and no one would say a thing. But then there was a child, something small and fragile. He had a life in his grasp, something that would only flourish if he fed and watered it and gave it the right amount of love and sunlight. One lapse of judgement and suddenly the entirety of the universe rested right against his cold leather gloves. Gloves that did unimaginable things, cruel and incredible things. They smelled of blaster residue and guilt, payment for taken lives. He was ruthless until he wasn’t. Until he found a baby, alone, and saw a mirror, saw himself. It had softened him, reduced him to positively nothing.

The child was all he vowed to have, the only thing he would allow himself to love. And Din refused to believe he could open himself to anyone else, refused to let himself have anything else that could hinder him. But Maker, if the body really was made of stardust then a constellation had to give up two pieces of itself for the both of you to be here, together, perfectly aligned. He had surrendered himself entirely at your first words to him, fallen to his knees instead of replying and from that moment forwards Din Djarin, the feared bounty hunter in all his hard, hand-forged armour, had belonged to you. His soul melded into you.

The term “soulmate” was to be used lightly, and as much as he’d thrown the possibility around it wasn’t plausible. Impossible even, that you could be soulmates. Twin flames were more akin to what he felt you were. After one night in a murky inn, it seemed the feeling was mutual. As you’d pressed your hand to his, bare, ungloved, the only part of him you’d allowed yourself to touch. But it had been everything to him. Din had yearned for contact, and when the warmth from your palm bled into his something burned all through him and it still hadn’t left. You hadn’t left, you had burrowed yourself into his heart.

Din sat back in the pilot seat of the Razor Crest, feet propped against the dash. You were talking about a book you’d picked up in the village. It was on botany and certain botanical environments in different parts of the galaxy. You’d known most everything in the book already but it was still interesting and it contained a new tincture. It had also aided in putting the Child to sleep on several restless night. A habit he’d picked up since you’d been the one to put him to bed, only going down with a story, regardless of what it was you were reading. It was something so sweetly domestic, pure and untouched by anything happening through the galaxy.

Din’s life, from an impressionable age, had controlled by a creed. He had grown up loved and cared for but not with parents, he hadn’t ever had a textbook definition family. And in his line of work he couldn’t afford to be familial, let alone paternal. The child was accidental, at best. A cruel twist of fate had put them in the same path, The Child who owed his life for merely existing and Din, who was so feared that sometimes, the terror seeped into his own conscious. But you. You made him want to give up all the violence. He was willing to set his blaster down and never pick it back up. He would shed his brutality, pull himself from a rouge nomadic life if only for a moment more of this life. To be in love, to have a child, to nurture a family for himself. He wanted, so desperately, to have and to hold. He had also never divulged any of this to you.

“Its late-” You paused to look into the dark space outside of the ship, “In theory. We’ve been awake for a while is more accurate,”

“You can go to bed, I’ll manage with the kid.”

“We have Din, you’ve kidnapped someone since you slept last,”

Din scoffed, “Kidnapped is a little bit heavy, also incredibly incorrect. I do not kidnap, I get paid for what I do.”

“Kidnappers get paid, I think that's the point?” You pushed yourself out of the chair, “Are you coming?”

Din looked back to the console, “Fine, let me just put in the coordinates then I’ll be down, okay?”

You nodded, “Make sure not to get us lost.” You gathered your book and the blanket thrown over the headrest of The Child’s seat before opening the doors to the hallway.

You were settled into bed, pajamas on, afghan wrapped around your shoulders, and book in your clutch, when Din came down the ladder. He shuffled through the room, setting things in their rightful place, blaster under the bed, gloves on the nigh table.

“I’m turning the lights off, is that okay?”

You nodded, “Yes, yeah I’m done with this chapter.” You dogeared the page as the room was cast into darkness. The thick quilt on the bed was pushed back and the mattress sunk under his weight. There was a quiet shuffle as he removed his gloves, his helmet, and the rest of his heavy armor.

He was warm, it seemed to radiate from him. Even as he lay a lifetime away from you, only touching hands. It was pitch black and his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Did you see much of the village when we stopped?” You asked quietly, playing with his fingers.

“Enough.”

“What does that mean? Enough,”

“I saw enough of it, it was nice, lots of farmland. Did you like it?”

You nodded, moving to run your fingers over the palm of his hand. Despite how rough his line of work was Din’s hands were soft, all the years spent under thick leather gloves, “It was stunning, the baby liked it too. He really likes playing with other kids, he’s good at making friends.”

“Do you think he gets lonely?” You felt the tips of Din’s fingers shyly prod at the delicate skin on your wrist. The excitement that bubbled into your lungs seemed almost pathetic, like a schoolgirl holding hands with her crush for the very first time. But you’d never had his bare hands anywhere but your own and now he was moving up your arm.

“No, he seems content here, with us.”

His fingers were at the crook of your elbow now, pressing into the soft flesh and he almost seemed to tug at you, tug you closer, and you gave. His voice had quieted to accommodate the closed distance, “Friends couldn’t… hurt? Other kids to be around for more than just a couple of days.”

You let one of your fingertips start to dance up his bicep, “What exactly are you insinuating Mando?”

“It would be nice to settle in,” He gingerly settled his hand against the curve of your neck.

Your heart raced and you crooned into him, a soft shudder rolling through your shoulder, “Settle in?”

He carefully pushed a piece of hair from your eyes, “To be somewhere, permanently maybe,”

“Like to have a home, you mean?” You reached to hold the back of his hand against your cheek.

“Yes… maybe. Not necessarily, I mean not if you didn’t want to. Not… you but just in general.” He paused, thumbing at your cheek, “Yes you, if you wanted.”

“Din,” You murmured, reaching into the dark for him.

He caught your wrist, “I’m here. Right here.” And it was very quiet, practically silent besides the soft whirring of the engine. The air changed as he leaned closer, hair brushing against your jaw, “Is this okay?”

“Its perfect,” You whispered back up to him.

Slowly, very slowly, he pressed his mouth to yours. The stubble dusted against his jaw scratched your cheek as he tilted his head. His breath, softly flitting against your skin was warm and the hands your face made you feel safe, grounded. He smelled like leather and sweat and the freshly laundered shirt he wore. Din was home. He was soothing and familiar and home. Absolutely perfect. Absolutely wonderful.

Pulling back slowly you looked up to where you assumed he was, “Din, where exactly would we be settling in?”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the child #baby yoda #grogu #Mando #lennie writes

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desertofsnowflakes · 3 years

Text

Incorrect Order Chapter 5 (Nessian AU)

A/N: Do inform me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist! If you happen to find my storyline similar to another fic or one of yours, I'm extremely sorry, I might've just not known. All characters belong to the author Sarah J. Mass. Enjoy!

Summary: Don't first impressions always affect the way you see someone? Well, what more with the Nesta Archeron? Nesta meets Cassian at few unexpected places and to say it didn't go well was a major understatement. Certain circumstances make them become enemies to tolerable company to friends to lovers.

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, an angry Nesta and a heart-broken Cassian

2094 words | Incorrect Order Masterlist | Read on AO3

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Nesta had never been one for small talk but in his presence she spoke as if she was excellent in small talk. They spoke of all unimportant things and ended up forgetting the important stuff; their names. Again.

Feyre sent an invitation for her first anniversary party as she did for every other occasion. The only thing different was that Nesta never bothered to pay heed to her invitations before. After the day in the alley, however, she decided she was going to turn over a new leaf. This was her first step.

She checked her reflection on the side-mirror. She tried to keep her outfit and make-up as simple as possible. She only wore a white ruffled-sleeved blouse with a black pencil skirt. Her hair was braided into a coronet. She looked good, but not as good as she’ll look if she took her own time to do a detailed make-over. She let out a breath and braced herself for the inevitable little chat with her sisters.

“Nesta?” a bewildered voice breathed. She whirled around to face her younger sister, Elain, looking up at her, a small smile playing about her lips. “You’re here,” she said and flung her arms around Nesta. Nesta automatically wrapped her arms around Elain’s smaller frame. Eventually, Elain pulled back.

“No offense, but I really thought you wouldn’t be coming,” Elain said.

Nesta felt as if the smile on her face couldn't be wiped out for the next few hours. “Honestly, I didn't think I'd come either. But here I am.”

She nodded and pulled Nesta to the garden the party was held at.

“I did this,” Elain said. “This garden, I planted and groomed all this.”

“No wonder why it looks so beautiful,” Nesta replied.

She flushed and said contemplatively, “You're so different now, Nesta.”

“I hope in a good way. Where's Feyre?”

“Let's go meet everyone first.”

Nesta shook her head. “I— I need to talk to both of you before I meet everyone else. ”

Elain hesitated then said, “Can you wait in that room? I'll fetch Feyre and come.”

Nesta nodded and headed to the door at the end of the garden Elain pointed at. The room was classy, much like the exterior of the house. She was struck by the simple yet grand theme of Feyre's house. She knew he and his brothers were rich but she just didn't understand the extent of their wealth. Till now.

“What are you thinking?” Feyre wasn't the type to blindly trust people. It took more than coming for her anniversary to persuade her that Nesta's intentions were good.

Nesta faced Feyre, her youngest sister, who stood before her, gorgeous yet fierce in a simple but elegant blue gown. She shrugged, “Just thinking that I'm glad my sisters were well-provided when I couldn't take care of them.”

Feyre’s face didn’t change, she just gestured towards the couches. “Have a seat,” she said.

Nesta sat down, “You both look splendid,” she said. Feyre said that the gown was a gift, Elain thanked Nesta and offered the same.

Nesta cleared her throat. “I need to tell the both of you something. Many things, actually.”

Elain nodded encouragingly. Feyre said, “Go on.”

So Nesta spoke. She apologised. For how she wasn't there to fulfill the role of an elder sister. For how she failed to attend Feyre's marriage and many other occasions. For all the rude words she spoke to them. For shunning them. She apologised for being self consumed. For everything else.

She also promised. To try harder. To become better. To be a good sister and sister-in-law. To be with them at all times, especially when they needed her. And they listened.

“I know these words aren't enough, but I'll try to make it so,” she finished, her hands clasped with both her sisters on her sides.

“You said you'll try, Nesta. We will too,” Feyre said.

“I see a very bright future ahead of us,” Elain said.

Nesta couldn't help the tears anymore. She folded her arms around her sisters and tucked them close. Her sisters. Her beloved sisters she now knew she'd do anything to protect.

“I see a very bright future too,” Nesta said.

Nesta pulled back after what felt like an hour and looked at her sisters' tear-streaked faces.

“I love you,” the three of them said simultaneously. Nesta giggled. Elain laughed. Feyre stared.

Nesta gently brushed the tears from both of their cheeks. “I don't want to see any of you crying.”

She hugged them again, willing the hug to convey everything she didn't say out loud.

“Now, now, enough snuggling. We've got a party to attend and people to meet, remember?” Feyre said.

***

Cassian was anxious. He had always hoped Nesta, his sister-in-law, would come for the gatherings they had; be it family dinners, or birthday parties, or the random meetings they had when they just got tipsy and played games. He hadn't seen her face-to-face before. All he knows about Nesta are from the descriptions from Feyre and Elain. That, too, was minimal. One of them would quickly change the topic to something pleasant the moment traces of an emotional breakdown were visible. Every time he hoped, he was let down. She never came. He vowed he would stop hoping and instead just go about and act as if she didn't exist. But that never happened. Every time his family met, his treacherous heart would start hoping only to have a chunk of it fall off when she failed to attend. Today was no different.

Then there’s the woman who he’d been talking to the whole afternoon. He was a tangled up mess of emotions and doubt and confusion. He had been sort-of pining after Nesta. She was exactly the person he’d like. Apparently she was drop-dead gorgeous, witty and… feral. Feyre said that. Feral. She’d be someone worth seeing. She was totally a worthy opponent. It’d be fun. But the other woman? Mother above, she was ethereal. More than ethereal, in fact. Words can't contain what he had to say about her.

He was damn near killing Az for calling him right when they were about to exchange names. He really can't believe he was a hairsbreadth away from knowing her before it was all ripped away. Now they were back to square one. He didn't know anything about her.

Azriel clapped him on his back so hard that he almost stumbled and fell. Or probably that was because he was too distracted. “All good Somm?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he replied noncommittally. He busied his hands with re-rinsing the champagne flutes and wiping them clean again. He did this two times already. Still.

“Mood is sour today, Cass?” Az teased, mock-frowning.

“Nah,” Cassian said wryly, “it's as sweet as honeydew. Especially today, when my chat got interrupted.” He glared at Azriel.

“Now, now, that is a story for another day. For now though, I think I've got something that can cheer up your brooding self.”

“What is it?” he mumbled.

Az grinned. “Nesta is here.”

***

Feyre and Elain took Nesta on a quick tour around the house. Feyre’s paintings were hung on the walls throughout the whole house. Nesta grimly noticed that there wasn't a single picture of her. There were even paintings of their father whose heart had long stopped beating. But none of hers. If only she didn’t push herself away, Nesta would’ve been a happy part of her sisters’ lives.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Feyre took her hand in hers. Elain tucked herself to Nesta’s side, wrapping her arms over her slender shoulders.

Nesta already met Mor, a stunning blonde woman, and Amren, a slightly intimidating and short person. Now she only had to meet her brother-in-laws.

“Let’s go meet the boys!” Elain said brightly.

We walked back to the garden. Feyre seemed to get more and more elated the closer we got to the garden. Huh. Probably falling in love would do that to someone. Anyway, as long as her sisters were happy.

They stepped through the doorway. The garden was decorated with more banners and streamers hung on the back of chairs and on the low branches. Again, it looked opulent in a simple way.

There were three men in the centre of the garden, gathered around a table. They all were slightly similar, broad shouldered, tapered waists, muscular limbs. Three of them wore formal shirts and pants clinging to their frames. The one in the middle was Rhysand, she supposed. She smirked internally. Of course Feyre ended up with this guy. She's got a good taste. Must've gotten it from the oldest sister.

The one on the right, though. His figure felt familiar. Very, very familiar. She couldn't quite put a finger on it yet.

“The one on the left is Azriel, the one on the right is Cassian,” Feyre said, and Nesta nodded.

The boys must be really engrossed with their conversation. They hadn't noticed the three of them yet.

The guy she thought was familiar threw his head back and laughed. She gasped. That laugh. She'd know the laugh anywhere. Indeed, when he angled his face so that she could get a glimpse, she knew she was done for. She swallowed with much difficulty.

“I need to go,” she said quickly.

“Go? But— but we haven't cut the cake yet. It's still early. We've got lots more fun stuff,” Elain said.

“You said you'll try, Nesta. Only, this doesn't feel like 'trying',” Feyre said.

They sounded… hurt.

Mother above, I'm doing this wrong.

“Nesta?” Elain asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah,” Feyre added, “you look pale.”

“Y-yeah it's f-fine. Kinda. My head hurts,” she said, accidentally clutching her stomach. “I-I mean, yeah my head hurts. Very badly. I gotta go.” She looked helplessly at both of them. “I'm so sorry. I really am. It's just— I think I need rest. I'll recompense. Probably dinner in three days?” They both shared a look and agreed.

Nesta was already walking away. “Love you both,” she threw over her shoulder.

***

“Feyre!” Rhys called. He beckoned Feyre and Elain to the table. He didn't see Nesta.

Cassian lightly kissed Feyre on her cheek once they made their way to the table and said, “Gorgeous as always. Happy anniversary!”

Feyre grinned, but it showed traces of disappointment.

He frowned. “Hey, what's wrong?”

She just shook her head and mumbled, “Nesta.” Rhys's face hardened. His brother was never fond of Nesta. He said that she was why Feyre was always worried.

“Where's Nesta?” Az asked, craning his neck to see behind farther.

“She… left,” Elain pointed, revealing a figure disappearing behind the gates. A figure he knew all too well. Shitshitshitshit.

His head snapped back to his brothers. “That is Nesta?” he damn near shouted.

Rhys scowled, “Yeah.”

No wonder why she's so beautiful, he thought dumbly before running after her with a quick “I'll be back.”

***

Nesta was wrong. In all her happiness of being reunited with her sisters, she completely forgot how even a small thing can break one's smile. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She kept her calm demeanour, but inside, she was a raging storm of emotions.

One step in front of the other, she kept reminding herself.

She kept walking. Even when she heard footsteps. Even when the steps got louder. Even as he got close enough to cease running.

But not when he called her name. She halted. Locked up her emotions. She knew she shouldn't but she turned around anyway.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“Nesta,” he breathed. She tried to hold back her shudder. It was from the night air, she told herself.

“If you have nothing to say, do let me know. I'm not going to wait forever,” she said. Harsher than she intended to. But she didn't care, at least, that's what she told herself.

Cassian winked, “I'm honored you came, sweetheart. I'll pass the credit to my influence on you. ”

She ground her teeth against the truth threatening to fall off her lips. Yes, I came here because you made me happy. And I thought that if I tried, as I did with you, I can rebuild my relationship with my sisters.

***

Cassian did something stupid. He grabbed her hand. Her eyes snapped to his, burning with anger. Like the day they first met.

He gave her a crooked grin that he knew would drive her mad. Well, more than she already was. He tilted his head to the garden, “The party is that way, love.”

She snatched back her hand at continued walking. Like a fool, he followed. “I spoke to my sisters. Told them I won't be staying tonight. And that we'll have dinner in three day's time. Does that satisfy you? Now, can you stop following me?”

“Something's wrong. What's wrong, Nes?”

“One,” she ground out, “don't call me that. Two, I'm a grown-ass woman; I know how to take care of myself. I don't need a babysitter.”

“You did. That day,” he said quietly.

She whirled on him, “Is this you taking back favours? Because I'm not interested. You want money? Take it. Tell me your price and fucking take it! Don't tread on my heels because you helped me, okay? I've got way better things to do.” She paused, “And don't follow me, Cassian.”

She turned and stalked away.

You want money? Take it. 'Take it.' As if he were a beggar, asking for alms. As if they weren't laughing at each other's jokes not more than an hour ago. As if he didn't spend a week taking care of her as if she were a part of his soul. Maybe she was.

But that was before, Cassian thought as his heart cleaved into two perfect halves. No— it smashed to a million tiny pieces.

He waited till Nesta was out of his line of sight. He turned and walked back to the garden, leaving his heart behind.

taglist: @shadowsinger07 @im-someone-i-guess @saltyfortunes @cressjacquine @julian-blackthorn-supremacy @champanheandluxxury @zemiraa @ladygabrielli1997 @nehemikkele @heartless--aromantic @sv0430 @ddsworldofbooks @irenethaleia @sjm-things @dontgetsalmonella

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ha-hatdog · 4 years

Text

to narnia / edmund pevensie

first narnia request hehe. the request was a little too vague like so i don't know exactly what plot you want but this is my take. hope you enjoy hihi

edmund is aged up to 16 here and so is reader. this is after they had returned from narnia in the first movie

requested by @darkladyslytherin : Hi! Are you busy? If you don't mind can you write a Narnia fanfic Edmund Pevensie x reader where the reader is his girlfriend and he was wondering whether he could bring her to Narnia. Thank you ily ❤️

dear @darkladyslytherin do you know that you’re one of my favorite readers? just saying. i always take notice of those who really follow and comment on my stories in quotev hihi. although i haven’t seen you much lately in quotev, i just wanted to show you my appreciation. love you and thanks

UNEDITED

Edmund was different.

After reuniting with him when he and his siblings had temporarily left to live in an old mansion miles and miles away, you noticed immediately. How can you not? He was your dear lover, and even the slightest change in his expression couldn't escape your eye. He looked the same, the same Edmund Pevensie that you last saw descending from the train with his sibling to wait to be picked up, but at the same time, he was not.

He felt different and acted differently - the naivety was gone, replaced with a steadfast regality and maturity, his decisions no longer driven with the need for adrenaline and fun, but thoroughly thought out. This was not the same Edmund you have last seen. But you loved him nonetheless, and nothing could change that, even if he was no longer the Edmund you knew as of late.

His siblings were in the same boat as him. They interacted with each other differently. Although Peter and Susan already had that air of maturity, they somehow felt older. Peter has become more assertive than commanding and Susan was gentler, yet still being able to uphold her duty as an older sister. Even sweet little Lucy seemed more mature than you, and she was ten.

You cannot help but wonder if something happened to the four of them when they were in the mansion, when they were apart from you. They had moments when they fell silent when questioned about their stay with Professor Digory Kirke, suddenly looking sorrowful and solemn, and more than once have you seen them gather and converse in hushed voices, and you knew they were deliberately being secretive and out casting you from those particular exchange as they scatter once you attempt to insert yourself into them.

Something most definitely happened back with Professor Digory.

You raised your concern with the eldest sister, asking her if there was an occurrence when they were temporarily residing with the old man. Susan was usually the most open person with you (Lucy was too, but you feel like, despite her suddenly having mature qualities, she was still ten), but when you asked her that question, she expertly dismissed it and diverted the conversation in a different route. She may think that she had done excellently keeping you in the dark, but that itch in the back of your head wouldn't go away, not until you found answers.

You were lounging in the sitting area with Susan, your hand tapping a pen on a table while Susan sat on a cushioned and high backed chair, a large book in her dainty hand.

You let out a sigh as you dropped the item within your grasp on the smooth surface, earning the eyes of your friend. "Something wrong?" Susan questioned as she set her book down on her lap, eyeing you curiously from where she was positioned.

"Nothing," You puffed out, and your eyes vision fell back to the table. "I'm just bored."

"If you're so bored, why don't you hang out with Edmund?" Suggested Susan, and when you did not respond, she took this chance to continue speaking. "He misses you, you know."

You flushed at her spoken statement and averted your gaze from her. Shame pricked at your heart as your heard the your lover's name, but even so, your remained steadfast, unfaltering, just as Edmund was to you.

You took the pen back to your hand, scowling slightly. "Never mind." You grumbled out, and Susan sighed in disappointment and exasperation to your defiant answer against her proposal.

"You're still ignoring him." It was not a question, it was badgering remark of a fact, and you were quiet, as what she had spouted was not incorrect.

You were not stupid. Before you asked anyone else, you bluntly came forward with your concern to your boyfriend - Edmund Pevensie - interrogating him about his time spent in the mansion, but he dismissed you with a shake of a head, stating that nothing out of the ordinary has happened. But his barriers has shot up immediately after the question, and your suspicion and curiosity arose. You have chased him with this question upon your lips, but he was as consistent as you were with denying you the right to know. And in retaliation to his constant rejection, you evaded his presence like the plague, just like how he evades giving you the answer you sought for, making it a point to show him that you were not giving up until he tells you something, anything, about the trip.

"He won't tell me anything. So I won't tell him anything." You retorted to Susan, sight flitting over to her. "Unless you fancy telling me - "

Susan shook her head, brown locks billowing with her movements. "There's nothing to say. Nothing happened."

You scoffed. "I'm not stupid, Susan!" Your hollering voice stunned her, and even you were shocked with your own boldness. "I know something happened but you keep making me out to be the insane one here!"

"That is certainly not the case." Denied Susan and a curtain of solemnity swung over her. She turned away, suddenly reclusive and losing the air of regality she always had around her after their return in London. "If anything, you'll think of us as the insane ones."

Confusion wrapped you in its finger. "Why would I? I have been the outcast here ever since you four came back. You always made me feel like it. Never telling me anything when really, something is going on and none of you would say something. Not even Lucy, and she's the most honest person on your lot."

Susan pursed her lips, agitated. "I'm sorry we have made you feel this way but there's nothing to say. People change, (Your Name). Slowly, quickly, they just . . . change." She murmured. "You can't stop it from happening."

"I don't mind change, Susan. But if this change means cutting me off your family, then it would be much better if Edmund and I break up, and I leave your family for good." Your words took Susan aback, and she nearly dropped her book to the floor. And yet you continued, spouting claims that supported your previous statement, unaware of the presence that has descended from a nearby flight of stairs. This new arrival stood by the last step, a food precariously tipped on the edge of the step and a hand holding on to the wooden leverage beside him.

"Peter changed, Lucy changed, you changed, and Edmund changed! I have not once complained about the four of you changing but this is too much! After we have reunited, I thought all would be fine now. The war is done, and we're going back to school in a few months but it feels like we're miles apart." You let out, frustrated. You stood up from your chair and abandoned your task. "Even Edmund feels like a stranger! He used to tell me everything, from his issues with Peter and to that little bug that keeps flying near his ear when he's sleeping! No matter how insignificant they are, he tells me and now he can't even look at me without his eyes screaming - hey, I have a secret that's eating me up from the inside and my siblings have them as well!"

Susan did not speak.

You scoffed. "Silent again, I see. Not surprised. That's all you've been whenever I'm around. I don't even know why I'm still hanging with you lot." You gathered your belongings and stuffed them inside your bag which was located underneath the table. As you continued taking items and putting them inside your bag, you went on, still unable to detect the concerned eyes of your lover staring at you. "It's obvious you'd rather keep everything to yourself, so I might as well leave and let you do that in peace."

You zipped your bag in a swift motion and turned to head towards the front door only to come to a skidding halt once you came face with a broad chest. Looking up, you saw Peter looking down at you, a conflicted expression on his mien and behind him was a concerned Lucy.

You tried going around him, to continue your short travel towards the the front door but Peter followed your movement, effectively blocking you from your intention.

You stomped your feet stubbornly at Peter, the presence of your significant other beyond your awareness. "Will you please move?" You requested, voice laced with irritation.

"No," Adamantly answered Peter, causing you to roll your eyes. "Is that how you really feel?"

"Oh," You chided, brow lifting. "Now you're finally paying attention to me. Guess all it had to take was for me to get full of your negligence. Thank you, I guess."

Peter opened his mouth to interject, but he was cut off, and you stumbled back when Lucy flung herself to you, arms wrapping around your middle and burying her face on your clothed stomach. Susan advanced towards you to pull Lucy away, but the younger girl spoke before she could be interrupted with her affectionate embrace, "No, please don't leave us!"

A curtain of shame and regret swathed you as you stared at the lass pulling you close to her, but nonetheless, you turned away, eyes closed. "I can't stay in a place where everyone avoids me as if I'm the plague. I'm going."

Lucy tore herself away from you and turned to the elderly siblings, tears springing up at the corner of her eyes. "We should just tell her!" Exclaimed she.

Peter frowned. "Lucy, we talked about this with Professor Kirke - "

"So, you're just going to let her leave us?" Asked Lucy. Susan and Peter did not respond, only looking away as they too have no answer to her inquiry.

"She's right." Everybody turned to the source of the voice, and your eyes bulged upon seeing Edmund standing by the doorframe, shoulder slouching and eyes blank with nervousness. But there was also a peculiar sort of hardened resolve in them, the some resolve that you had last seen when he promised to meet you again after the war has come to pass. You swallowed, turning away as he continued. You can feel his eyes on you, burning against your skin. "We need to tell her." He stated with finality. "I need to tell her."

Peter ventured a step forward to his younger brother, an arm extended. "Edmund," He blathered. "Professor Kirke said - "

"I know what Professor Kirke said. I was there with you, okay? I know what he told us. But I'd rather break his rule just once. I'm not going to lose (Your Name). And I know you don't want to as well." You inhaled as Edmund walked up next to you, and his hand clasped over your shoulder. You looked up at him, and you saw the hopeful shine in his eyes. "Come with me, I will tell you everything. I promise."

You opened your lips to protest, to tell him that he did not need to tell you anything if it was really against his will, but the plea in his eyes - how can you say no to him?

"I won't keep anything away from you anymore."

***

You and Edmund left the house to find somewhere private to talk. His room would have been ideal, but despite having your significant other make his siblings promise not to eavesdrop, there was no guarantee that they would hold the end of their promise and so, both of you elected to venture outdoors and find place where you were, for sure, to have your privacy. You two walked in silence through the streets, tension both burdening your shoulders.

This was not like you two, at least before. There was always laughter and sarcastic exchange between the two of you. But now, even holding his hand seemed like a task your mind can longer comprehend. Your hand stiffened and quivered whenever it tried to reach for his and you sulked in dismay, accepting your defeat.

But Edmund, although he too was absorbed in anxiety with what was to come, noticed your apprehension and how your hand moved near and away from his own. His mind was set not to intertwine his hand with yours as the small monster in the back of his mind said it would be terribly improper to instigate any form of affection when a row was settled with the pair of you. But his hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it reached out to take your hand in his hold. He felt your hand squeeze him, and he smiled and returned the gesture.

Everything will be fine. I'm sure.

You two found a field after a several minutes of walking, and decided to settle under the shade of the fee trees sprouting on the vastness.

You sat down on the ground, and Edmund was left standing, his back to you as he overlooked the plains and the hillocks in the distance. You brought your legs to your chest and embraced them, trying to abate the loneliness that was creeping on you. Now that you're alone with him and had the reassurance that he will tell you everything, the loneliness you have repressed inside of you with sheer strength alone for so long was beginning to overflow.

You glanced down at your hand, the same one he held before. I miss his hold already. You thought. I want to hold his hand again.

Quiet swathed both of you, not a word exchanged. You grew antsy as the stillness of the situation prolonged, and it looked to you that Edmund was not going to do anythimg but stand there and avoid looking at you but you knew him. He wasn't avoiding locking eyes with you - he was trying to think of a way on how to go about broaching this sensitive topic he had not touched for so long, the same reason your relationship has become rocky. You were not familiar with this mature attribute of his for the Edmund you knew would merely spout anything that comes in his mind, but you have concluded that after his abrupt change, his actions and approach to anything woukd be far from before.

"Are you going to say anything?" You questioned, fed up with the silence. He still did not look your way and you let out a sigh. "Edmund."

"I - " He exhaled, and you curled your tongue to stop yourself from talking. But he did not continue his sentence and fell speechless again. And after a little while, he picked up on his pending thought. "I don't know where to start." You saw his shoulders move as he laughed and you cannot help but smile. It has been a while since you've heard him laugh, even if it was a nervous one. "You'd think after being a king and ruling a whole country for many years I'd be sure of myself and be capable of having a simple conversation with my girlfriend."

His words failed to register in your head. You heard him loud and cleat, yet what he said made no sense and it served as a great fuel to your perplexity. You blinked, arms loosening their hold around your legs and back straightening from the arch it formed. "What?" You chimed in, puzzlement evident. "Do you mind repeating what you said? I thought I heard you say king and ruling a country, but that can't be right." You stated. "Sorry, Ed. I think I'm not in the right frame of mind right now and I think I'm hearing differently. How about we talk tomorrow instead?"

"No, you're hearing is fine. You heard right." Edmund turned towards you, solemnity encrusting his mein. You had never seen him this serious before, and it worried you just as it made you curious. Edmund walked over to you, looking down at your seated figure. "You asked me what happened in the Professor's mansion? I was a king, (Your Name). I ruled a country before I returned here."

Your confusion intensified. Brows burrowed, you regarded him warily. "Ed, I don't understand." You confessed. "What do you mean you were a king and ruled a country? Is this some kind of metaphor for something? You don't want to outright say what need to be said so I have to decode this . . . this, this something?" You were unable to find the right term for his statement. "Is that it?"

Edmund lets out a sigh, eyes fluttering to a close. "I knew this would happen. I'm aware of this but seeing it unfold right now, it's harder than I thought." He admitted softly and opened his eyes to look at you. "I know you don't believe me. I sound like a completely delusional child but you wanted the truth, so here I am, saying the truth no matter how stupid it will make me look."

His eyes shone, and you stared back at him, rid of the capability to speak out your judgement or thought.

You let out a gasp as Edmund knelt down and took your hand in his, and the warmth that left your palm as returned suddenly. He took in a deep breath, the amount of oxygen taken in making his chest expand before he eased. He seemed to be trying to calm himself. "Before I say anything else, before I make a fool of myself," He cleared his throat, gazing back at you heatedly. And there they were, the desperation, the pleading, in his eyes, but what got you pursing your lips was the love in his eyes. "I want to apologize for ignoring you, for not telling you the truth earlier. I thought it would be for the better you didn't know anything that happened back in the mansion, but I knew that was impossible. If there's one person I could never ever lie to, I could never keep anything from, it's you. I didn't want to hurt you, but I did, and to me, it was just me trying to protect you. I didn't realize it was a kind of breach in trust."

You said nothing, waiting for him to finish.

"I promise never to do that again." Edmund stated with firm finality, taking you aback. Edmund was never the one to be so sure of things unless he knows he definitely has something to gain from it. This firmness - an unbreakable promise. "I don't want to hurt you like this again, to make you feel unwanted, insecure. Never again."

Your heart swelled. You cooed, "Edmund," You brushed the back of your hand on his cheek. "I forgive you. All I wanted as an apology and an explanation."

He chuckled. "I haven't even said anything."

"I mean you did say you were a king who ruled a country." You laughed, not noticing the way he swallowed the saliva that accumulated in his mouth. "King of a country club, for sure."

"(Your Name)," Began Edmund, and you halted your antics, looking back at him. The solemnity was yet to subside from his visage. You mirrored his expression and sentiment. "Whatever I say to you, promise me that you'll believe me. No matter how ridiculous everything I say may seem to you."

"Of course, Ed." Concern overtook you and you leaned forward to inspect him. "What's going on?"

"I mean it, (Your Name). Promise me." Edmund bellowed, his hold on your hand tightening. "Promise me you'll believe no matter how crazy I might sound."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just promise me, please."

Edmund have always hated how others fabricate his identity and made him out as someone who he isn't. He definitely hated being called insane or a maniac, so hearing him begging you to believe him in fear of having you see a distorted view of him - it hurt you.

"I promise," You affirmed. "Now, tell me - what happened back in the Professor's place?"

Edmund moved and nestled himself beside you, hand leaving yours and back slanting against the tree trunk. He stared off at the distance first before locking eyes with you. "You won't believe me - "

"Oh, bloody hell, Ed," Your quip startled Edmund. "I already said I will believe anything you say no matter how ridiculous it may sound. Let's not go back and forth and just tell me already."

Edmund observed you for a second, then another, and then, he continued. "When we got to the mansion, for the first day at least, everything was normal. It was just four siblings trying to get used to the place they were going to stay at." He began. "There wasn't much to do. We can't go out to explore and play, so we decided to play hide and seek - don't look at me like that - it was Lucy who suggested it - " He rebuked once he saw your smile appearing.

"But you had fun, right?" You pressed on.

Edmund nodded. "Yeah, I guess," But soon after, he halted. "For the first few minutes, I guess. Lucy found this wardrobe to hide in, and literally seconds later, she came out from it like she was gone for hours." A pause. "She said something about meeting a Faun. You know, half man - "

" - half goat, yeah, I know." You replied.

"Yeah, she said she met a Faun named Mister Tumnus because apparently, there was an unknowm world inside the wardrobe called Narnia and a witch had cursed it. They had tea, listened to Narnian songs, and exchanged stories of their own world."

It took you a while to process everything he was saying. A Faun? A witch? Curse? Wardrobe? Narnia? What in the world?

"Imagination is strong. It's understandable, Lucy is still young." Remarked you, and you waited for Edmund to agree, but to your surprise, he did not.

"That's what I thought too, that's what Peter and Susan thought too. Just someone who had a strong imagination. Until," He took in a deep breath. "I also found Narnia."

You didn't know how to take this. How were you supposed to take in this kind of information? Edmund was not like to say things like this, magical things, and if he did, it was out of jest. But there was no humor right now. Just a plea for you to listen, and you did.

"When I got to Narnia, I met the witch, the White Witch. The witch who put Narnia to an eternal winter for a long time." He went on and all of a sudden, you were more than just invested. Something happened with him and that White Witch. You can tell by how his eyes darkened at the mention of her. "She was kind and warm - I know, weird for someone who put an entire country to winter - and that should have been a warning itself, but I still trusted her, just as she wanted."

Edmund took hold of the end of his shirt and pulled it up, revealing the scar on his torso. You flinched at the sight of it. You haven't seen the initial damage to the skin, but you knew the wound had been deep, and must have been a large gateway for his blood. You wondered how much in pain he was.

"Remember this?" Edmund queried.

"Yeah, you said there was an accident in the kitchen." Edmund told you something happened in the kitchen in the mansion when it was his turn to cook but you knew this was a complete and utter lie. His explanation of the accident was too bizzare, and you asked Susan if there had been turns on cookinf and there was none. And, Edmund did not know how to cook. "I know it's a lie, Ed."

"Perceptive, as always. Want to know how I really got it?" He questioned, and you nodded. "I got stabbed, by that Witch."

A gasp of horror escaped your lips at what you heard, back straightening and a hand finding its way to his arm. He sent you an appreciative smile but he still did not let his shirt cover his wound. In fact, he seemed to be transfixed by this ugly scarring and you did not blame him, for the story behind it must have been awful. He was yet to tell you what exactly transpired in this world he called Narnia, but Edmund, regardless of how much he denies it, shows more emotions than he thought.

"Well," You started. "She's called a witch for a reason."

Your little joke bubbled a genuine laughter from Edmund and it enlightened your spirits, even a little. But the inkling hatred for the witch drove your blood to a boiling temperature that you were surprised you weren't squirming on your position with the need to release your pent up aggravation. But Edmund knew you as much as you did with him, and he knew you were effectively masking your anger.

And then reality caught you and your eyes fell - Why am I angry with a witch I don't even know is real? Everything Edmund is saying is so unreal. A world called Narnia inside a wardrobe where his sister met a Faun and he met the, uh . . . White Witch who put said place to winter, a long winter. Nothing sounded real. It's like listening to a children's book. You thought, gulping. But Ed could never fake his feelings. Not to me.

"That happened many years ago. You don't have to worry about me. I'm over it. It's just that . . . the memories, you know." Edmund grew silent again, and you waited for him to speak. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

You breathed out. "No, not at all."

"But you don't believe me."

And you found your mouth unable to move. Nothing he said made sense, nothing of what he told you could be applied to the real world. There is no such things as Fauns and witches and eternal winter and his explanation of how he got his scar in the so called accident in the kitchen made more sense than what he had expounded earlier. All you heard was a fairytale, a make believe made for children. But the way Edmund spoke, the way his eyes shone and darkened, the way pure joy lit his face whenever he mentioned Narnia - this could never be a fairytale, and it shall never be one. You had never seen that look on his face before, this was the first time you have seen him so joyous. He had never looked at you like this, not anyone.

Whatever this Narnia is, you want to see it, you want to experience this indescribable happiness you can see on Edmund's face, you want to know and learn everything about Narnia, with Edmund. You want this joy with him.

But as of the moment, you could feel nothing near of it. Nothing but the strong pull Edmund was emitting.

Logic grounded you, but something - something very close to magic - was tearing you away.

"No, I believe you." You declared. "I really, really do. It might be stupid to say that but - " Your hands clenched. " - I believe you."

You took in a deep breath. "It may be hard but I believe you, and I believe in this Narnia place you're talking about. Plus, you promised me you won't lie anymore, right? I don't have the heart to doubt you." You wanted to believe him. Edmund stared at you with dilated hues, eyebrows raising as astonishment struck him. You smiled and took his hand, this time you were the one enveloping him with your comfort. "Edmund," You began. "I trust you."

Edmund breathed out, relieved. "I trust you too."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "So, can you tell me how long you've been a King? And just how did you become one?"

Edmund took you by surprise when he pulled you to him, connecting his lips with you. You responded back after while and once the two of you pulled away, Edmund chuckled. "It wasn't only me who was royalty and ruling Narnia. There's Susan and Lucy too. I'm King Edmund, the Just. Queen Susan, the Gentle. Queen Lucy, the Valiant."

"What about Peter? Was he not a king?" You questioned.

Edmund feigned confusion. "Who's Peter?"

He laughed when you smacked his chest. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding." Spouted Edmund. "Peter wasn't only a king. He was the High King Peter, the Magnificent."

"Ooh, High King Peter, the Magnificent. Sounds like something that would make his head big." You jested.

"It did, but he was a great leader who won many battles against neighboring kingdoms and countries who wanted to wage war against Narnia. He's a dependable High King."

"So you all got your maturity from Narnia." You murmured.

"Yeah, we became adults there and we ruled over talking beasts and magical creatures and wow," Edmund breathed out. "I can't believe I'm talking about Narnia so freely with you."

"You don't have to it all inside of you anymore. You can tell me everything about Narnia and how you lived there." You said. "But I never asked you," You began again. "If you loved Narnia so much, then why did you leave?"

Edmund lets out a sigh. "I don't know either. None of my siblings know either. We were just . . . back here, and back to our younger bodies. We spent many, many years there but in this world, it felt like we had only been gone for an hour of three." He briefly took a moment to collect himself. "We tried going back but . . . "

You smiled sympathetically at him. "I'm sorry."

Edmund regained his composure and chuckled. "You sound like Narnia got killed or something. Don't worry, I know it's still there." He stated. "We're just waiting for it to take us back in."

He smiled. "Plus, it's not all bad. I mean, I'm finally back to you. I missed you when I was in Narnia. All I could think of was you."

Realization sets place. Edmund said he lived in Narnia until he was an adult. "Hey Ed,"

Edmund frowned at the sudden change of tone. He shifted, puzzled. "What?"

"Did you . . . " You curled your lips, pouting. " . . . never mind."

Edmund nudged you. "Come on, spit it out. If I can't keep anything from you, then you shouldn't keep anything away from me, That's how it works."

"I can't disagree with that. Blimey, you usually overlook this sort of things."

Smugness overtook Edmund's face. "I've been negotiating with royalties for years, (Your Name). I think I can pick up a thing or two from my experience."

You let out a sigh. "When you were in Narnia," You began, red tinting your cheeks. "Did you have someone else?"

Edmund stared at you blankly for a few moments, not a nudge of expression on his visage, and before you could conclude you broke him or worse, he was thinking of how to tell you that he had another woman back in Narnia without hurting you, until he burst out laughing.

"Are you jealous, (Your Name)?" Asked Edmund chortling. "Oh, this is gold!"

Redness tinted your cheeks as his laughter travelled through the plains, and you turned your head away in embarrassment. Stammering, you spoke up, “I-It’s a reasonable question to ask! As someone you have apparently left for years without me knowing, I have to know!”

Edmund startled you when he wrapped his arms around you and tugged at you until your back is flush against his chest, his legs on either side of you, bent. “You don’t have to be worried because I had no other woman. There’s only one you.” He confessed. “I’m more surprised you still got to ask me that kind of question when literally seconds ago I said you’re all I could think of.”

“I’m all you could think of?” You hummed out. You turned to look at him, a playful smile on your brims. “Sounds like you’re in love with me, King Edmund, the Just.”

Edmund scoffed. “I think that should be obvious. I was the one who confessed to you, remember?” He leaned down and planted a kiss on the top of your head and you closed your eyes in delight, relishing in his affection. “Now if you say something about this, no more Narnian stories for you.”

You pouted, eyes narrowing at him. “Unfair. Tell me more about Narnia!" You pushed. "Come on, after a long time of keeping it from me? You need to make it up to me right now. Tell me more, tell me more, tell me more," You recited over and over, shuffling on your spot.

Edmund shook his head at your antics. “Of course, I will. I’ll tell you everything about Narnia.” He ran his hand through your hair, and a comfortable silence wrapped the both of you. You wanted to say something but you did not want to shatter the serenity between the two of you. “Or maybe I don’t have to.”

You looked back at him again, neck craning. “What?” You questioned, aghast. Where was this sudden change coming from? Earlier it was all too ready to tell you everything he knows and remembers of Narnia. “Edmund,” You turned around to face him, knees on the ground and hands on his chest. You stared in his eyes deeply. Edmund stared back at you just as intently. “What are you talking about? You just said you’d tell me - “

Edmund took your hands in his own pair and had you wrap your arms around his neck. He put his hands on the small of your back and embraced you. “What if you came to Narnia with me?”

Your eyes glittered at his proposition. “Go to Narnia? With you?” You murmured, hopeful. But then you shook your head, realizing the insanity. “No, no. That’s impossible.”

Edmund frowned, his hold around you loosening. “I thought you believed me.” Asked he, and the hurt and hopelessness in his voice breaking your heart. “I’m confused, (Your Name). Are you playing with me?”

“That’s not what I meant.” You reprimanded firmly, voice hardened with the need to correct him immediately and Edmund was rendered quiet. “I told you I believed you, Ed.” Your eyebrows met in the middle, showing him the disappointment in your eyes. “I believed you in a short amount of time and that might be stupid to others but I choose to believe you and your words. Don’t doubt me now.”

“Right, sorry.” Whispered Edmund. “I guess deep down inside of me I know Narnia is still a hard thing to believe in if I told anyone about it.” He cleared his throat. “Then what do you mean?”

“I mean is,” You hesitated. “I-I mean . . . if Narnia didn’t want me in the first place, what makes you think it’ll accept me now?”

Edmund took your face in his hands, thumbs rubbing the sides of your face. His touch was gentle and you closed your eyes. “You believe in Narnia, don’t you?” He asked, voice dead serious.

You let out a shuddering breath. “I do.”

Edmund offered you a large smile, and your heart fluttered. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes glistening as well as yours. “Then you’re sure to get in.” He claimed. “I’m not going to leave you for the second time.”

You giggled and rubbed your nose against his, and he wrinkled his nose. “Stop being a baby, Edmund. I thought you were a king!” You pulled away, still giggling. “Where did your maturity moments ago went? You should be taking all my affection with bravery of a royalty!”

“A king still gets flustered every now and then.” Remarked Edmund, and he inhaled. “(Your Name),”

You hummed. “Yeah?”

He poked your nose lightly. “I can’t wait until you experience Narnia with me. With you there, I think Narnia will be more than a just paradise.”

“Cheesy, and cheeky.” You teased him, but in reality, your heart was palpitating with thrill. You wished to see Narnia more than ever, and you knew sooner or later, you will, with Edmund. Everything that took place in the house vanished in thin air, and the strain in your relationship has been lifted and you could breath more properly now. “So, King Edmund, the Just,”

“Oh great, I’m already regretting telling you about this whole Just thing.” Edmund complained as he rolled his eyes.

“I think it’s cute and fitting, shut up.” You tittered, beaming. “So, can you tell me about what happened to you in the Professor’s house to Narnia? Every single detail of what happened, tell me. I’m very curious.”

Edmund began running his hand through your hair again, droning. “I suppose I can tell you. But you’re only going to hear the side of my story. Peter, Susan, and Lucy had other experiences than me. Especially in the beginning.”

“I’ll be sure to ask them their own story.” You promised. “Tell me, now. Before I get impatient.”

“Hmm, where do I start?” Bellowed Edmund. “Perhaps I can first start everything by introducing Aslan.”

At the mention of the name, you felt the wind pick up and it howled in the plains. Your eyes glimmered as the name echoed in your ears.

Edmund chuckled. “You have the same reaction as the other three did.”

“Oh shush, Ed, just tell me about Narnia and this Aslan man.”

“He’s actually a Lion.”

“A Lion? A Lion! Tell me more!”

#edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #narnia x reader #narnia #chronicles of narnia #peter pevensie #susan pevensie #lucy pevensie

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