#though it has been rated so no more than six months if the time frame between rating and release of every other game is anything to go off
Text
all the wine is all for me || a Bad Omens fanfic
Summary: Noah’s just admiring his gains. Perhaps he’s a little more proud of his progress than the average guy. There’s definitely not a secret third reason for why he’s spending so much time in front of the mirror…
Pairing: Noah x himself lol
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: unbeta'd trash. masturbation. narcissism in the greek mythology way not the psychology way
A/N: I drank a lot of wine (what else is new) and also @throughwoodsanddirt showed me that one panel from the comics that made me cackle so hard because damn Noah just really thinks he's hot as fuck huh and then I cackled until I wrote this fic
Brainrot Club: @familiarscarsxelectrichearts @throughwoodsanddirt @cowpokeomens
Masterlist here.
Title taken from All the Wine by The National; banner made by me (using Caravaggio's Narcissus); dividers by @saradika
Noah’s reflection is smiling at him.
That, of course, is explainable by the fact that he himself is smiling; grinning, in fact, because he just looks so damn good. His gains this month were frankly goddamn impressive. Already he can see the widening of his chest to form an inverted triangle of his torso, the definition building in his bicep when he flexes.
What worries him, though, is the naughty glint in his reflection’s eye, the too-sharp canines, the raise of a single eyebrow that he definitely is not capable of reproducing. Never has been.
He knows this look. Once, he had a fling with this girl who was an absolute freak, gets him half-hard even just remembering half the things she got up to between the sheets. And the fucking cherry on top: she loved making movies. Editing those for her unfailingly devolved into multiple-hours long dates between him and his hand. The face he’s making - his reflection is making - is the one that painted his face in the movies when she, pointing her phone to get his reaction, would ask him for the nastiest shit he’d thought only a fantasy in porn.
So it makes no sense that he’s looking at his reflection like this, because it’s not like he’s into himself.
His hand beelines south down the expanse of his strong (so goddamn strong, he’ll have definition in his six-pack any day now) stomach. That’s definitely not something he’s doing of his own volition. He’s not that self-absorbed.
Well, that’s a lie. He’s not gay (unless you count the exploratory hand stuff him and Nick did as teens), but if he could, he’d totally fuck himself.
It takes a bit of effort to shuck the grey sweats he’d worn down his hips with one hand, distracted as he is with the shapes his other arm makes as it continues to flex in the mirror. These used to be pretty loose, just crossing the line of oversized on him. Now, they’re filled by thick thighs and marble-cut hip flexors. With a single finger, he traces the vee framing trimmed pubic hair. These used to show just a hint of the magic underneath. Now, his hardness bulges a vulgar display.
Dropping the band even just an inch springs the tip of his cock, leaking and ready to play. It’s the only part of his body he’s never been self-conscious of, because God or whoever else decided he at least deserved a win in that department when they decided to make him a skinny bitch with weak lungs. Gives the girls who settle for him a nice reward.
Except, he never gets this hard for all the pretty girls he bags. This - the red, burning tip, the feeling like if he touches it he’ll cum in just a few strokes, the pain of wanting to draw the pleasure out as long as he can - is reserved only for the times he’s fucking his hand.
There’s a quiet battle of wills that follows between giving up inspecting his gains and giving into his own touch. He cups his balls through his sweats, head kicking back tugged by an invisible hand at the squeeze. Noah’s sure the column of his throat looks positively delicious like this, has seen enough photos of himself in this devout escape onstage, and thinks he’s no better than all the commenters saying they’d like to lick it. He’d do it instantly, and he knows it’d feel good.
In the end, the sweats come down his thighs. He’s never denied himself pleasure so heavily mounted, not when paraded before him so, not when the boundaries are inexistent. He won’t let himself be fucking tease.
The drag of the calluses on his fingers against the tenderhot flesh of his cock sends gooseflesh up his arms.
His toes numb for a moment as he finally takes himself in hand at the base, breath hitching wetly as he watches his hand wrap against himself. He’s heavy in his hand even to himself, so thick and veiny and so hard. A drop of precum splashes his thigh before he even has a chance to run his hand up the length. He collects it with his pinky when he reaches the tip, not daring let it go to waste.
Thunder thighs has always been a confusing insult to him. Thighs are the strength in legs, the support to a body, the place you put your hand to hint your desire to a lover. Thighs are his handles when buried in a lover - the cradle to what every person wants most from another. Years of touring and running out of underwear have made him accustomed to going commando, but since his thighs filled out - though he now can afford to just buy a five-pack Hanes on a whim - he prefers it. There’s never a better cradle for a commando cock than a thick set of thighs.
The overeager spit bubbles as it mingles with the precum on his palm, glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. The way they rapidly deflate feels like a countdown, one he’s determined to beat, and so finally, finally, he takes himself in hand earnestly.
He can’t help the strangled hiss that escapes.
Noah’s usually pretty quiet in bed. Doesn’t like the vulnerability that comes with voicing his pleasure, with sharing the secret of how easy to please he is with a partner. But, fuck, does he love talking himself through it. “C’mon, baby,” he chants to his hand as it increases speed. “So fucking good,” he groans through gritted teeth.
His voice is so fucking smooth. So fucking deep when he speaks through his chest. Just the perfect amount of grit that, if he shuts his eyes, he can feel reverberate through his nape and scalp and bang against the back of his nose as the sound waves travel to his cochlea.
He won’t shut his eyes now. Never - not when he’s looking like that with his brow furrowed, gaze hard and nearly icy, nostrils flared and jaw clenched tight.
He clenches it tighter, raises his chin just so to create the illusion of that perfect jawline.
“Noah,” he moans, “god, Noah, fuck.” It echoes in his ear, and it is his voice, but he swears he didn’t feel his lips move as he watches them round around each syllable in his reflection.
His name sounds so good rolling off his own tongue.
Release hits Noah not like a full-speed bullet train, but the way it feels when you pulled your first tooth: slow, painful, and with each tug more builds up until it just pops out. Only after does he register the relief, the shoot of tension up his spine to burst behind his eyes and temples, the numbness in his fingers as he struggles to jerk himself through.
Just those few final caresses. His cum blinds him with exploding stars and broken breaths. It paints the mirror in sloppy strokes of seminal goo, but he supposes that’s what Windex is for.
Before he registers the signal from brain to limb he kneels, the rough of his wall-to-wall carpet digging into his knees as he releases his eager tongue. The spend is saltybitter when it coats the bed of his taste buds, slimy as it runs down the ramp of his throat. Noah makes sure to collect every single drop.
He doesn’t feel shame when his eyes meet his own in the wet, distorted reflection once he’s done savoring himself. “You did so well, baby,” he says. “Such a good baby.”
His reflection nods eagerly, eyelids fluttering blissfully, head dropping as Noah’s neck stays stiff and still, eyes wide open.
God damn, he is a sight to be seen.
#noah sebastian fanfic#noah sebastian fic#noah sebastian fanfiction#bad omens fic#bad omens fanfiction#bad omens fanfic#crackfic#noah x noah#fern words
66 notes
·
View notes
Text
Change of Heart
Chapter (03/??) click HERE for this fic’s masterlist!
Reader is a troubled pediatrician at Hawkins lab when she crosses paths with this lovely orderly. Nothing will stand between Peter and his revenge. Not even really pretty distractions.
Pairing: Peter Ballard x f!reader
Word count: 1192
Ratings & warnings: SPOILERS, period typical sexism, violence, blood, NSFW, swearing, no (Y/N), no described defining features for reader. Ratings may change as chapters are added.
A/N: it took me literal ages to fine tune this just the way I wanted omg. I apologize for the shortness of the chapter, but I really wanted to upload it today <3
Is he really that shallow?
Peter sits silently at one of the many annular, white tables that the break room within Hawkins laboratory is packed with. His colleagues chatter away, taking no account of the quiet, brooding blond sitting alone, so absorbed in his own world that he barely tastes the stale food the canteen provides. Today is not a day where he can find it in himself to participate in the usual meaningless, mind numbing conversation.
The overwhelming surgical white exterior of the laboratory transits throughout the entire building, save for the rainbow room. Paired with a scent he can only describe as sterile, clean, perfect, it all adds onto his immense discomfort. The sore muscles in his legs warn him of their stiffness whenever he shifts his body, which has him subconsciously clenching and unclenching his jaw. Peter is on edge, and he knows exactly why.
The pediatrician.
Just as she was the evening before, friendly, kind, slightly apprehensive of him, she now echoes through his mind without any order. The freshly forged memories dance behind his eyes, as if she stands before him like she had the night prior. Her pastel nightgown loosely hanging around her frame, dipping just slightly by the waist, while the carefully knitted matching cardigan hugs her torso. The strict dress code for all medical staff working within the laboratory calls for the same white uniform Peter himself wears. It has been six months ever since she filled the position for pediatrician, and within those six months he has seen her in the same clothes with her hair pulled back from her face.
Still, it is the nightdress she wears when she enters his wandering mind.
The metal of the fork he uses scrapes unpleasantly against the porcelain of the plate, but his train of thought drones on.
The human brain is hardwired to be lured in by beauty and symmetry, a fact Peter is well aware of. He is no stranger to it’s effects. To say she is his first colleague to have blessed with a pretty face would be a lie. Even when mutual attraction was on the table, not one of them had been able to shake his resoluteness. It goes against his morale.
Peter knows himself to not be so shallow as to not look past her physical… assets. There is more than meets the eye with this woman. Potential bubbles at her edges, clawing it’s hungry way up her throat and begging so sweetly to overflow. The buried truth of her beliefs resonate with his ideology, and even Peter can’t deny the similarities between the pair.
Whether he likes it or not, parts of her resemble parts of him. She has captured his attention, now.
And he hers, so it seems.
Despite his friendly, thoughtful demeanor, he too remains guarded. It would be stupid if he didn’t.
It struck him as odd for her to seek him out after six months of radio silence, though there could very well be a handful of logical explanations for this drastic change of heart.
A reserved nature could be one of them, Peter thinks to himself, she could have needed time to feel comfortable enough within her new place of work before attempting to make friends. The situation she faces at home could have preoccupied her as well.
But Peter knows who he is and he knows who the pediatrician works for. Martin Brenner is a man who should not be underestimated, and Peter refuses to do so.
His appetite ruined by his endless overthinking, Peter scoffs in vexation and then pushes aside his plate.
“Not done already, are you Peter?” The chair next to his own screeches when his colleague, Alec, pulls it out to sit next to the blond. “You’ve barely eaten.”
“I’ve had enough, Alec,” his short answer sounds. “Thank you.”
He is up and away before Alec can protest, taking long strides away from the break room. An empty smile graces his lips as he makes his exit. He will remain vigilant, for now. Trusting a stranger, no matter how beautiful, could mean the end of him if he doesn’t watch his back. But perhaps there is something within her that could prove to be useful to him.
The projector in the conference room steadily whirs on as the pediatrician’s attention begins to wander away from the projected image on the white wall across from her. Other doctors surround the table she sits at, quietly listening to dr. Brenner dissecting progress reports on the children.
Fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling begin to have a drying effect on her eyes after the extended time spent in the conference room, and her head is pounding.
The night before was spent talking to Peter Ballard and sleeping on the shitty sleeping pad dr. Brenner had provided her with. The eventful night is now taking it’s toll, she realizes as she stifles a yawn.
Peter has been friendly with her from the very start and the talk from the night before has only helped strengthen her confidence in the man who is only just a couple of years older than her. He had been empathetic with her and shown her his concern for her situation, kindness radiating off of the tall man.
“Doctor?” It takes her mere seconds to realize the conference room has emptied out, save for dr. Brenner and herself. The older man looks at her in anticipation.
“Yes, sir?” she swallows.
“I expect the bed you have at home is more to your liking,” the old man’s eyes are kind when he scans her face, but it does not withhold her from worrying her lip between her teeth.
A polite laugh follows.
“It is, sir. But as I’m sure you’ve read in my rapport already, it has been a productive night,” she says.
Dr. Brenner’s hand reaches towards the brown folder in which her rapport rests. In thick, blue ink a name is printed upon the folder, ‘001 (HENRY CREEL)’
“I have,” the tone of his voice indicates nothing good. She digs her heels in the ground below her to steady herself, ready to take in his brutal critique.
“I’m not sure about this approach of yours,” he doesn’t sound condescending, but his disapproval is obvious. “001 isn’t your typical patient.”
“Which is exactly why my approach is unorthodox, sir. I think there is a lot of good I can do for Peter, which in turn will help your research.”
Dr. Brenner seems almost uninterested as he flips through the folder, and biting down on her tongue is the only thing containing her chagrin.
“Sir, you out of all people knows that Peter doesn’t conform to the seventh printing of the DSM-II. Frankly speaking, Peter doesn’t even conform to the human laws. None of the patients here do!” The mini outburst catches his attention, and a slow nod from him is all the approval she needs.
“I just hope you know what you’re doing. Don’t make me regret hiring you,” he says.
“You’ve tried it your way, sir. Now let me try it my way.”
A/N: I will genuinely suck your d1ck/cl1t if you lmk what you thought of this chapter <3 plot twist whaaa
Taglist: @sunweee @ancientbeing10 @njutul @lauftivy @madamerebloger @korekiyoss @immazebrah @severuslovebot @hobii-c0re @pechvogal @raineeace @peterballardsgirlfriend @shatteredflowers @thedoubleexposurephotography @dogmom2014 @daffy-ducks-hug @odd1seven
Let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist!
#mind the tags <3#happy reading!#gasp…. betrayal#st4#stranger things#stranger fics#peter ballard x reader#henry creel x reader#001 x reader#vecna x reader#change of heart fiction#change of heart#horror#period typical sexism#swearing#no (y/n)#no described defining features for reader#dr brenner#not beta read we die like papa
262 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mild angst, a college au. Rated T. 2.9k words
Feyre Archeron is just trying to get through the end of the semester and move on. Rhysand Nox has spent the past year reeling from the breakup that shattered his heart. The last time they saw each other, things ended in disaster. As fate would have it, they meet again.
Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist
-
Feyre scanned the apartment herself, conscious of all the things that had changed since he had last been there – the last time they had spoken. Many of the same paintings and furniture adorned the room, but the pictures had been swapped out or removed altogether. The frame that once held the two of them carving pumpkins was now a picture of her and Lucien. Other pictures of him and his friends had been swapped out for different friends, people he wouldn’t recognize.
She wouldn’t tell him for anything that none of her new friends ever made her feel quite as home as his did.
She carefully looked over at Rhys. If he noticed these small differences, he didn’t say anything. His hands were buried in the deep pockets of his coat, hiding his tells.
“Have a seat,” Feyre said, gesturing awkwardly. “I put the painting in storage somewhere. It’ll take me a minute to go find it.”
Rhys nodded but didn’t sit down, just leaned back against her countertop. He was making it clear he had no intention of staying long or making himself at home, even though he was the one who had insisted on this. He didn’t point out that her apartment was tiny, she could hardly have lost it. There were only so many places it would fit.
Feyre disappeared down the hall into the safety of her bedroom. She had lied to Rhys. She knew exactly where the painting was, but she needed a minute to compose herself.
Rhys was back here, in her apartment. And that was fine. That was okay.
Deep breaths, in and out, she coached herself.
No matter that she regretted how things had ended up, perhaps this could be the last little bit of closure for the both of them. Maybe being back at her apartment together would help. It was where so many of their firsts had happened.
She glanced at the unmade bed.
Including –
One year and six months ago
Feyre stumbled through the door with Rhys behind her. He pushed the door shut and reached for her. Their lips met again, Feyre sucking on his lower lip as his hands found her waist.
She was a bit of kindling, and he the fire that ignited her. And she wanted to burn.
Months of dancing around each other, flirting and sly comments, and being pressed up against each other in a darkened living room.
It all narrowed down to now, to Rhys pressing kisses to her mouth and jawline as she backed towards the bed, pulling him with her.
Her hands tugged at the hem of his black t-shirt, a silent request. He pressed another kiss between the juncture of her jaw and neck before pulling away just enough to shuck off the shirt with her help.
The short black bodycon dress was much sexier and more revealing than her typical going-out attire, but she had never been gladder for Mor’s insistence as Rhys’s gaze roamed her body up and down. He leaned back in – another kiss as their lips met – and his hand traveled down to the curve of her ass and squeezed.
Then, Feyre decided, it was time for the dress to come off.
She spun around, pulling her hair out of the way and giving Rhys what she knew was a damn good view of her backside.
His hands found the zipper of her dress. It slid down her body and fell to the floor, leaving her in her lacy black bra and underwear.
Rhysand looked ravenous, and with another hungry kiss, Feyre was consumed.
In the morning, when the frenzy had passed between them and Feyre woke intertwined with Rhys, she didn’t dare move, lest she disturbed him. Instead, she studied the way the light fell across his nose and cheeks through the slanted blinds.
She couldn’t help the grin that crept up on her face. Months of dancing around each other had finally led them here, and Cauldron, had the wait been worth it.
He looked so peaceful – and she felt it, in her bones. For once, all her nagging doubts were quieted. Maybe it was the eye of the storm, but at that moment, with his sleeping body against hers, it felt like she was untouchable, impenetrable to her fears and doubts. It felt like she and Rhysand could last forever.
Present Day
Well aware of the heat rising in her cheeks, Feyre fanned herself, hoping the color would go down.
Rhys was the best she ever had, yes.
That first night had been the one that heralded them into an official relationship. Six months of bliss. But that was months ago, and absolutely not relevant to the current situation.
Turning around to glance in the mirror, Feyre tossed her coat on the bed and took a second to smooth down her wind-tangled hair. She surveyed her paint-stained hoodie – not that mattered, but she didn’t need to appear like she didn’t know how to do her laundry. She shucked off the hoodie and the t-shirt underneath, reaching into her drawer and pulling on a clean shirt one with the Velaris University logo on it.
She didn’t look great – being halfway through finals did that to a person. But it would have to do. She headed to the closet, where the painting was stored.
It had been hung up for a while, first in her room and then in the living room. That had lasted all of a week before she had shoved it in the back of her closet. It was a beautiful piece, some of her best work, but it wasn’t meant to be displayed on her wall. She had almost burned it, but Lucien had done his best to convince her she could use it for portfolio reviews one day. She knew she would never use this piece for something like that, but she let herself tuck it back in the closet and put the matches away.
Moving aside some shoes and boxes in the cramped space, Feyre found it right where it had been left, wrapped in a plastic garbage bag to avoid damage. After a bit of maneuvering, she got it out of the cramped space. She carried it back out to the living room, crinkled black plastic and all. As painful as it would be, she resolved not to shy away from the truth she had held. Rhys deserved to see it, and it wasn’t as if she could make things any worse.
Maybe, in seeing this, he would understand all of the things she hadn’t been able to say.
Rhys looked up from his phone as she re-entered. He was still leaning against her counter, ready for a quick escape. Still, it looked a bit posed and dramatic, as was everything he did. As if he was expecting her to take a reference photo or sketch at any turn. He had been that way since they met.
Ridiculous. This had been his idea.
He didn’t say anything, only raised his eyebrows at the garbage bag.
Feyre unceremoniously held out the large parcel to him, and he hesitantly took it.
“May I?”
She nodded wordlessly, fighting the urge to snatch it out of his hands before he got a glimpse. She hadn’t looked at it herself in a good six months, surely, he didn’t truly need to see it –
But then he had set it on the counter and was carefully tugging the garbage bag off the canvas, revealing the painting inside, and she didn’t know if she wanted him to understand all of it or write it off as nonsense.
She had put so much of both of them in the piece.
Please, understand, she silently begged. She didn’t deserve that kind of understanding, but she desperately wanted it.
Rhys’s breath caught as he took it in.
It depicted two intertwined hands that were unmistakably his and hers – Feyre’s made evident by her tattoos and Rhys by his fancy rich-boy rings and the thin scar on his thumb.
In the background, she had painted a splotchy, impressionist sky. If you looked just right, you could make out other details woven into the night sky – a paintbrush, a swirl of lines reminiscent of one of Rhysand’s tattoos. The outline of a can of soup – a reference to one of their first dates – and a wolf.
The only thing marring it was the dark black splotches covering parts, dark storm clouds across the night sky. They felt jarringly wrong, looking at it now. This was supposed to have been a happy piece, but she had been the furthest thing from happy when she finished it.
The longer she looked at it, the more she hated those dark splotches.
To anyone else, it might have appeared to be just a painting. But to them, back when they were dating, it would have said everything.
The way the hands were intertwined, the love in the small details - all of it said I know you. I know your dreams, and they are mine.
What a wicked liar she had turned out to be.
Rhys didn’t say anything for a long moment. Feyre was caught between him and the painting, embarrassment, and fear.
Shit, this had been a huge mistake. To think she had let him see every vulnerable inch of this painting, inadvertently revealing all the regrets she had along the way -
She cleared her throat to steady her voice. “Like I said, I finished parts of it after we broke up. I didn’t think you would ever see it, so…catharsis. It wasn’t meant to be so depressing originally. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I showed this to you -”
Rhys shook his head, turning to face her head on. “No – it’s beautiful. Nobody has ever made anything so beautiful for me,” he insisted, but she caught the pain in his expression.
She managed a tight smile. “Thank you. I wish –“ she cut herself off. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“You wish what?”
“Nothing.”
Rhys sighed, a long-drawn-out sound as he shoved his hands back into his coat pockets. “So, finishing this was catharsis for you? After you ended things?”
She nodded.
“I wouldn’t have thought you needed to work through things that badly.”
You have no idea.
“What do you mean?” she asked carefully.
“Well, you made it clear how you felt about me and my feelings towards you,” he said, voice frosty again as he crossed his arms.
“I...I said a lot of things I didn’t mean.”
Rhys was silent for a long moment. “When you said we didn’t have enough love to make things work, did you mean that?
She froze, the memory of the words crashing into her like a tidal wave. She had been so cruel.
“It was what I believed back then,” she said softly. “I said all the wrong things. Things I know now were wrong. And there were so many other things – things I should have said, but didn’t.”
“Clearly,” Rhys said, voice frosty this time. “Maybe if you had talked to me, we could have worked through things together.” He gestured to the painting. “After all, isn’t that what this is all about? Us, together? Unbreaking?”
Feyre fought back the all-too-real tears this time. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Why, Feyre? Why is it such a bad idea?”
His words dug into her skin, burrowing deep like barbed wire.
“Because I know you didn’t want to see me. And I’ve been trying to get over you, but I don’t know how, and you’ll never know how sorry I am for everything I said,” she confessed, words pouring out in a torrent.
“I loved you, Feyre. I thought it was enough for you.”
“I know. I…” her voice caught on the words, as they always did. “I loved you too.”
“And yet you decided to tell me what I felt for you. As if you could have imagined – “
“That’s just it! You were growing so distant! How was I supposed to know you – you felt differently?”
She would not cry. She wouldn’t, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t.
She had worked through this, she was past this.
“When you were painting this, did you know you were going to break it off?”
“No, Rhys! No. When things started to feel wrong, I couldn’t work on it anymore. And then I didn’t touch it until we broke up, and I didn’t think you would ever see this.”
Rhys’s gaze darkened, and she was aware again of how tired he looked, like someone who had too much to bear at that age.
“Then…why did you end things? Were there other reasons?”
She had told him, hadn’t she? Explained exactly why they couldn’t give each other what they needed, why she had to do it?
Maybe not in so many words. That night had been so hard. And she had been too cruel, because she had been afraid, and didn’t know how else to let go. To make him let go.
She didn’t respond for a beat too long.
“Maybe this is why,” Rhys said, voice ragged as he gestured to her. “You never told me anything because you’re so afraid of what might happen. I could tell, back then, but I kept hoping you would trust me, and you would open up –“
Shit, he was completely right. This was what she had hated about herself, what she had spent months in therapy trying to fix after they broke up. He had been distant, too, but he had tried to reach out. She wanted more of him, but she hadn’t given the rest of herself.
“You’re right,” she blurted out, cutting him off. “You’re completely right. And I’m sorry. I didn’t say it then, but I’m saying it now. What I gave you back then wasn’t an explanation, and you deserved one, after everything we went through. I realized that, but by then months had passed and I didn’t know if you’d still want to talk and – “ She cut herself off before she could ramble anymore. “Would you want to sit down? I know you’ve probably had more to do with me than you want today but…if you want, I can try to give you an explanation that you deserve.”
“You don’t need to placate me,” he said, still with heat in his voice.
“That’s not my intention,” Feyre responded steadily. “Look, I’m not going to hold you hostage here. But you deserve a long-overdue explanation, and if you still want it, I’ll try to give it to you. That’s all I can offer.”
He looked taken aback, but wordlessly, he sunk into the worn blue armchair he had migrated to during their spat.
She took the cue to sit down across from him, sitting on the edge of the couch to avoid being swallowed up in the plush fabric.
Where did she even begin? She had rehearsed this conversation in her head when she thought she would never have it, but now it was right in front of her. Rhys was still watching her, not impatient, but waiting.
-
AN: thank you for reading!! two more parts to go :)
taglist:
@thron3ofbooks @the-lonelybarricade @swankii-art-teacher @highladysith @ghostlyrose2 @brieq @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @achernarlight @reverie-tales @starfall-spirit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered
#acotar#feysand#feysand fic#acotar fic#acosf#feyre archeron#rhysand#sjm universe#sjm fic#kat's writing#the last time
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
red berries & pinky promises // vmin
rating: g
genre: friends to lovers, fluff, mild angst
word count: 6.3k
summary: Taehyung and Jimin's entire friendship has always involved a lot of affection; it's just the way the two of them are. It's purely platonic, simply how they prefer to connect with people. And so, knowing that, it shouldn't have meant anything to Jimin when Taehyung gave him a tiny, playful kiss when he realized the two of them were under the mistletoe. It wouldn't have meant anything to him before - after all, Taehyung was always one for little traditions like that.
Except there was one teensy little problem.
Jimin was head-over-heels in love with Kim Taehyung.
author’s note: this was written for a secret santa fic exchange for a discord server i’m in 💜
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Fluffy black hair framing a perfectly sculpted face. Eyes that were always sparkling with mischief and warmth. An impish smile that could light up a whole city.
Falling for Taehyung wasn’t a decision Jimin had made; it had just happened, and the more he looked back on it, the more it seemed inevitable, the only outcome of their friendship.
The two had met back in primary school, and Jimin had known from the moment he caught sight of the smiling, playful little boy on the first day of classes that they would be best friends. He was unlike anyone Jimin had ever seen before – his laugh brighter than the light pouring through the windows, his every movement elegant and intentional despite the inherent clumsiness of being six years old, attracting all the other kids around him. The buzz of conversation and giggles filled his ears in a steady stream from the other side of the room.
His heart had run a marathon when they were assigned seats next to each other, an uncontrollable smile taking over his face when Taehyung immediately turned towards him to introduce himself. Even though the boy had just been talking with everyone else, something in the way Taehyung looked at him made him feel special. Every word that left Taehyung’s mouth drew him closer, filled him with a bubbly sort of hope that his wish to be friends would come true.
And within mere days, it did. Every morning Taehyung would turn towards him again with that same look, and they would talk until the teacher quieted them down – only to resume their conversation the moment they were able to.
They always stuck by each other after that, practically attached at the hip. Even as their friend group expanded, even as new acquaintances were made, they were always most comfortable with the two of them.
It was the first time in his life that he had felt anything so strongly, had been so confident as he was in their friendship. Maybe it didn’t say all that much, considering he was in primary school, but what did say something was the fact that those feelings never went away.
They hadn’t been romantic, not at first. For a long time, most of their friendship, Jimin was perfectly happy to occupy the role of Taehyung’s best friend. He felt lucky to have someone so kind and unique choose him as his closest companion, but it was a friendly admiration and nothing more. It was hard to tell when exactly things had changed.
Somewhere along the way, his giggles at Taehyung’s jokes and antics had transformed into a warmth in his chest that seemed to grow with every minute. Hugging and touching was normal and frequent between them, since it was just the way the two of them showed affection. But recently, every small touch sent a spark through Jimin’s body and a flush to his cheeks. It was only getting more obvious and more embarrassing, so of course, Taehyung teased him playfully about it.
They would laugh, and he would shake things off, and hope these unfamiliar emotions would go away soon.
It took him months to recognize what was going on, and months more to finally accept it.
He was desperately, hopelessly in love with his best friend.
His denial had finally broken under the weight of his feelings a bit less than a year ago. Taehyung had dragged him to a get-together, insisting that it was good for him to get out a bit more (and to Jimin’s frustration, he couldn’t argue with that because Taehyung was right). Things were alright, though – the people were kind, and it was nice to get out of his shell.
What wasn’t nice was the girl flirting with Taehyung right in front of him, clearly trying to get Taehyung’s number, practically pressed against him the entire time. Uneasiness consumed Jimin, instant and overwhelming, and the entire scene was almost…disturbing.
Taehyung had rejected her gently, and after that no one else attempted to charm him, but it still bothered Jimin. The idea of anyone acting like that around Taehyung, or feeling that way about him – or even worse, Taehyung reciprocating – made him sick to his stomach. Angry, almost, but why would he be angry? Shouldn’t he be happy for his best friend if he got in a relationship?
Later that night, alone in his room and unable to take his thoughts off the entire situation, he admitted to himself the truth: he wanted Taehyung to love him. He wanted him for himself.
Taehyung was the most transparent person Jimin knew. All his feelings were easy to read from his body language and expressions, and he never made any attempt to hide it. It was the way he was, never one to hold back if he was passionate about something.
Never, in all the years they had known each other, had Taehyung looked at him with any affection that wasn’t platonic. Everything Jimin thought about him, the spark that had overtaken his heart, the way Taehyung consumed his mind whenever they were together – every bit of it was one-sided.
So instead of doing something with it, he smothered it as well as he could and did his best to ignore it when it bubbled up to the surface.
And now, here he was, at Jungkook’s apartment for a small Christmas party with a few other friends, Taehyung standing beside him.
Taehyung was clad in a loose-fitting Christmas sweater that was a strong contender for the most egregiously designed thing Jimin had ever seen, but somehow it looked fine on Taehyung, because everything looked good on Taehyung. It was a fact of life at this point.
Maybe it was the way he wore it with such confidence. Taehyung was well aware that he was handsome and had an impeccable sense of fashion, and he was always more than happy to show it off.
It was torture.
Jimin loved it, loved him and the fact that he was comfortable with himself as he was, refused to compromise any part of him for anything, but the knowledge that Taehyung didn’t feel the same when he looked back at him hurt.
So out of his mind just from a simple sweater – he really was hopeless, wasn’t he?
“Jimin-hyung! Can you help me put all the food down at the table?” Jungkook called from the kitchen. Jimin tore his gaze away from Taehyung, realizing that he had been staring for quite a while.
Taehyung had noticed. Of course he had. But Jimin didn’t even consider turning his head back to see his reaction. Primarily because of the wildfire of pink blush spreading over his face in embarrassment, but also out of fear. Fear that he’d look into Taehyung’s eyes and see disgust.
His feelings not being reciprocated was one thing. He could handle it. The thought of Taehyung hating him, though, was a nightmare. A nightmare he knew probably wasn’t true – Taehyung wasn’t the type to hate anyone, really – but one he was constantly on the run from.
To his surprise, Jungkook made no comment on how flustered he was when he walked through the kitchen doorway, too focused on balancing approximately too many plates of food on his arms. Sighing, Jimin rushed forwards and grabbed one with each hand, careful to not shove Jungkook off balance.
Jungkook’s determined gaze relaxed as he looked up, a sheepish bunny smile on his lips. “Thanks, hyung.”
“It’s not illegal to take multiple trips from the counter, you know,” Jimin teased, setting the food down on the table as cautiously as he had picked it up.
“But it’s quicker not to!”
“Does that really matter if you end up dropping some of them?”
“But I didn’t,”
“You would have if I didn’t stop you!”
Jungkook pouted at him, but his lips twitched as he failed to fight a smile, a laugh tumbling out of his mouth and his eyes full of mirth. “Alright, next time I’ll be more careful. Maybe. Can you get Taehyung-hyung for me? I tried a recipe he sent me and I want to be sure I did it right before Jin-hyung gets here.”
Nodding, Jimin walked back out of the kitchen, poking his head around the corner. Taehyung, who had been scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, looked up before he even said anything.
“Jungkook wants you to try something real quick,”
“The squid kimbap?”
Jimin wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway. If Taehyung had so readily expected it, it was probably what Jungkook was referring to. “Yeah, the squid kimbap.”
“I knew he was going to ask about that at some point,” Taehyung cracked a smile, pushing himself off the couch to head towards the kitchen.
As he got to the corner, his eyes flicked above Jimin’s head, a mischievous sparkle lighting up his eyes. He rested one hand on the wall and leaned forwards, graceful and without hesitation. Entranced by the motion, it took Jimin a moment to realize that Taehyung was leaning in further.
Soft lips brushed against his, warm breath puffing against his face. Taehyung let his lips linger for a moment, pressing them into Jimin’s plump ones gently, and Jimin could feel his lips grow thinner with a smile.
The cold emptiness when Taehyung pulled away lasted only a second before a flush replaced it, though the phantom feeling of his touch lingered on Jimin’s lips. Taehyung’s giggle filled his ears, and his heart began working overtime as his mind raced along with it. He almost felt lightheaded with all the thoughts rushing through his head.
Taehyung had just kissed him. Taehyung.
His brain took a solid second to finally catch up to that fact, joy flooding his senses immediately, and for a moment, he allowed himself to hope. Hope that this was real, that he wasn’t imagining it, and that it meant something. That his love wasn’t unrequited.
But the next second, he realized that he should have never done that at all.
For the first time in his entire life, Taehyung’s rectangular smile didn’t warm his heart. Not because it was any different than usual, but because it was accompanied with Taehyung’s finger pointing above his head.
And above his head was a floppy piece of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling, haphazardly taped to a string. It looked as sad as Jimin felt.
That kiss had meant absolutely nothing to Taehyung.
Well, not quite nothing, but nowhere near as much as it had meant to Jimin.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed before. There had been a few light pecks on the cheek here and there over the years. But this time was…different.
Partly because it was on his lips. Mostly, though, because of that hope that Jimin let himself indulge in, even though he knew he shouldn’t have. Taehyung didn’t feel that way about him – so why, why, could he never stop wishing that Taehyung did?
“Jiminie, you okay there?”
Jimin’s gaze went from the mistletoe above to Taehyung’s face, his attention towards the mild confusion in his smooth voice. There was still that happy lilt in his voice like there had been all night, because why wouldn’t there be?
Nothing had changed except for Jimin, and how could Taehyung know that?
“Yeah- yep, I’m good,” Jimin forced a smile back onto his face, a nervous laugh tumbling out. “Brain just went a bit wonky for a moment, you know?”
Taehyung was observant, always aware of tiny changes in people’s emotions – if something was off with Jimin, he could always tell. But tonight, caught up in all the emotions of Christmas and their preparations for it, apparently that wasn’t the case.
Jimin was grateful for that fact and cursed it at the same time.
“I get that. Now let’s finish helping Jungkook get things ready before everyone else comes, eh?”
Grabbing Jimin’s hand gently, Taehyung pulled him back into the kitchen. Neither seemed to notice the blush on his cheeks or the expression on his face, and he tried to lose himself in their sense of fun. As their friends arrived one by one, things got steadily more chaotic and enjoyable, because with them, those things were directly connected.
But even as jokes were told, delicious food stuffed into eager mouths, gifts exchanged in a room covered with festive decorations, he couldn’t seem to shake the haze that had settled over him. It left him on edge, overanalyzing every little thing Taehyung did in the hope that maybe Jimin was mistaken.
He wasn’t, and he knew that.
But somehow accepting it still felt like a loss, even if he had never had Taehyung’s love in the first place. And if he lost Taehyung, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.
•
The next few days, Jimin’s brain went mush whenever he so much as looked at Taehyung. If his feelings had been difficult to ignore before, now they were downright impossible to deal with. The sight of his roommate made all his emotions flare up, usually in the form of rosy cheeks and ears, to his embarrassment and Taehyung’s confusion.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Jiminie? You’ve been acting weird these past few days. You can tell me if anything’s wrong, you know. Maybe you’re sick? I can take you to the doctor’s?” Taehyung muttered, eyebrows scrunched up in concern as he placed his hand gently on Jimin’s forehead to feel for a fever. Jimin mustered up a smile and tried to will away the blush on his face, reaching up and grasping Taehyung’s wrist.
It was stupid, so stupid, how the contact made him giddy.
“I’m alright, Tae, don’t worry. I’m just a little tired from the holidays, that’s all,” Jimin guided Taehyung’s hand away from his head, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Messed up your sleep schedule?” Taehyung’s face relaxed, but his eyes remained focused on Jimin, who nodded to soothe his worries. Taehyung squeezed Jimin’s hand back before stepping back and hoisting his backpack over his shoulders. “Try to get some rest while I’m gone, then. A nap might help. And I’ll show you some of the pictures I take to cheer you up too!”
“I’ll try. Now go take some nice photos for me! And for your grade, of course,” Jimin chuckled.
“I think you’re the more important part,” Taehyung remarked, flashing a toothy smile at Jimin as he turned around towards the door. “See you in a bit!”
The door opened and closed, leaving Jimin there, mind spinning, as Taehyung went off on his photography class project.
What did Taehyung mean by that?
Maybe…maybe he felt the sa-
Jimin shook his head, pursing his lips and walking away from the door. No. He couldn’t get his hopes up again.
But what if?
With a sigh, Jimin pulled out his phone, navigating to his texts with Jungkook. He couldn’t be alone like this right now. Not with all this confusion, all his feelings finally boiling over. His brain fumbling over its own thoughts, he typed in a message and sent it before he had the time to second-guess himself.
hey kook! Taehyung’s not here right now, but i was wondering if you’d like to come over and hang out for a bit?
He felt a bit guilty, omitting the reason why he wanted to talk with Jungkook, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit that over text. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to confess about his feelings for Taehyung in person.
Jungkook’s response came quickly, the typing bubble appearing only a few seconds afterwards.
ofc i’d love to hyung! i’ll be there in a bit :D
Responding with a smiley emoticon and a see you soon, Jimin waltzed over to the couch, putting his phone down and burying his head in his hands, half-panicking, half-trying-to-calm-himself-down. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, focusing on his breathing – it was long enough, though, that he was startled out of that state by a series of raps on the door.
He tried to plaster a happy expression on his face as he practically stumbled over to open the door. He was met with the sight of Jungkook’s excited smile, his friend bouncing a bit on his feet out of habit, but as his eyes flickered to Jimin’s face, his grin fell.
“Hyung?”
For a moment, Jimin considered keeping up his cheerful act. But his mood was already obvious, and once Jungkook got an idea in his head, he would never abandon it. And if that idea was that one of his friends was suffering in any way, then Jungkook would always do whatever he could to remedy it.
So Jimin decided that just this once, he’d let Jungkook do that.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…you can leave if you want,” Jimin forced himself to look Jungkook in the eyes, to not avoid him.
Frowning, looking more uneasy than frustrated, Jungkook simply shook his head. “It’s okay, hyung. Can I come in?”
Jimin nodded, finally letting his gaze drop down a bit as he stepped to the side to let Jungkook through. Jungkook hesitated for a moment before stepping through, and stopped again once he was actually inside.
“Do you want to talk here, or…?”
“I think I’d rather do it in my room. More comfortable there, you know?”
Jungkook nodded, leading the way to Jimin’s bedroom, already intimately familiar with the layout of the apartment from his many visits. It was somewhat awkward, but it comforted Jimin to follow him there, in a strange way.
Jungkook plopped down onto his bed and patted the spot next to him. As Jimin sat down, Jungkook turned towards him and sighed.
“What’s bothering you, hyung? I promise I’m not upset or anything. I’m always here for you, you know that,”
A small smile spread across Jimin’s face. Jungkook really was a great friend to him, had been ever since the two first met several years prior. It quickly dropped, though, when he remembered what he wanted to talk to Jungkook about in the first place.
“Thank you, Kook. It’s just…” the words dried up in Jimin’s throat as he tried to get them out. He had never been brave enough to say what he felt about Taehyung out loud – hell, it had taken a while for him to even admit it to himself.
His breathing froze as he tried to gulp down the confession on the edge of spilling and spit it out all at the same time. Jungkook’s gentle hand came to rest on his back, giving it a small rub in a comforting gesture.
“It’s alright, hyung. You don’t have to say anything now if you don’t want to,” Jungkook assured him, his smooth voice soothing Jimin’s thoughts out of their paralyzed hesitation.
Jimin took a deep breath, and like a switch had been flipped, he finally allowed his greatest truth to pour out of him, each word falling heavy from his lips like honey.
“I’m in love with Taehyung,”
Immediately Jungkook’s doe eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open slightly. Jimin wasn’t sure if it was out of shock or if Jungkook wanted to say something, but the words continued to spew from his mouth in a way he wasn’t able to contain.
“I have been for- years now, too long to even count. I’m not sure when, I’m not sure why. I just know that he makes me happy. I just know that I want to be around him all the time, that I love his smile and his voice and his laugh and just him,” Jimin rambled on frantically, “And then on Christmas Eve at your house, Taehyung kissed me under the mistletoe as a joke. I knew it was a joke, but it still hurt to know that that’s all it would ever be to him. He’s never thought of me as a potential romantic partner, he probably never will, and yet I’m still just as in love with him as I always have been. It hurts so bad to know that. That’s why I wanted you to come over, because I can’t just hold it in anymore.”
Jimin didn’t realize tears were streaking down his face until one ran over his lip, the salty taste a bit startling. The urge to curl himself into a ball, to hide himself and the part of his soul he had just bared, was overwhelming.
Yet he resisted, looking Jungkook in the eyes even as his vision blurred slightly.
“I don’t know what to do, Jungkook,” he sniffled out, hands clenching at his jeans. “I can’t tell him. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him. But I don’t know if I can go on like this, either.”
Creak.
The sound of the screechy door hinges was unmistakable, and Jimin snapped his head towards his bedroom door, seeing Jungkook do the same out of the corner of his eye. Sure enough, the door to his bedroom was open, just slightly, before it closed again. Like someone had opened it by accident and quickly tried to rectify their mistake.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
“...Taehyung?” Jimin whispered out.
Fuck. This couldn’t be happening.
“Tae?” Jimin couldn’t stop himself from speaking up again, louder this time, his voice breaking.
A moment of all-consuming silence passed. Jimin wished the earth would just open up and swallow him.
The squeak of the door sounded as it opened again, slowly, wider this time.
Taehyung stood there, quiet and unmoving. He looked pale, awkward, and utterly shocked and confused.
Jimin felt more tears well up in his eyes just by looking at him, just by seeing Taehyung look at him like that. Like he was embarrassed. Like he was the one who should be ashamed, when it was Jimin who had committed the crime of falling head-over-heels for someone who would never like him back.
Jungkook sat there silently, unsure of what to do. Jimin didn’t blame him. He wished he could sit out of this moment.
“Jimin, is it…true?” Taehyung breathed. Jimin wasn’t sure how he did it. The air between them was heavy and suffocating, and he was sure he was drowning.
“How much did you hear?” Jimin wanted to know if there was any possibility he could repair this situation, pretend he had been talking about someone, anyone but Taehyung.
“Almost all of it. I realized I forgot my film so I came back, and I heard you two talking,” Taehyung stared at Jimin, the expression on his face somewhere between grim and something else that was utterly unreadable. “Did you mean that, what you said about me?”
Ah. So that left Jimin with a grand total of zero wiggle room to work with here.
Great. Amazing. Jimin wanted to ooze into a puddle on the ground.
All he could do was tell the truth. Or lie, but that would undoubtedly only make things worse.
He remained paralyzed for a few seconds more, hesitated just to delay the inevitable, and nodded.
Taehyung’s facial expression barely changed at the confirmation. He didn’t look glad, angry, anything – hell, he barely even looked surprised. For once, Jimin truly couldn’t tell what his best friend was thinking.
He didn’t know why, but the apathy hurt so much more than any reaction Taehyung could have given him.
Jimin dropped his gaze down to the bed – in shame or in avoidance, he wasn’t entirely sure. Probably a mixture of both.
“Oh,” Taehyung’s voice reached his ears, low and quiet.
A few seconds and zero more words later, the door creaked open and shut yet again, and Jimin and Jungkook were left in the devastating silence.
The next sound to ring through the air was a sob falling from Jimin’s lips, tears blurring his vision of his hands lying limply on the sheets below him. His emotions were out of his control in an instant, drops falling nonstop from his eyes and snot clogging his nose.
Jimin cried loud, and Jimin cried hard. Taehyung could almost certainly hear him from the other room.
Any other day Taehyung would have come back to comfort him, to reassure him and console him.
Today he did not.
Instead it was Jungkook who leaned over and pulled Jimin into a tentative hug, arms wrapping him in a soft embrace. Jimin leaned into it, allowing himself to hiccup against his friend’s shoulder, breathing in his shirt. Gently, Jungkook rubbed his back in a soothing motion. Slowly, Jimin began to calm down.
“Koo?” he managed to choke out after a few minutes. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.’
“It’s okay. It’s all a mess now, but we’ll find some way to fix this. I promise, Minnie,” Jungkook whispered, his voice as deep and soothing as ever. He clearly believed what he was saying, always the optimist of their friend group.
Jimin held him tighter and hoped he was right.
•
Jimin didn’t see Taehyung for the rest of the day, choosing to remain in his room after Jungkook left. The only time he left was for a few minutes to make himself some instant ramen so he could eat a quick dinner and get back into his room as soon as possible.
He was half-hoping Taehyung would come into their kitchen or knock at his bedroom door at some point, but Taehyung never did, and Jimin’s confidence level was in the negative right now, so there was no way he would be able to go into Taehyung’s room instead to talk.
It was only the next morning that he caught a glimpse of Taehyung, sitting at their table stuffing his mouth with tteokbokki, chopsticks clinking against the side of the bowl. He was so intently focused on eating that he didn’t seem to notice Jimin walking into a room, and Jimin couldn’t help but smile a bit.
“Morning, Tae,”
Taehyung paused and looked up, chopsticks halfway between the bowl and his mouth. Instantly his face scrunched into his rectangular grin, and he tried to say something that was obscured by the food he was trying to eat.
He swallowed quickly before starting to talk again. “Hey, Jiminie!”
Taehyung patted the chair next to him to signal Jimin over. He seemed comfortable, carefree, like the events of yesterday were no problem.
Despite Taehyung’s joviality, Jimin was nervous as he took a seat, though he tried his best to not let his nerves show. The truth of his feelings, the fact that Taehyung knew — it all weighed heavily on him.
He held his breath, waited for what Taehyung had to say, hoped he hadn’t messed things up too badly. Taehyung didn’t seem upset, so it couldn’t be too bad, right?
Seconds passed in silence, Taehyung saying nothing and seemingly having no intention of changing that. Jimin’s eyes focused on him, and Taehyung turned to meet his gaze with an impish smile.
“Yah, Jiminie, what are you doing? Are you just going to sit there and stare at me instead of having some breakfast?”
His tone was perfectly happy, yet his eyes…weren’t. There was some sort of nervousness there.
Jimin did his best to return Taehyung’s smile, getting up silently to make himself some eggs. Why were things so…awkward all of a sudden?
So this was how their friendship would end. Not with a sudden bang after Jimin’s indirect confession, but instead with a slow breakdown of their trust and comfort in each other.
The small brown-haired boy giggled at Jimin from across the desk, pulling his hand closer and grasping it in his own, before dramatically intertwining their pinkies and shaking their hands eagerly.
“That’s a pinky-promise, Jiminie. You can’t break those, my mom told me that. Pinky promise we’ll be best friends forever?”
It had only been a year since they had met for the very first time, yet Jimin knew they would be. He gave Taehyung a grin, a few teeth missing from his mouth, and held his friend’s hand tighter. “Pinky promise.”
Jimin shook his head, willed away the memories, and stood over the pan wishing Taehyung would just yell at him, outright state he didn’t feel the same way, even cut him off completely – anything but this excruciating decay.
But when he came back to the table, Taehyung’s stiffer body language and insincere eyes were still there. Fighting back tears, stuffing food in his mouth before any words to escape, Jimin resigned himself to the fact that he had fucked up in a way he couldn’t figure out how to fix.
•
“I’m sorry,”
Jimin looked up at Taehyung from across the table as his voice pierced through the silence, low and airy. The two of them had been sitting at their kitchen table studying together, reviewing different subjects and hardly saying a word but still wanting to be in each other’s presence.
“Hm?” Jimin hummed, a bit confused.
“For what happened a few weeks back,” Taehyung continued, and Jimin’s body stiffened.
Taehyung’s stare was intense, his lips pursed in a frown and his eyes drowning in guilt. Jimin couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Taehyung, a natural-born troublemaker, a man who always sought to make people smile, so serious. Years, definitely – probably not since secondary school.
Jimin swallowed and fought the urge to look back down, biting his lip gently. “It’s…it’s okay, Taehyung,”
His friend shook his head, only seeming more upset at Jimin’s attempt to sooth him. “It’s not. I was so caught up in my own emotions that I hurt you. That’s not okay,” Taehyung murmured, eyebrows furrowing as tears built up in his eyes. “It’s just - I’m sorry, Jiminie, I should’ve told you before-”
Jimin pushed himself out of his chair then, getting up and walking to the other side of the table to give Taehyung a hug from behind, abandoning his sprawled papers. It was relieving to get an apology, to know that things wouldn’t be just pushed under the rug forever, but Taehyung getting so upset over all this wasn’t a price he was willing to pay for it.
It was Jimin’s fault, after all, wasn’t it?
Warm hands reached up to pull Jimin’s arm closer, and Jimin leaned further into the embrace with a small smile.
“I forgive you, Tae. We can just go back to normal, if you want. If you can,” Jimin whispered into his ear, the words hurting his heart as they left his mouth.
Taehyung’s breath seemed to catch in his throat and his hands gripped Jimin’s arms tighter, shaking his head again, more vigorously this time. “No, that’s- that’s not what I want, Jiminie,” he blurted, turning his head to meet Jimin’s eyes, and for a moment Jimin panicked.
Taehyung…didn’t want to be his friend anymore?
Immediately Taehyung seemed to notice the fear in his eyes, frantically rushing to undo the damage his words had done. “I’m sorry! I meant…” Taehyung took a deep breath, eyes flicking to the side before meeting Jimin’s again with determination. “Can I kiss you again?”
Those were the last words Jimin ever expected to come out of Taehyung’s mouth.
The logical part of him insisted that this must be another joke, something ingenuine. That was all it had been before, and all it ever would be. But his heart screamed at him to say yes, to give into all the years of pining.
In a heartbeat, he had already chosen who to listen to.
Taehyung stepped up from his own chair to look Jimin in the eyes, to bring their faces close enough that he could feel Taehyung’s warm breath puff against his lips, and he nodded silently, looking up at his best friend with the adoration that had been in his heart before he had even been able to understand it.
He was half-prepared for it to all be a gag again, but instead Taehyung’s eyes stared back at him with relief and delight. Oh so carefully, he grasped Jimin’s face and leaned forward to slot their lips together.
As Taehyung’s soft lips moved against his, Jimin finally let himself relax, leaning into the kiss and letting out a low noise of bliss. Taehyung seemed pleased at that, his lips thinning in a smile.
Jimin could tell from the care Taehyung was treating him with, from his every gentle movement, that this kiss was genuine. There were feelings behind it.
When Taehyung finally pulled away, he leaned forward again to rest his forehead against Jimin’s. A giddy smile was on his face, but in a mere moment it was overtaken by a frown.
“I’m sorry, Jimin. I’ve been such an idiot. I think I like- no, love, you too. And I didn’t realize until I had to stop and think about it, and I hurt you because of that,” Taehyung whispered, voice dripping with shame.
The only thing in Jimin’s heart that beat stronger than the glee filling him was the need to see Taehyung happy, the need to wipe the distress off his handsome face and replace it with one of his beautiful smiles instead.
He practically leaped forward, wrapping Taehyung in a tight embrace, something he felt like he should have done ages ago. Taehyung let out a slight umpf at the impact, but the moment he recovered from his shock he reciprocated, somehow pulling Jimin even closer. Jimin smiled into his shoulder.
“I forgive you, Tae. It took me years to come to term with my feelings, too. And no one’s perfect,” he murmured into his friend’s ear before loosening his arms and pulling away from the hug to smile at him. It still hurt, the memory of Taehyung’s initial reaction – but it was something they would move past together. There was no use in holding a grudge against the person who made him happiest. “Especially not you.”
Taehyung snorted, shaking his head, and Jimin noticed that the sparkle in his eyes was back. Really back, for the first time in weeks. His eyes became softer after a second, a bit of anxiety slipping back in, but more than that there was fondness.
Jimin could get used to Taehyung looking at him like that.
“Really? You’re not…kidding, or anything? About forgiving me?”
“Of course not. You’ve always been my best friend, and you always will be. And you’re not kidding about loving me, right?”
Taehyung let out another laugh, like the idea was laughable. And it was, to him. “Never. I promise, Jiminie.”
Jimin stuck out his pinky finger, and Taehyung moved his own hand to meet it, wrapping their fingers together in a familiar motion.
“No hard feelings,” Jimin whispered, looking up at him, heart full of hope.
“And no more lies,” Taehyung said back, fully at ease.
•
The warm spring air blew a stream of stray cherry blossoms past Jimin’s face as he stood under the tree, a couple getting trapped in his hair. The scene around him was almost picturesque, lush grass under his feet and blooming flowers of all colors surrounding the area.
Most beautiful of all was his boyfriend, Taehyung, who was squatting down with his hand out in an attempt to feed his cashews to the squirrels. He pouted as a few scurried away from him, but a few particularly brave ones ran towards him. Their little feet grasped around the nuts as they made a happy squeak before leaving.
Instantly Taehyung’s face lit up again, a soft giggle tumbling out of his mouth as he smiled.
They had been dating for half a year now, and yet he was still just as adorable as the day Jimin met him.
“The sign over there says you’re not supposed to feed them, you know,” Jimin said. Taehyung turned toward him and shrugged, smile still on his face.
“They’re still cute, so I’m still going to feed them,” he responded, and Jimin laughed, leaning down to take a nut from Taehyung’s hand and place it in front of the nearest squirrel. He let his hand linger on Taehyung’s for a moment just because he could, because even after all this time it still gave him a thrill.
Dating Taehyung wasn’t really all that different from being his best friend. Now they kissed, held hands, told each other they loved them whenever they wanted (which was often), but they had always told each other they were soulmates growing up.
And they were right. Jimin truly felt like Taehyung was his other half, like the two of them together were something special.
If there existed a thousand other universes, he knew that in each and every one he would choose Taehyung.
Soon enough Taehyung was down to his last cashew, which he popped into his mouth as he stood up. He dusted off his hands before placing them on Jimin’s cheeks to guide him into a kiss.
“I think these past six months with you have been the best ones of my life,” he whispered in Jimin’s ear as he pulled away, and dear God, he was so giddy, so happy with Taehyung.
“Pinky promise?” Jimin asked, wrapping his pinky finger around Taehyung’s before waiting for an answer.
Taehyung shook his head amusedly, but he still squeezed Jimin’s pinker gently to humor him. “Aish, you and your pinky promises.”
“You were the one who started it!”
“When we were five years old,”
Jimin broke into a fit of giggles, reaching up to place a peck on Taehyung’s cheek. “Well, it’s good you’re happy with our relationship, because you’re not getting rid of me now.”
Falling for Taehyung wasn’t a decision Jimin had made, but if it had been, it would easily be the best thing he’d ever chosen.
#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#bts fic#vmin#vmin fanfiction#vmin fanfic#vmin fluff#bts fluff#vmin au#bts friends to lovers#xavi.scriv
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chainbreaker
Wow...... I haven't written anything outside of a crapton of Worldbuilding in a hot minute. So, uhh, this was my idea of a short, simple-for-me blurb to put out, though at this rate it'll be a two-parter at the least. I'd love to hear if anyone has any thoughts / feedback on the writing!
Tagging, if it's alright, @lividdreamz @caxycreations @thatndginger @hessdalen-globe @muddshadow @dogmomwrites @marinesocks @theprissythumbelina @the-stray-storyteller @wip-nook @writeblrsupport
The harsh, burning odours of saltwater and leaking lubricating oil were by now more familiar to Leading Aviator Aisha Javed's nose than the smell of the flowers back home, an alien concept to herself and the merry crew of naval aviators she had taken to calling her family over the past six months. Hunched over a small table plastered with charts opposite her fellow navigator, Naval Aviator 1st Class Clarke Oswell, she held an ink pen in one hand and a stopwatch in the other. The tools of their trade, and the schoolgirl who played cricket and pruned the family garden wouldn't have recognised a thing.
"Time for a course correction, Clark? Going by airspeed, we'd made about fifty naut-miles since the last waypoint."
The sky was utterly, entirely black, with neither a moon nor stars making it past thick clouds, and for that reason they hadn't bothered with the sextants or other fine tools of celestial observation that usually held as much use in the air as on the waves. Instead, and much to Lieutenant Commander Stephan Muller's deep displeasure, the sixteen-tonne, gull-winged Auxin Albatross flying boat was obliged to stick far closer to the coast, and any land based onlookers, than the plan had called for at first just to give them a chance of navigating.
Clark stood up only halfway, stretching legs that had been pressed in tight by the small cabin as much as by his lanky frame, by an aviator's standards. He slid open a small window which let in the loud whoosh of the wind, craning his neck out the slot and peering tightly through a set of binoculars into the night.
"Alright. I think I've got some lights out there, and a set of cliffs. That'll be, uhh... Samakra?"
They'd passed by the quaint little fishing village half a dozen times in the past month alone. Almost enough times to make you forget that the people down there were the enemy.
"Samkara, but yes, should be it. Marking it on the plot, I think we're due for the last course change in, say, half an hour. Two degrees shift north, we'll do another check before that..."
Watching with excruciating exactness every contour of that wind- and wave-battered coastline of stoic rock, her and Clarke had their work cut out for them, but they were professionals.
So were the enemy, and Aisha knew that Muller was damn near certain that every second that brought them and his long beloved "Staghound Sturdy" closer to their final checkpoint was bringing them closer to a Fuhrati fighter patrol, or a battery of undiscovered coastal ack-ack guns. They wouldn't have long to regret such a thing at any rate, joked the copilot, Sub-Lieutenant Enver Atay, currently up in the cockpit with Stephan, so there wasn't much reason to bother with worrying about it. Of course, he'd also grabbed a second life vest before they left base.
Even though the cockpit was barely a few metres away, the roaring racket of the seaplane's twin engines mounted in tandem with two extra Aero-crystals to drag their heavy bird through the air meant that all shouting did was break your voice. Aisha picked up a handheld speaker-receiver set, and hailed the cockpit directly.
"Skipper, this is nav'. We're rounding Point Sylod in thirty minutes by our reckoning, advise maintaining current heading 'til then, Clear."
"Clear On, Aisha. Keep cosy, you two, but warm up the Wireless. Don't want it on the rocks again when we get there."
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jimmy Palmer has been hopelessly nursing a crush on Y/N. When a handsome successful lawyer beats Jimmy to making a move on Y/N Jimmy can't help but to be jealous. His jealousy leads him to lashing out and Y/N being hurt in more than one way.
Fulfills the lawyer, fight, apology, bloody, and love categories for the bingo.
----------
Jimmy felt his heart sink at the sound of her laughter. Usually it was a sound that would instantly lift his spirits.
Usually he’d do anything to hear her laughter. He could admit he was guilty of occasionally purposely going out of his way to attempt to make her laugh. Sure his attempts were usually awkward and more often than not he managed to shove his foot in his mouth in front of the wrong person, but it was worth it if he could make her laugh. He tended to make more jokes and puns anytime she was around just in an attempt to work even one small laugh from her.
He couldn’t help himself. The sound of her laughter made him feel so warm inside. The sound of her laughter did strange things to his heart. Anytime he heard her laugh his heart rate would speed up. His heart would beat so fast that he was almost sure at times that it might just beat out of his chest.
The sound of her laughter could make his stomach fill with butterflies and make him feel as though he was floating away.
He was quite certain no one had a more beautiful laugh than Y/N.
At the moment though her laughter made him feel anything but warm inside. The floating comforting feeling he usually found was accompanied by her laughter was nowhere in sight.
Jimmy hated to admit that Y/N’s laughter didn't fill him with joy when he wasn’t the one responsible for making her laughter.
He wanted to sink into the ornate tiles of the courthouse as he stood by idly watching the girl he’d been nursing a crush on for months now be hit on by some young attractive military lawyer.
Whenever Y/N and Jimmy had both been called in to testify, Jimmy had hopped on Y/N’s offer to carpool to the courthouse. It made sense, she'd claimed. They both had to testify on the same day, so why not carpool and save some gas?
He’d looked forward to having at least an hour alone with her in the car, an hour where her attention would be solely focused on him. There would be no Dr. Mallard, no Abby, and no Agent Gibbs there to interrupt his time with Y/N. Her focus would be on him and him only. It was a dream come true for him.
If Jimmy had known that he’d have to watch her flirt with some other guy, he may have second guessed saying yes to any offers to carpool from her.
He’d noticed the way the lawyer had looked at her from the moment they’d met him. They’d spent the past few days in close contact with him preparing their testimonies. Jimmy would have to be blind not to notice the way the lawyer had taken to gazing at Y/N.
Jimmy hated to admit that he had compared himself to the lawyer. He hated to admit that the lawyer was attractive. He had to think that the man was far more attractive than him. The lawyer was a little taller than Jimmy’s six foot frame. His physical fitness was far more apparent than Jimmy’s.
Sure Jimmy was okay looking, or at least he’d like to think he was. He tried his best to have some sense of self confidence. He was healthy and strong. He knew that most people found him nerdy and awkward though. There was nothing awkward or nerdy about this lawyer. In fact that guy looked like the kind of guy who would have chunked Jimmy into a dumpster when he was a kid. Jimmy couldn’t help but to think that the guy reminded him of the teen who’d given 12 year old Jimmy a swirly one year at summer camp. The lawyer’s suit looked far more expensive than Jimmy’s. Jimmy was sure that the lawyer’s tie wasn’t a thrift store purchase like Jimmy’s. The man’s eyesight was far better than Jimmy’s he not needing glasses. His eyes were a stunning deep blue that weren’t obscured by glasses. His smile wasn’t far too wide like Jimmy’s.
Even the lawyer’s name sounded far superior than Jimmy’s name. The name Sebastian Arden the Second sounded far more magnificent than James “Jimmy” Palmer.
Jimmy didn’t like Sebastian. He barely knew him, but he didn’t like him. He didn’t like anything about this situation. He didn’t like it at all. It made him feel sick. It made him want to lash out and exclaim that Sebastian needed to back off. Jimmy knew it was childish but he almost wanted to exclaim that he liked Y/N first, so Sebastian should go away and stop hitting on her.
Jimmy felt stupid for feeling like this. He had no right to feel any sense of jealousy.
Y/N and he weren’t dating. He had never had the nerve to ask her out on a proper date. Sure, they might hang out one on one from time to time, but it was always just as friends.
She didn’t have any clue that Jimmy had any romantic interest in her. He’d never had the balls to make a move on her.
She had every right in the world to flirt with an available successful bachelor.
She was a single young woman who was admittedly interested in entering the dating pool. He’d heard her comment to Abby that she was open to finding love. She’d joked that she wasn’t getting any younger and she was searching high and low for Mr. Right.
So, he had no right to feel like this in response to seeing her flirt with someone else.
A voice in the back of his head kindly pointed out that Y/N could do a lot worse with potential romantic partners. After all, hadn’t he heard her vent to Abby and Ziva time and time again about her awful dates?
A stable handsome lawyer who worked for JAG would probably be considered a wonderful match by many.
Y/N deserved someone who was not only kind but who was also successful. She deserved someone who respected her career and respected her as a person. She deserved someone who cherished her.
Jimmy knew she often dated guys who didn’t quite live up to being what she deserved. He’d heard her complain about the guys she usually attracted.
So, shouldn’t he be happy for her if she found what she deserved?
If he cared about her at all, shouldn’t he want her to find happiness?
Logic told Jimmy that yes, he should be thrilled for her.
His heart disagreed.
As he stood by Y/N’s side watching her carry on a lively conversation, Jimmy couldn’t help but to feel forgotten.
This wasn’t the first time in his life he’d felt like an awkward third wheel, but it was by far the most painful.
He felt his heart sink as Sebastian spoke. “Do you have any plans this weekend?”
Y/N replied a small laugh leaving her. “None at all, as long work doesn’t call that is.”
“Wonderful, I have an extra ticket to Napoli. It’s being performed by the Washington Ballet this Saturday. I don’t know if you have any interest in ballet, but I could definitely use a date. We could grab dinner beforehand. I can get reservations. Do you like Italian, because I know a place.” Sebastian remarked managing to remain far smoother than Jimmy was sure he would be if he made an attempt to ask Y/N out.
“I’ve never seen a professional ballet. I would be interested in seeing it. I happen to love Italian food. I’d love to join you.” Y/N responded Jimmy feeling his heart sink even farther.
Sebastian was quick to respond, the flirty smile he gave Y/N making Jimmy feel bile rise in the back of his throat. “Great, well, let’s hope that work doesn’t call you away this weekend.”
Jimmy stepped forward the words spilling from his throat before Y/N had a chance to reply. “We should get going…Dr. Mallard and Abby are expecting us back at NCIS.”
Y/N finally acknowledged Jimmy a small frown crossing her features she apparently not exactly pleased with Jimmy’s interruption. She said nothing of this disappointment, turning back to Sebastian as she spoke. “I should get back to work. Let me give you my number. You can send me a text later and let me know what the plan is for Saturday.”
Jimmy felt his heart sink all the more as he watched Y/N open her purse and scribble down her number on a receipt before passing it to Sebastian, his touch to Y/N’s hand lingering far longer than Jimmy would prefer.
Jimmy cleared his throat louder than necessary, interrupting the moment.
He felt his heart ache as Sebastian obviously gazed longingly at Y/N as Jimmy and she turned to leave.
Jimmy’s mind went into overdrive, unable to stop himself from obsessing over what had just happened. Y/N had a date this Saturday. Y/N had a date.
Jimmy felt the words leave him, he was unable to stop himself from speaking the second they’d exited the courthouse. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to go on a date with Sebastian?”
Y/N frowned slightly, a bit thrown off by the question. “Why wouldn’t it be? He doesn’t seem to be throwing out any red flags, which is a big step up from most of my potential suitors.”
Jimmy felt his throat grow tight, he unable to stop himself. His brain screamed at him to shut up but his jealousy and heartache spoke so much louder. “The trial is still ongoing. Wouldn't going out on this date compromise things? It just doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
Y/N scoffed at this comment, she was fast to reply. “If it was an issue I’m sure Sebastian is professional enough to hold off on asking me on a date until everything is said and done. He’s not working for the defense. So, I’m pretty sure he’s not going to do anything to compromise getting a win for our side.”
Jimmy felt that jealousy spark up forcing the words from his lips. “Oh yeah, he’s a real professional.”
The frown on Y/N’s features only grew more apparent she fast to turn to face Jimmy the words leaving her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Jimmy spoke even though his brain screamed at him to shut up. He was making an ass out of himself but he couldn’t force himself to keep his lip sealed. “He’s been mentally undressing you from the moment he introduced himself as the lead attorney for this case on JAG’s side. He’s spent all day drooling over you instead of keeping his mind on the case. He’s been flirting with you every chace he has. I’m just saying…I don’t trust his judgment when it comes to making good decisions.”
“Oh, because wanting to date me is such an awful decision? Really, Jimmy?” Y/N exclaimed her heart sinking at the comment her eyes obviously growing a bit damp.
She bit the inside of her cheek cursing herself for being so hyper sensitive. His comment hurt though. She would have never expected such a comment from Jimmy Palmer of all people. She had assumed they were friends. Why was he being like this? She hadn’t thought it was possible for Jimmy Palmer to have a mean bone in his body.
In fact she’d considered Jimmy Palmer to be one of the sweetest people she’d ever met. It wasn’t a quality she was used to encountering in men.
When she’d first started working at NCIS as an assistant to Abby Scuito she’d been nervous. It was seemed like such a demanding career. She was fresh out of college and she’d feared that her education wouldn’t live up to Abby’s expectations.
She’d prided herself in working hard and trying her best to learn from Abby.
In her time at NCIS she’d appreciated the relationships she was building there. She was forming friendships that she cherished.
She’d assumed that Jimmy was one of the closest friendships she had developed. She had found herself really opening up to him throughout their friendship.
She’d related to him in a way. They were both assisting well respected professionals at NCIS. She had assumed that Jimmy understood her insecurities when it came to her job. She’d opened up to him about those insecurities and had appreciated the way he always seemed to know what to say to make her feel capable of the career path she’d chosen.
She’d always appreciated how supportive he was. She had begun to think of him as a true friend.
To hear someone who she had thought was a dear friend imply that she was behaving in an unprofessional manner that might compromise a case was a slap in the face.
Jimmy cringed realizing what he’d just said and how it sounded. “That didn’t sound the way I intended it to sound?”
“Oh really? How did you intend it to sound? She snapped the hurt quickly drifting to anger. Being offended was easier than being heartbroken.
Jimmy stumbled through his words his heart screaming at him to admit that he was jealous. He couldn’t force those words out. She’d only reject him if he admitted the truth.
So he stuck to the narrative he’d already so foolishly built. “I just don’t feel like it’s a good idea to date a JAG lawyer during a trial in which you were called to testify for JAG. It feels like a bad choice that could lead to more trouble than it’s worth. I just don’t want you to wind up in a mess over this.”
Y/N rolled her eyes at this her anger only growing. She scoffed so quick to respond to Jimmy’s comments she tilting her head up trying to give off the appearance of confidence and pride instead of hurt and heartache. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t need you or anyone else for that matter telling me how to avoid a mess. I am perfectly capable of making decisions on my own. You have zero right to imply that I’m behaving in an unprofessional manner. I take pride in performing my job well. I would never in a million years do anything to compromise a case we all worked so hard on.”
She turned fast to stomp away as she called out from over her shoulder. “I have zero idea what’s gotten into you, but I don’t like it.”
Jimmy pressed his hand to his face a groan leaving him. Now he’d gone and done it. He’d once again shoved his foot in his mouth and made a mess of everything.
He moved wanting to follow her and find some way to sort this all out without spilling his heart to her and getting inevitably rejected.
He felt his heart sink as Y/N stepped onto an uneven chunk of concrete in the parking lot the uneven concrete getting caught on her heel causing her to stumble forward.
She did her best to stop herself from tumbling but found it useless. She fell to the hard hot ground scraping her hands, twisting her ankle, and tearing her pantyhose in the process.
Jimmy rushed to her his voice frantic. He knelt down beside her, feeling overcome with guilt. She was hurt because he had upset her. She never would have stormed off if he’d kept his big mouth shut. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
She groaned, wanting to snap at him to get far away from her. She was still pissed as hell at him, but the pain on her hands and her ankle stopped her from biting the hand reaching to aid her.
She studied her hands groaning at the sight of the scrapes to her hands. Her knees were in no better shape they were bleeding. She’d managed to slide a bit against the cement in her attempts to stop herself from hitting her face on the concrete. She wiggled her ankle it hitting her that she must have twisted it awfully. She didn’t think it was broken but she wouldn’t be shocked if it was sprained.
She spoke a heavy sigh leaving her. “There’s a first aid kit in my backseat.”
Jimmy was fast to move gently helping her stand. He wrapped an arm around her waist doing his best to support her as she limped towards her car.
She shut out her anger at him for the moment focusing her attention on her injuries instead of how angry she was with the man aiding her.
Jimmy helped her take a seat on her passengers side he moving fast to fetch the first aid kit.
He spoke his cheeks flushing as he nodded down at her knees. “It might be easier for me to clean you up if you lose the pantyhose.”
She sighed kicking off her heels. She ignored how gross it felt to stand on the concrete as she managed to support herself against the open door. Jimmy turned his back and blocked her from any possible curious eyes as she managed to scoot down her pantyhose without having to lift her skirt and expose herself to anyone.
She sat back down as Jimmy turned to face her he quickly getting to work on cleaning her scrapes.
He spoke as he applied an alcohol swap to her hands and knees. “This is going to sting.”
She gasped squeezing her eyes shut as he cleaned her wounds.
He worked in silence for a long while going over the events of the entire day in his head trying to find a solution to fix all of this. He let out a sigh finally forcing himself to speak knowing he needed to say the words. “I’m sorry.”
“You can’t help it if it stings. I’d rather deal with a sting than an infection.” Y/N remarked the meaning behind his apology not quite clicking with her.
“I’m not apologizing for that…I mean…I am sorry it stung, but…I’m apologizing for what happened before you fell. I don’t like fighting with you.” Jimmy remarked, he struggled to find the words.
He knew he had to man up and do this. He had to be honest with her. Being honest with her and being rejected was better than having her think he thought she was unprofessional.
She sighed a huff leaving her, unable to stop herself from saying it. “I expected better from you Jimmy. I thought we were friends. I really opened up to you about how hard I’ve worked to be taken seriously. I opened up to you about how nervous I was working as Abby’s assistant. I knew she didn’t want an assistant and I’ve worked so hard to be taken seriously and to be professional. I thought you understood how hard I’ve worked. You basically told me I was being unprofessional and was going to ruin the trial. You pretty much implied that I don’t know what I’m doing and that I need you to come along and tell me how to behave. Do you know how much that hurts? I thought you were my friend.”
“I am your friend.” Jimmy exclaimed his heart sinking as he forced himself to stare up at her spotting the clear tears in her eyes.
He had a feeling the tears weren’t a response to the pain from her fall. He was the one responsible for her tears.
He spoke knowing he needed to say the words. “I don’t think you’re unprofessional. I think you are so capable. I admire how hard you work. You’ve worked so hard to win over Abby. I respect how hard you work in the lab. You don’t need me or anyone else to tell you how to behave.”
He let out a heavy sigh knowing he had no choice. The worst thing she could do was tell him she didn’t feel the same.
If that was the case then he’d take the road of not being a dick about it. He’d man up and work through his hurt.
He would find a way to push back the heartbreak of rejection and maintain their friendship.
He managed to work up the nerve to speak. “I made a mess of things. I…do you want to know the truth? The reason I was…the reason I acted the way I did?”
She furrowed her brow fast to reply. “Yes, I want to know.”
He swallowed the lump in the back of his throat as he forced himself to say the words. “I don’t want you to go on a date with Sebastian.”
“Yeah, I figured that part out. You made it pretty clear that you think I’m making a huge mistake.” Y/N replied rolling her eyes at his statement.
Jimmy groaned he resisting the urge to slam his palm against his face again. He took a deep breath managing to say the words. “It wouldn’t be a mistake. He’s…he’d be a good catch. He’s successful and handsome and he likes you. He really really seems to like you a lot. He would respect your career and would respect you.”
“Then why don’t you want me to go on a date with him?” Y/N exclaimed growing frustrated with how he seemed to be dancing around the answer she sought.
Jimmy felt his pulse rate speed up he knowing it was now or never. “I’m jealous…and I acted like a total jerk because I suck at not being an awkward idiot who shoves my foot in my mouth…I am a coward who doesn’t have the balls to say that I don’t want you to go on a date with him… or anyone else for that matter…I don’t want you going on a date with any guy unless that guy is me.”
Y/N widened her eyes it all clicking into place. She opened and closed her mouth struggling to find the words. She finally worked out words. “You…you like…you like me?”
Jimmy sighed nodding his head feeling like an absolute idiot still. He’d really made a giant mess of everything. “More than like you…I know…I know it’s probably not appropriate or reasonable to say the big L word…but I would be a fool to deny that I care for you a great deal…I really really really like you, a lot. I think I have more fun with you than I’ve ever had with any other girl. Anytime we’ve hung out it’s just been as friends…but sometimes I let myself pretend it’s more than that…for just a moment…I let myself imagine what it would be like to date you. I’ve liked you from the moment we met.”
“Why didn’t you say anything Jimmy?” She asked trying her hardest to wrap her mind around it.
Sure, occasionally Abby and Ziva had teased her over Jimmy’s supposed crush he was nursing for her.
She’d always claimed that there was nothing there though. Sure, Jimmy hung around her a lot, and they did spend time together outside of work.
They were just friends though. She’d always claimed that they were just friends.
Did she feel the same?
Jimmy let out a heavy sigh shaking his head ashamed to say it outloud. “Like I said…I’m a coward. Or at least I’m a coward when it comes to telling pretty girls that I am crazy about them…I’ve never…I’ve never had the most confidence when it comes to things like this…I’ve never had to pursue a girl…I haven’t even really dated too much to be honest…I mean I’m not totally inexperienced, but usually my past relationships have happened because the girl made the first move. I know that I don’t seem like I’m not confident…I’ve always been an extrovert, but that’s part of my problem I think. I have always been told that I’m just too much. I talk too much. I get anxious and can’t shut up. I always say the wrong thing. I make bad jokes. I have weird interests. My job and my career goals are morbid. How was I supposed to ever believe that someone like you would ever give a guy like me a shot?”
Y/N let the words roll around in her head, soaking them up and analyzing every last word.
Did he truly see himself that way?
Didn’t he see what she saw?
“That isn’t true.” The words left her without any hesitation.
She was fast to speak again, Jimmy staring up at her in awe. “You aren’t too much. I mean…yeah you do talk a lot…but I like hearing what you have to say. Your jokes aren’t that bad…and sometimes you do say the wrong thing but so does every other person on the planet. Everyone sometimes shoves their foot in their mouth…your interests aren’t weird…if your interests are weird then so are mine…I mean, I am an assistant forensic scientist…so if your job is morbid then mine probably is too…who cares though.”
She paused, taking a deep breath, the answer seeming so obvious. He claimed he had more fun with her than he had with any other girl. The truth was she had more fun with him than she’d ever had with any of her dates. There was something so special about Jimmy Palmer.
She felt ashamed to say she’d never even considered that he might want more than friendship.
He thought she was out of his league, but she had to think it was the other way around. Jimmy Palmer was kind and intelligent. He was funny and cute. He was hardworking and sweet. He was everything any guy who had ever asked her out was not.
She couldn’t help but to think that for someone who claimed to be smart, she was an absolute idiot for not seeing it or admitting it to herself.
She spoke the truth seeming so obvious. “Someone like me would be lucky to have someone like you like them.”
He felt his heart beat all too fast, his throat growing tight, he trying to make sense of the words. Was she saying what he thought she might be saying?
He managed to work out the words, his cheeks flushing, his heart still beating so fast. “Do you…you know…like me like that?”
He cringed at his own statement. Way to make himself sound like he was no older than thirteen years old talking to his middle school crush.
She reached down thankful that Jimmy had already bandaged her wounded palm, as she pressed a hand to Jimmy’s cheek. “How could I not?”
He leaned into her touch, his heart lifting for the first time all day. He spoke his words so awestruck that she couldn’t help but to find it adorable. “Really?”
Y/N nodded her head the answer coming to her so quickly. “Definitely.”
She spoke after a moment of silence unable to stop herself from asking. “Are you busy Saturday?”
Jimmy felt a small smile cross his lips, unable to stop himself from saying it. “Don’t you have a date for dinner and the ballet?”
She chuckled, shaking her head as she replied. “I’m canceling. I’m going to have to tell him the truth. The truth is I found someone else who I’d much rather have dinner with.”
Jimmy was fast to speak, his heart soaring; he was unable to believe how quickly his luck had turned around. “I think that someone is available on Saturday. He might not be able to give you ballet tickets or the nicest restaurant but he can still give you dinner and a movie.”
She leaned down taking a chance, her lips sliding along his, the kiss gentle and exploratory.
They quickly managed to push past any shyness and uncertainty, the kiss growing in passion easily.
Jimmy wrapped his arms around her, Y/N pressing her bandaged hands to his cheeks as they continued to kiss.
Who needed the ballet and a date with a lawyer when she had a date with Jimmy Palmer?
#Jimmy Palmer#NCIS#Jimmy Palmer Fanfiction#NCIS fanfiction#Jimmy Palmerxreader#Jimmy Palmer X reader#Jimmy Palmer/reader#reader insert
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
i beat violet and reached the credits! i'll talk without spoilers about how i felt about the maingame (yet to do postgame), but i'll put it under the cut nonetheless.
i mentioned it on twitter too, but despite the game being extremely riddled with bugs and broken lighting (gamefreak please fix your fucking game so it plays normally without me having to restart it to fix the memory leak issue temporarily im begging), the actual contents of the game are REALLY fun and the writing in the game is the best it's been since gen 5.
Narratively it surpasses the previous couple of games in many ways (and swsh in EVERY possible way and more lmao) and honestly? that redeemed the game for me. no you can't change my mind. The whole endgame sequence had me actually wanting to stay up to play more but unfortunately my switch ran out of battery and i forcibly got stopped so i had to go sleep LOL
The tera mechanic is fun and adds a nice layer of depth to gameplay without making it obnoxious like GMAX was, game felt pretty balanced and I even had a couple of moments where I struggled to get by, which was great! I love that. Thank you for not making the game too easy at some points. It also definitely did not help that half my team was weak to either ground or fighting LOL but that's aside the point
Speaking of teams, the mons in this gen have been a bit hit or miss. Some of them really feel like they could've used more depth to their designs, look better in 2D than in 3D or are just... really not my thing, but the ones they do hit the mark with, they hit it GOOD and they introduced some of my favourite designs across the whole franchise with it. It's probably still the least solid gen in a while though, which is a bit of a shame as I was hoping for better.
The technical issues with this game REALLY are holding this game back though. I'm even mad this shit even got through QA at all and released in this state, how the fuck did they overlook such a huge performance issue? What's done is done though and the game's out there, so instead let's hope for a solution; if they release a patch with some fixes for lighting issues and the memory leak that keeps tanking the game's frame rate and performance, then this game will feel much better to play, even with the switch being an underpowered console. Restarting the game from time to time has shown that it can run relatively smoothly as it fixes the memory leak problem temporarily. Sure, there's definitely some stutters still, but the average frame rate is definitely higher and it would do the game well to see that fixed sooner than later.
If the game had like... six more months or even a whole year extra in the oven, I really do think that it would've been better for this game, but unfortunately TPC likes money too much to not have GF run on fumes all the time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it's not the games that rake in the big cash after all, it's the merch made based on the new mons.
tl;dr, game fun, story was good and actually had me super invested near the end, gameplay was fun but could've been better in the mons' overall design department, please fix your fucking game GF and release a patch to fix the biggest issues, thanks. but also TPC stop stretching this game company thin you freaks
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Day 2 of @kinkuary 2023: Gloryhole
No Guts, No Glory
Chapters: 1/1 (963 words)
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Percy Weasley
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Percy Weasley
Additional Tags: Glory Hole, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Kinkuary 2023
Series: Part 2 of Kinkuary 2023
Summary: There is, if rumours are to be believed, a cubicle in the men's on the fourth floor of The Ministry where, at a certain time on a certain day, one can get their cock sucked – no questions asked.
Read on AO3 or below the cut.
There is, if rumours are to be believed, a cubicle in the men's on the fourth floor of The Ministry where, at a certain time on a certain day, one can get their cock sucked – no questions asked. It's Wednesday night, seven hours into a twelve hour overnight shift and I'm on my knees with my nose squashed against a chipboard wall and struggling to even wrap my tongue around the head because he's not sticking it through far enough – so it's safe to say that the rumours are completely and utterly true.
This guy isn't a regular; my regulars have the basic courtesy to get themselves nice and close for my mouth. Regulars, ha! A good nine times out of ten it's just the one, the same cock that appears through the hole. I'm not complaining, said cock is relatively good: decent size, not overly girthy, always clean, and he chokes back the most delicious moan when I swallow him to the root and bury my nose in his ginger pubes.
Yeah, ginger.
And no, not that one. Granger has a mean right hook which I have no intention of experiencing again. The one from Magical Transportation. Every Wednesday night for the past six months he’s turned up at my hole like clockwork, but tonight it’s gone two am and he’s not shown. He is in, I saw him skulking around the coffee machine earlier, sniffing the swill as if he’s too good for it; plus, my cock-sucking skills are certainly more than enough to keep anyone interested, so where the fuck is he? I'm tempted to go find him and ask.
Fuck it’s not like I have anything, anyone, better to do. Sometimes you've just gotta Gryffindor-up and go get what you want, and here's the thing: he knows it's me and thinks he's clever enough to keep his own identity hidden. He doesn't know that I know he knows. Former Head Boy Weasley might have got the family smarts, but discreet he is not – although neither is he smart enough to have planned what to do should I turn up at his office door.
“Running late?” I ask from the threshold of his office. He stammers and turns a bright red. Told you he lacked discretion. “Only,” I continue, “I thought we had a meeting?” I swipe my thumb across my bottom lip and watch him hungrily track it. He’s still just sitting there, gaping like a grindylow. “My mistake,” I wave him off and turn around. I get about two half steps before he calls me back with a hissed ‘Malfoy’.
I turn back and give him a convivial smile.
“Maybe we could, could have the mee- meeting now? Here?”
I’m a depraved shitbag who gets his kicks from anonymous blowies at work, but even I draw the line sucking him off while his wife and kids wave cheerily from the framed photos on his desk. I shake my head, “You want a meeting, you know where I’ll be.”
Ten minutes later I’m back on my knees, waiting, and I hear the door swing open. It’s quickly followed by the slide of the lock in the cubicle next to me and the whoosh-thunk of trousers and belt hitting the tiled floor. The cock I've been waiting for slides through the hole, more than half hard.
Usually I’m on it in seconds, there’s no need for foreplay, a swipe of my tongue across the head and then I swallow it down; we both know what we’re here for so why pussyfoot around? Not tonight, though. Tonight I leave it sitting there, sticking out from the wall untouched until it's raised to full mast. After about a minute and a half he gives it a jiggle, a little wave for attention. Thirty seconds later he clears his throat. All-in-all he lasts no more than three minutes before he starts to pull it out. I halt him with a tsk. It takes another tsk for him to put it back where it belongs. I make him wait a minute more before I swipe my thumb through the bubble of pre-come on the head. He tries to thrust into it but I pull back silently. Once he stills I run my thumb over the same spot and this time he doesn’t move. I reward him with a peck on the shaft.
He gives a little groan and then swallows the noise; he gets another peck, this time just because. Then I wrap my lips around my teeth, hollow my cheeks and just go for it.
There's a fine line between function, finesse, and ferocity and I weave between them like a fucking queen. Nobody leaves Draco Malfoy's hole less than utterly fulfilled – no matter how much of a prick they've been. He likes it fast, I like to be fucked in the face, what else do we need? Sure, the shitbag part of me wants to pull off, leave him spurting into thin air, or better, with a well deserved case of blue balls; but what can I say, I'm greedy and I never say no to what I want. And what I want is to choke on it. I push down till he's buried in my throat and hold myself there nostril-deep in his pubes unable to breath as he empties himself with a muffled groan. When I pull off I don't let him leave, not until I've lavved every last inch clean.
His soft cock disappears back through the hole it came from and I hear him tucking himself away, zipping his fly, tightening his belt. “I expect you on time next week,” I warn hoarsely, although I know there’s no need. He’ll be there, and he’ll never be late again.
0 notes
Text
Strong Wine by A.J. Demas
Series: Sword Dance, #3
Read time: 2 Days
Rating: 5/5
The quote: “Divine Terza. Yes, of course. And I’m supposed to be the tactician.”
“Yes, dear,” said Varazda, patting his shoulder, “but I’m the spy.” — Damiskos and Varazda
Strong Wine is such a perfect ending to the Sword Dance trilogy. Works on the idea of connection. Though there is a persistent storyline between Sword Dance, Saffaron Alley and Strong Wine, I think they could theoretically be read independently. There is so much more to be enjoyed from reading all of them in sequence. It is worth that knowing, epilogue excluded the Sword Dance series takes place over about six months. It's quite a short time frame. I do really recommend it for a series that plays with gender, sexuality and presentation. Varazda and Damiskos have this wonderful and endearing relationship with boundaries and limits that are respected and diverse family dynamics. I do think it is the only series I have ever read that treats eunuchs with such respect. Respecting humanity, identity and potential for sexual nature.
Onto Strong Wine itself. It could be argued that Sword Dance is Damiskos's story, Saffaron Alley Varazda's, following this line of thought Strong Wine is their story. Unlike the previous two which are single perspectives, this is alternating. As you would expect is a book that starts with a happy and fairly stable couple shenanigans ensue to disrupt them. Some of this is partly their fault. But there is a sweetness to the lack of communication while we are in both Varazda and Damiskos's heads we know they want the same things a life. They both want to live together with Yazata, Ariston, Remi (and maybe Kallisto) in Boukos and both mention a child. But these two are not good with the words. What they are clear on is that family is important. We do get to see growth in the relationship some reflection on where they started. I kinda want to go back and reread Sword Dance just so I can relive their relationship.
On the story. It does well to tie up the plot lines from the previous books and leave readers happy. There is racism in play as the story moves from the more progressive Boukos to the less tolerant Pheme. This racism is of course directed at Varazda and it is handled well, both by him and the author. The racism fits contextually and isn't extreme. It also lets us see a reminder of exactly how ballsy Varazda can be, like confronting Dami's family in full Zash attire. The plot is paced just right and uses the characters to their best advantage. There is very black and white though some people are definitely leaning more one way than the other. Ino is a gem. I liked her instantly as is intended. The lovely lady is a pawn in a game she has no control over, as I'm guessing most women would be in this fictional world. She is written in such a way that it is clear to the reader that there is no threat there and you want her happiness. You want her to have what is hers and to chase her dreams. Better Varazda likes her too. The other great character is Timiskos, Dami's younger half-brother. I just adore him. He's trying and he's sweet and he's been through a bit for his family. I kinda hope that A.J. writes a spin-off with Timiskos as a protagonist.
Have a comment dump.
“You see how happy he is now? You see how the strain is gone from his eyes, how much more easily and genuinely he smiles? I did that.” — (Varazda) There is so much love and pride at this moment and it's beautiful.
Kallisto and her cameo made me smile. She is strong but there are some times when she is shy. And I'm happy about that.
There is something that both Varazda and Dami consider a hamfisted declaration of love or a statement of intention but I really think it's romantic especially for them. Where cohabitation is not done easily.
“I’m not engaged,” he said, because he wasn’t about to begin spinning a web of lies. “But I am not free to marry.” — (Damiskos) This is a polite way to hide the relationship while saying no. But it's still effective.
He snickered at the idea of a dream messenger from Dami. It would have been kitted out in a crisp uniform, and would probably have marched. — (Varazda) And at this moment I was laughing because I could see it.
“No! Five days. And yes.”
“What?” Kallisto pushed him toward a seat at the table. “No, he hasn’t had a letter from Damiskos. It’s been five days since Damiskos left. And yes, Varazda has written him. You and Yazata really need to stop pestering him. Damiskos is his lover.” — (Varazda and Kallisto) I appreciate the love that Asterion and Yatza have for Dami. The ability to acknowledge how happy he makes Varazda.
Varazda’s second letter was short and written in Zashian. It was a passage from the Tales of Suna, carefully copied out: the song of the moon fairy pining for her absent lover. — (Damiskos) This is so romantic. Varazda is a romantic.
Varazda didn’t even glare, in any way worthy of the name—not like Damiskos knew he was capable of glaring—but his look was enough to make Korinna shrink back in her chair. It was deeply satisfying. — (Damiskos) This is such a gift to give a character.
“You’ve taught me so much about love. I don’t think I would have understood, before you, that saying ‘yes’ to my parents over this—sacrificing my happiness for something that wouldn’t really be good for any of us—might be dutiful, but it wouldn’t be loving. You taught me about happiness, too. You make me actually believe in it.” — (Damiskos) Okay so Dami is also a romantic. Just in a different way to his lover.
And Zashians never really understood about suicide, that for Pseuchaians it wasn’t always a choice of sordid desperation, but could be a dignified exit, the last way to do the honourable thing. — (Damiskos) Oh I love this cultural difference. This is quite a common thing, suicide as an honourable act but it can be hard to understand if you aren't raised in that kind of culture.
The only thing I'm kinda sad about in Strong Wine is we don't see anything of Varazda and Damiskos performing, especially Varazda. The series is named for his skill with a blade and ability to dance. But it really is a bit nitpicky.
#strong wine#sword dance#a.j. demas#book review#ktreviews#read 2021#queer#i adore the enby varazda#booklr
0 notes
Text
Anakin and the Jedi Babies: A Child's Ink
Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono
WARNINGS: underage characters get tattoos/piercings
Word Count: 5680
Rating: T
Ships: primarily Gen (Disaster Lineage + Shmi), offscreen JangoShmi, past Obitine, past Anidala
----
Ylliben Skywalker is known as a preternaturally calm and quiet child, serious and pensive.
He jokes. He roughhouses. He is as responsive to tickle attacks and shoulder rides and warm hugs as any other child.
But he is Jetii'Manda, not just Mando'ade, and that fact is impossible to forget.
This is a child that can read before he can speak, a child who can talk at length about 'grassroots antiestablishment propaganda and its influence on rural sociological development' before he can say the words without a lisp. This is a child who looks a man in the eye and tells him to check over his blaster one last time, or it will explode in his hand only minutes into the next engagement. This is a child who is not only willing, but capable of discussing the plausible ramifications of Duke Adonai Kryze's latest decrees with Jaster Mereel himself, while still in possession of all his baby teeth.
(His father is not worried by this. Upset, sometimes, pained and tired, but not worried.)
(His sister only laughs.)
It is, as a result, not as surprising as it could be, when a six-year-old wanders his way into Na-Tsuyon's parlor and asks her what the risks of getting a tattoo at his age are.
"I'm not having that conversation with you unless your parent is here," she says. A few of the other artists crane their heads in her direction, but she waves them off.
"I'm not trying to get it right this moment," Ben protests. "I'm just gathering information. He said that was fine."
"Still need your parent here here," she tells him.
He leaves for about ten minutes, and then comes back with a tall, gangling figure in tow.
"I hear this isn't the place for unaccompanied minors," Knight Skywalker jokes.
(She has heard him called a General. She does not know which war he fought. Nobody does.)
(They no longer ask.)
"Well, he is young," she says, brushing her tentacles back over a shoulder. "I don't let anyone under human-fourteen get tattooed without a parent on hand, and giving preliminary information to anyone under twelve is... generally not worth it, shall we say."
Skywalker smiles, oddly amused in the way he always is when someone points out his children need supervision. "Glad to hear it. Are you the Na-Tsuyon whose name is on the door?"
"I am," she says. "And you're Knight Skywalker."
He's pleased at that. She can feel it in the chemical receptors of her head tails, and wonders. "Yep. So, do we jump right into the discussion or do you need me to sign something, or..."
"No, it's enough that you're here," she assures him. "Now, the main reasons we discourage tattoos for younger sentients is the distortion factor. While the level of pain is much lower than it would have been several millennia ago, and we have the technology to remove ink from below the skin, a tattoo before your body stops growing will distort as you grow and your skin stretches. You would need to come in yearly for touch-ups, to remove the sections that have moved out of place, and fill in where the ink is no longer settled."
"That makes sense," Ylliben says. He looks up at his father, and then back to her. "You'd be able to tell me if any of my choices would be... bad for a Mandalorian, yes?"
"I would," she confirms. She glances up at Knight Skywalker. "I don't suppose you have any history of getting tattoos?"
"No," he says. "I'm from Tatooine, so..."
Different connotations to the very act of it, for him.
She ducks her head in a nod. "I understand. Generally it's easier if the parent has experience in the process, but it's far from mandatory. You're willing to work with the distortion maintenance?"
"Yes'm," Ylliben says, and his father shrugs and gestures, as if the word of a six-year-old is thus law.
"I'll walk you through the details of the process, including the care, relevant allergies, and so on. I don't suppose you have anything in mind already?" she asks.
"I do," he says. He doesn't tell her what it is, yet.
Anakin Skywalker stays there the entire time, and they make an appointment for later in the week.
----
"My buir isn't my only father," Ylliben says quietly, when it comes time to get details on what he's getting tattooed. "I had another father before him. A Jedi. He died, to protect me, and a lot of other people. So, um..."
He shoves a picture to her, the symbol of the Jedi, plain and simple. She looks at him.
"In red," he says, shifting on his feet, looking up at his father and then back down at the page. "For, um, to honor a parent."
"Your first father was a Jedi?" she asks, gentle as she can.
"Mm-hm," Ylliben says. "He died, um... he saved buir from slavery, too, a long time ago. Both my dads were Jedi, and I'm going to be one, too, and so is Sokanth. It's--it's about where I come from, and--"
"You don't have to justify it if you don't want to," Na-Tsuyon tells him, reaching out to place one hand on his. It's very warm and dry, in her opinion, but she finds that most humans are. Mandalorians are some 80% human, or near human.
Nautolan Mandalorians aren't unheard of, but she's a rare one.
Ben sucks in a breath, and says, "I want it up here, on my right shoulder, like a pauldron."
Na-Tsuyon nods, and looks up to Skywalker. "You'll have to sign some papers to approve it, Master Jedi. You approve of the design?"
Skywalker hesitates, and then goes to one knee in front of his son, and speaks so quietly she can only hear "--remind you of the generator complex?"
Whatever Ben's answer is, it's too quiet for her to catch. It satisfies Skywalker, though, and he stands. "Alright, let's see this paperwork."
----
When Ylliben comes in again, a year later to get his slightly-twisting tattoo fixed, it's with Miss Shmi in tow. Na-Tsuyon greets the middle Skywalker, for all that she's still not entirely sure how to address the girl. "I heard you've been attending the university at Sundari. Some kind of engineering?"
"Mechanical, yes," Shmi says, oddly soft. "I'm going to spend another year to specialize in vehicular engineering. I'd like to design starships, since I already know how to fix them."
"A worthy goal," Na-Tsuyon says, as she leads them over to one of the stations and starts sanitizing Ylliben's inked shoulder. She doesn't entirely see why a university education is needed for something that, in her opinion, an apprenticeship could more thoroughly cover. It certainly worked well enough Na-Tsuyon herself. "You're on vacation, then?"
"I am," Shmi confirms. "It's... unfortunate that Anakin couldn't be here a the same time, but we'll see each other in a few days."
Ylliben fidgets for a bit as his jedi symbol is fixed, and then finally asks, "Ori'vod can approve new tattoos, right?"
"Sokanth, no. Shmi..." Na-Tsuyon looks up at her. "I have no idea if you're listed as his legal guardian anywhere, and I'd need proof of that."
"Secondary to Anakin," Shmi confirms. "Ben would like this to be a surprise for Ani."
Ben pulls out a sheet, with a careful design on it, and presses it into Na-Tsuyon's lap when she lifts the tattoo gun and he's not at risk of ruining his own ink. It's simpler than the Jedi symbol, though it's two colors instead of one.
"It's the Open Circle Fleet," Ben says, shy in a way she's given to understand he usually isn't. She thinks his shyer moments may be connected to admitting to emotion, something that he's tying quite closely to his choice of Tattoos. "I thought, um, since I'm already--already honoring one buir, then, er..."
"The Open Circle Fleet was under the command of my brother's Jedi Master," Shmi explains, one hand on Ben's. "And I am given to understand that the symbol was designed as a subtle nod, of sorts, to the two of them as a team. Ben's looking to honor Anakin as he has his first father."
Ben looks down at his lap, and doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes.
"Bring me proof of guardianship," she tells them. "And I'll make sure you get it finished early enough that the bacta comes off before Knight Skywalker makes it home."
She holds true to her word, and talks her way into being there to see the reunion and reveal.
The emotions that cross Skywalker's face are complicated and unexpected in ways that she can't identify.
Then it's all too simple, because he starts crying on little Ylliben in the middle of the hangar.
----
It doesn't take a full year for Ylliben to come in for another set. It's only five months, maybe six. He has a sketch again, a geometric design of something she doesn't recognize, but still pings as familiar for some reason.
"It needs to be the right shade of blue," he tells her, serious as anything. Knight Skwyalker is right next to him, smiling all soft and indulgent, and maybe a little sad. "It's for Soka."
Oh. This is based on her facial markings, then. Or... what they will be, maybe. This doesn't look quite like what she's seen on the girl, but everyone knows little Ben is more touched by visions than his father and sister.
Na-Tsuyon thinks she knows where this is going. "The same blue as her montrals and lekku?"
Ben shakes his head. "No, 501st blue."
Or not.
"It's close, but a little darker and more saturated," Skywalker offers, and shrugs when she looks his way. "It's a long story, but the 501st was the legion I led before I arrived at Mandalore. It had a specific shade of blue assigned for armor paint, so legions could easily identify each other in the field."
That's... odd. She doesn't ask for more detail, though. It's not her business. "Where do you want this one?"
Ben shows her his left forearm and frames a section about two-thirds the length of it, along the outer side. Like a vambrace.
She has a feeling all these symbols will be on his armor, once he's old enough for it.
"Let's go through my inks and see which one will work best," she says, and does not comment on the rest.
----
When Ylliben comes in again, a few months before his next touch-up appointment, he doesn't have an image on hand. His father is trailing him again, and Na-Tsuyon has a guess.
"Time for Shmi?" she asks.
Ben ducks his head, flushing and not meeting Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "Yes'm."
"I thought as much," she says, and smiles at Skywalker. "General."
"Don't start."
"There have been oh so many rumors flying since the last Jedi run-in, you know."
"I don't care," he grouses, dropping into a seat. "Hells, a man takes emergency command for one battle, and it's all anyone can talk about."
"You ended a civil war, sir."
Ben giggles into his hands as Skywalker groans and slaps a hand over his eyes.
"No respect," the man complains. "Ben, be nice to me, I'm your dad."
"Nuh-uh," Ben says. "I know all the most embarrassing secrets."
"A cruel child," Skywalker accuses. "Ruthless."
"You're the one raising me," Ben says, swinging his legs back and forth. He's got plastoid training vambraces, now, and greaves that clink against the legs of the chair.
"Somehow, yes." Skywalker sighs, with great drama and all such things. He drags himself up to sitting. "Anyway. Moving on."
"Do you have something in mind already?" Na-Tsuyon asks.
"Binary suns," Ben says. "Just two overlapping circles, coin-sized, one bigger than the other, in sunset colors. In a gradient, with a sort of... flare to it? Halo? The... oh! The stellar corona. Buir knows the colors better."
"I want to see what you have to work with before I sketch out the design," Skywalker says. "But yeah, sort of pink and yellow and peachy."
"I can do almost any color," Na-Tsuyon promises. "Especially on fair human skin like Ylliben's. I won't have a problem getting those to show up the way I would on myself."
Na-Tsuyon is a color most would call 'aquamarine.' She's a light shade between blue and green, and much as she likes her skin, it's an absolute pain to make red and orange show up.
She can do it.
It's just annoying.
Ben asks for this one to be on the inside of the left forearm, high and opposite to the widest point of the mark for Sokanth.
----
"Can I see your fonts?"
Ben's alone, for the moment, but Na-Tsuyon knows that when he makes his decision, his father or Shmi will approve it without question. It's no harm to let him browse.
"Basic, Mando'a, or Huttese alphabet?" she asks. "Or something more esoteric?"
"Mando'a, please."
He's eight years old, now. He's still far younger than most of her clients, but she's long gotten used to him. Even when he's acting like a child, there's something to it that doesn't quite sit right. 'Born middle-aged,' a few of the other civilians on base had joked.
She wasn't sure if she thought it was just a joke, these days.
Na-Tsuyon passes her fonts book to the boy, and settles back in her chair for a long afternoon of running numbers. He, meanwhile, goes to sit in the lobby, legs still not long enough to reach the floor, paging through with unwavering, unsettling gravitas.
Half an hour, and then Ben returns.
He points to a font. "This one."
"What's it going to say?"
"Vode An," he tells her, as serious as can be. "In black, over my heart. It's important."
"It's a fairly common phrase," she notes idly. "Should be quick."
She doesn't expect much of a response, and certainly not the one she gets.
"It was different for them," Ben mutters, not looking at her. She sees him twisting the toes of one shoe into the floor. "It was... it was different. I can't talk about it. They were brothers, actually brothers, and they had--they had nothing, they were basically slaves, but--"
"You don't have to talk about it," Na-Tsuyon assures him, a hand on his. "You don't have to explain it to me. If it means something to you, that's all that matters. I just need you to be sure."
"And buir to sign the paperwork," Ben quips, smiling at her. She notices that several teeth are missing. It's cute. "You need that too."
"That too," she agrees.
When Skywalker shows up, he hears what it is that Ben would like, and makes a few suggestions for a border--a gear that sounded too much like the Republic's symbol for a Mando'a phrase, a building on stilts from a city she's never heard of on a planet that rings no bells, a human genetic strand for reasons she can't imagine--most of which are soundly ignored, until Skywalker sketched out a stylized ship of... some sort.
"Venator," Skywalker says, and taps the image. "Nobody will know it except us, but it'll mean something to you, for them."
Ben looks at it for a long moment, and then takes the scrap of flimsi with Mando'a on it and lays it overtop the center of the sketch.
He stares at it for a few long moments, and then nods sharply and pushes it to Na-Tsuyon. "This, please."
He's such a polite child.
It makes it easier to ignore the more confusing parts of his presence in her parlor.
----
"Hi!"
Sokanth Skywalker is in her shop.
That's new.
"Hello," Na-Tsuyon says. "I didn't know you were thinking of getting ink."
"I'm not," she says, hopping up on a stool across the counter. She holds out a hand, and Na-Tsuyon clasps it with bemusement. "But you guys do piercings too, right?"
"We do," she confirms. "You're... ten?"
"Yep!" Sokanth chirps, kicking her legs back and forth. "Is that old enough to get these without permission, or should I ask my dad to come by?"
"At least twelve for piercings without in-person, signed approval from a parent or guardian," Na-Tsuyon says. "Though if you're anything like your brother, I don't imagine that'll be a problem for you."
Sokanth grins at her, bright and a little wild. "Nose, bottom lip, eyebrow. I don't know the actual terms, but I know what I want. Which do you suggest getting first?"
"I'd say nostril," Na-Tsuyon tells her. Most species even vaguely humanoid kick off with the ears, but that's not exactly an option for a togruta. "Let me get a chart and you can figure out what type of piercing you want, and what kind of hoop or stud. I don't actually do the piercings myself, though. Comm the General if you want this done today, though."
"Thank you~!"
----
Nostril, labret, and a horizontal brow, the piercer notes down at the end of the latest Skywalker visit. Na-Tsuyon wonders if the brow piercing will look strange with Soka's markings, and then doesn't think on it further.
----
Ylliben, almost nine, is silent as he gets the touch-up.
His father isn't here. Neither is Shmi. It's pre-approved, signed permission and all, but it's still odd that neither of Ben's adults is here.
Sokanth is, but she's almost as quiet as Ben is.
Na-Tsuyon has heard the rumors, but she's not going to say anything. She's not. It's not her business.
"Ben," Soka speaks up, towards the end of the appointment. "Ask her the thing."
Ben shakes his head. "No way."
"She knows more about tattoos and how important they are than anyone!" Soka urges. "Ask her!"
"Do you want to wait for your father?" Na-Tsuyon suggests.
"No!" both immediately yelp.
She pauses, glad the needle hadn't been to skin, and levels a look at Ben. He flushes and settles down, mumbling an apology for jerking as he had. She goes back to fixing the stretch of the binary suns tattoo.
Soka shifts in her seat, watching them intently.
"Shmi's upset with buir," Ben suddenly says. He doesn't meet Na-Tsuyon's eyes. "I'm... I don't know if you heard what's going on."
"I do my best to avoid rumors," she says, keeping her voice as neutral as she can. "I did hear that the Mand'alor is about to have a grandchild, and something about an upcoming wedding. That much has been announced officially."
"Dad freaked out," Soka says, legs kicking back and forth. "He's happy for her, and he's fine with Jango being the other parent, but it kicked off a... philosophical crisis? Ben, what do you think?"
"Metaphysical, maybe," Ben mumbles. "Definitely existential."
"And he told Shmi some stuff and now she's hurt that he didn't tell her before and it's all a mess," Soka finishes. "So, uh, we don't... want either of them involved. Until. Um. Until that's settled."
Na-Tsuyon bites back any deeper questions she might have. "Alright. I won't pry. What did you want to know from me?"
"I had a plan for what I was going to get next," Ben says, staring at the fold of fabric over his sister's knees in lieu of something more pertinent. "A peace lily, on the inside of my wrist, for..."
"You don't have to tell me," she reminds him.
Ben bites his lip, and closes his eyes, and breathes in deep. Neither of the girls comment.
"She was important," Ben finally says. "In the big memories. But she doesn't... she's not... she isn't here. And Jango is. And he's marrying Shmi, and they're having a baby, so I should put a mark down for him first, right?"
"He's gonna be Mand'alor, too," Soka adds.
"He is," Na-Tsuyon says, as neutral as she can.
"He's joining the family," Ben says, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. "And there's going to be a baby, and that's. That's important."
"There's no order that you have to get things in," Na-Tsuyon assures him, squeezing his shoulder in a light gesture of support. "You've prioritized family so far, so I think it would make sense to get a mark for the coming cousin, at least. Unless... is the lily for your birth mother?"
Ben's face twists, uncomfortable for some reason she can't begin to guess at.
"No," Ben says.
"Skyguy's Jedi Master did almost marry her when they were younger," Soka explains. She glances at Na-Tsuyon and then away and at the wall. "They had a whole dramatic 'forbidden romance' thing going on, 'cause Jedi aren't supposed to get married. She died before Ben came into the picture, though."
It's a neat enough explanation.
It feels fake, but much of what the Skywalkers say about their pasts does.
She's sure it's true in some way. In some perspective. From... from a certain point of view, maybe.
"Alright, then," Na-Tsuyon dismisses. "All things aside, I would suggest adjusting your order of tattoo acquisition, but there's no particular requirement by Mandalorian standards. Your choices are rarely anything that intersects with set traditions, nor do you have a historic clan or house that comes with mandates of the sort. It seems that you're leaning towards prioritizing something for the new additions to your family, though; you've made it clear that these things are important to you, and I think you should pursue it if you're comfortable with it."
Ben nods, eyes somewhere far off.
"It'll make him flustered," Soka pushes, kicking lightly at her brother's ankle. "Jan-Jan's still worried you don't like him anymore."
"He is not," Ben huffs. "He's just scared of buir."
"Nah, your opinion matters too," Soka argues. "And you've been avoiding everyone 'cuz Skyguy freaked out and Shmi's upset, so Jango's worried you're mad at him about the baby happening. If you get a tattoo about him, he might actually cry."
"Is that why you want me to take that route?"
"Not the only one," Soka says, utterly guileless. She blinks at him, bright and innocent. "But I definitely do want to see the future Mand'alor crying because you made it obvious he's family now. It'll be funny."
Ben sighs, very clearly being dramatic about it. "Soka, I'm not going to pick a tattoo based on what you think will be funny."
"Imagine his face, though."
Na-Tsuyon doesn't comment at the expressions Ben makes as he very clearly does exactly that.
"Well, kriff," Ben sighs, and Soka giggles at the swear. "I'll have to get a tattoo for Jango, then."
----
Ben is already nine by the time he comes in with his father to actually get the tattoo for Jango's addition to the family. The choice he makes isn't particularly imaginative, but it'll suit well enough. A mythosaur skull, the symbol of the Haat Mando'ade, in a grey the same shade as beskar.
There actually are traditions to this one, specific adjustments to the framing and stylization meant to indicate how one fits into the faction, but also how one is associated with the Mand'alor. Ben is family, and close family, but not related by blood, nor adopted directly by the Mand'alor, rather a relative through the riduur be alor.
Na-Tsuyon explains each element and adjustment in detail, lets them process and agree, until she's taking a needle to Ben's skin once more.
"Will you be getting one for the coming child as well?" Na-Tsuyon asks while shading in a curve of bone.
"Not yet," Ben tells her, quiet and oddly contemplating. "I need to meet them, first. Figure out who they are."
"Sensible," she agrees. There's the usual oddity in his phrasing, and she ignores it as ever. "Did you tell Fett that you were getting this?"
"No, it's intended as a surprise," Ben says, watching her work.
She can almost feel the coming question.
It does not come from the human she expects.
"Do you know any Mando tattoo artists in Little Keldabe?" the General asks, voice low.
She finishes the line she's on, lifts the needle away from skin, and turns to him. "You're leaving for Coruscant?"
"Not yet," Skywalker says. He meets her eyes evenly. "But... soon. The time's coming. A year, maybe two. The Force will let us know when the time is right."
"Uh-huh," Na-Tsuyon acknowledges this. She does not comment further. The Force is not her wheelhouse. If they think it wants them back on Coruscant, with the Temple, then that's what they believe.
"These are Mando work," Skywalker continues, almost painfully earnest, "and I'd like to ensure whoever maintains them until Ben stops growing knows the right way to handle Mando art."
It's really not that different from a standard tattoo artist, but she's a little charmed anyway. Enchanted, almost. The man really does care.
"I can get you some names and addresses next time you stop by," she promises him. "It's been a few years since I checked in on their work, and I'll need to look them over before I make any recommendations."
He smiles at her, relieved in a manner she finds appallingly open for a Jedi like himself.
Ben mimics his father.
----
She gets to attend the wedding, months later.
The food is very, very good.
(Ben waits until the reception to show off his new tattoo, and the future Mand'alor does, in fact, cry.)
(So does Shmi.)
(So does their eight-week-old daughter, but that's probably unrelated to the tattoo.)
----
"Do you think getting a belly button ring would be good?"
Na-Tsuyon doesn't lift her head from her paperwork when Sokanth poses the question to the piercer. She's in for the horizontal brow bar, this time, and the labret is going to be somewhere a few months down the line.
"That's really up to you," the piercer says. His name is Hujnak, and he's a Devaronian that's been working here since Na-Tsuyon opened up the place. She loves him dearly, but he stole the last piece of cake and for that he will have no help with difficult customers for the next fortnight.
Or until she gets bored.
"I'm leaning towards 'no,' but I'm not sure," Soka muses. "I like the idea of it, but I feel like it might get snagged on things more easily. Plus, it's going to be a point of higher damage and pressure if I get a gut punch. It's one of the parts of my body I'm never really going to armor up, you know?"
They do know. There have been screaming matches about all the Jedi's refusal to wear enough armor on many occasions. The Jedi prioritize their agility to such a degree that armorweave is more reasonable than actual armor, in their opinion. This is an opinion that Fett and Mereel both take issue with.
At great volume.
(Shmi has vambraces, a gorget, and greaves, Na-Tsuyon knows. Some of it was exchanged at the wedding. Shmi doesn't wear much armor, certainly less than even the children. Shmi, crucially, isn't a warrior or otherwise planning to see battle.)
"Then I would say it may be best to hold off."
"Phooey," Soka says, though she doesn't seem particularly upset. "Ben's gonna be cooler than me forever, then."
"You think tattoos are cooler than piercings?" Hujnak challenges. "I'm offended."
"He can just get more," Soka protests. "Without it looking weird or getting dangerous, I mean."
Hujnak hums, noncommittal. "And you're worried about being cooler than the younger brother you have told me is, and I quote, the biggest nerd ever?"
"Well, yeah," Sokanth scoffs. "He's gonna start acting older than me as soon as he thinks he can get away with it. I gotta have something to hold over his head, you know?"
"Seeing as you are the older sibling..."
"Ehhhh..."
Nope.
Not paying attention.
----
"These are House Kryze colors."
Ylliben's breath hitches.
He is ten. He doesn't seem ready to provide answers. She turns to the father instead.
"Will that be a problem?" the general asks, calm and even.
"Yes," she says, and Ben slumps. She continues, because this is her job, and for a reason. "Unless you have a ready justification for when House Kryze asks, yes, it will be a problem. If it were a landscape or an animal, it wouldn't matter, but the pairing of the colors and the peace lily is an explicit statement of loyalty to Adonai and his heir, Satine. Unless you've suddenly decided to adjust your political stance to total pacifism instead of your Jedi approach, or have another reason to take on House Kryze colors, I'd warn against it at all, and would refuse to perform the work myself."
Ylliben's eyes are fixed somewhere behind her, and shining wetly.
"Okay," the general says. "Ben, do you have any other pallettes in mind?
"These were her colors," Ben whispers, and then he swallows thickly. "I just..."
"Simplify," Skywalker suggests. He fiddles with a necklace half-hidden in his Jedi layers; the japor one is visible, but a dull gold glint is all Na-Tsuyon can see of the other before it's tucked away again. "She'd understand, yeah? There's political ramifications. Dangerous ones, especially to you."
Interesting thing to say about a woman who, by Soka's earlier statements, died well before Ben was born.
They could at least try to stop dropping hints about their oddities. She doesn't want to know more.
"Lilac," Ben finally decides. "And... pale silver. With a filigree pattern in the shading?"
"I can do that," Na-Tsuyon promises.
She does not ask further.
----
"We're moving to Coruscant in a month."
Na-Tsuyon's head snaps up, head tails jolting almost painfully with the movement.
Sokanth is getting her labret, finally. She's gossiping as Hujnak prepares the tools, as usual, and Na-Tsuyon tries to ignore it when they Skywalkers do that, she does, but...
"You're leaving," she repeats, feeling oddly blank.
"Um... yeah?" Soka answers. She scratches at one stubby montral. "We've talked about it before. I thought you knew."
"I didn't realize it was so soon," Na-Tsuyon defends. She's more upset than she should be. "I thought you'd be waiting until the little princess was older."
Sokanth blinks at her, slow and... not judging, no. Evaluating, maybe.
"I'm almost thirteen," she says, slow and deliberate and heavy. "And Ben's eleven. There's no hard age limit for becoming a padawan, but I'm getting into the peak years for getting chosen, and I've been living here instead of in the Temple. I haven't had years to impress a potential Master like the others. That might not matter; sometimes a Master sees their future student and just knows, but... I need to have other Jedi to spar with, not just Skyguy and Ben. And Ben's visions are getting stronger, and Dad was never that good with his own in the first place, so he's worried about being able to help at all. We could stay longer, but..."
She trails off, and shrugs, and the weighted air disappears. "It's not the same thing as a verd'goten, at all, but it's about the same age, you know? I should be in the Temple for it."
"What would a verd'goten equivalent be?" Hujnak prompts, when Na-Tsuyon fails to find her words. "Being an adult and equal member and all such things?"
"Knighthood," Soka answers immediately. "Dad got knighted when he was twenty, but that's really young, usually. His master was knighted at twenty-five, which was a bit late, but apparently there was a whole dramatic thing going on there that Dad never got all the details about."
"Becoming a Padawan is a sign that your teachers see you as someone that is ready to take on the responsibilities of a Jedi, yes?" Hujnak asks. "That you may not be ready to go out on your own, but that you're old enough to understand your oaths and choose how to follow them, and to protect others?"
Sokanth considers this, and then nods. "Yeah, I guess it's similar to using the verd'goten to gauge if someone's ready to swear the Resol'nare, that way. Still not moving out, and just about entering an apprenticeship, but enough of an adult to make the choice of how to change the world."
"I think most cultures have something like that around the same age," Hujnak comments. "Some do it a bit later in the teens, but it's usually around your age that most... well, most cultures who age at the 'human standard' rate--"
Na-Tsuyon can't help the reflexive snort of derision. Neither can Soka. Hujnak, the closest to human in the room and yet still very much not, smiles like this is exactly what he intended.
"--most who age at that rate do have it somewhere in that eleven-to-seventeen range, I'd think."
Soka shrugs. "Yeah, well. Still gotta go to the Temple for it, you know?"
"Are you going to take the verd'goten at all?" Na-Tsuyon asks, suddenly a little desperate to keep the Skywalkers here, with Mandalore and all its people, just a fraction of a moment longer.
"I don't think so," Soka muses. "I've been thinking about it, but I should probably talk about it with Jango, yeah?"
"Yeah," Na-Tsuyon says, and feels like she's swallowing down around rocks.
----
As it turns out, the timing is very deliberate. Three weeks later, Jaster transfers the title of Mand'alor to his son.
(Though Na-Tsuyon does not know this, twenty-six is older than Jango was when he lost the title, once upon another life.)
There is a week of festivity. There is food, and drink, and dancing. Some people get married. Some people make announcements of impending births. Some people reveal songs they composed in preparation for this very day.
For a week, Mandalore celebrates a new king.
Then, the Jedi and his children leave.
(Ben gives Na-Tsuyon a hug before he goes.)
(She tries to understand why she feels like she's losing something when he does.)
#Obi Wan Kenobi#Anakin Skywalker#Ahsoka Tano#Shmi Skywalker#JangoShmi#Jango Fett#Disaster Lineage#star wars#time travel#de aging#mandalore#mandalorian culture#phoenix posts#Anakin and the Jedi Babies#tattoos#original characters#outsider pov#this is part one of three I think#it's two in the diddly darn morning and I am going to bed
514 notes
·
View notes
Text
Perfect Imperfections.
Jeon Jungkook x OC
Genre : Arranged Marriage AU! Angst! Explicit Sexual Content.
Rating : 21+
Warnings : Ableism , Chronic disability. OC has limited use of her left leg, Emotional infidelity? Mild Cheating ( nothing very physical.. a kiss or so )
Summary : Marrying Jungkook is a mistake. Falling in love with him? Definitely the worst exercise in masochism .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[ This is nothing but me indulging my love for writing bad cliches. That is it. Its literally a fest of cliche k drama tropes]
Chapter 1
After the accident, my life had become something of a stagnant pond.
Everyday began much the same.
The alarm, mild but not jarring. Not very shrill but definitely insistent, sweeping away any lingering traces of sleep. I blinked awake, cobwebs of exhaustion still marring my vision but a few deep breaths, a few more blinks and I was awake .
And now came the harder part.
Getting my legs to work.
It never got better, despite the many years that I’d spent in physiotherapy. All it really did was stop it from getting worse. Or maybe I’d just gotten used to the pain at this point.
Deep breaths helped. Sometimes.
But not today.
“Mrs Jeon?” The familiar voice made me jump a little.
“Sana...” I said, relieved. “ Could you come over? Seems like I’m going to need some help today.” I laughed nervously, gripping the sheets harder.” Could you help me sit up?”
The girl moved closer, feet nimble and quick and sure and i felt my throat clench in envy. I swallowed it down though, just the way I swallowed every bad thing that came my way.
It had been eight years ago.
A fall from a fifty feet ravine. Cuts and scrapes all over my body, abrasions all over my torso. And legs that had absolutely shattered on impact. Multiple fractures. Motor Nerve Damage on my left leg.
The skin stitched together. The bones grew back.
But the nerve damage stayed.
I wasn’t completely helpless. I could walk with the brace. Slowly and with a mildly awkward gait but I could walk. Even better if I was using crutches.
But it wasn’t something I could hide.
People looked at me and that was the first thing that they noticed.
The girl who couldn’t walk.
I sat still, gripping the edge of the bed as Sana carefully grabbed the brace and helped me put it on. I watched as she carefully set the loops in place, fixed the velcro and finally helped set my toes in place.
“Thank you.” i whispered and she nodded.
“Mr. Jeon left early. He said that he won’t be home tonight.”
I smiled a little.
“I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to be caught between us. It must make you feel uncomfortable.” I said .
She looked surprised but quickly ducked her head
“No, Mrs. Jeon.”
I sighed.
“You may leave. I’ll come down soon.” I said quietly.
How handsome he looked, in that beautiful dark suit. How strong and handsome and ...whole.
Right next to a framed article about us from a magazine.
Jungkook ran marathons and trained as a boxer. He worked as the managing director at a steel manufacturing unit . Spent his days overseeing workers in the smelting units, and everyone knew that it wasn’t uncommon to see the Jeon heir, shirtless and sweaty and covered in dirt and getting down and dirty with all the other workers as the ore got delivered.
Someone like that... Someone that perfect.... Deserved a woman who would be an equal. Beautiful and graceful and perfect. And he had had her. My sister. For three years, I’d watched my sister and Jungkook be the perfect couple . Deeply in love and so happy.
I watched her leave, gently closing the door behind her, before shifting my gaze to the large portrait on the opposite side of the wall. It was a picture of my husband and I taken on the day we got betrothed.
What they hadn’t counted on was how greedy our parents could be.
Jungkook was the younger son. And his father had long written him off as unreliable. He was wild and headstrong. Had his own ideals and morals. Wouldn’t really bend to his father’s will. So his brother was the one who would be set to inherit the company.
And my father , with his billion dollar empire wasn’t going to give away his precious daughter and all of her inheritance to a paltry second son.
Jungkook’s brother had married my sister. And Jungkook had been forced to marry me. A comedy of errors , except it wasn’t really funny and no one was laughing.
I swallowed. That was seven months ago. The first few weeks had gone in stony silence and hushed whispers. I knew he was talking to my sister. Knew she was sobbing in despair on the other end. My sister and I had never gotten along. And now, she had a genuine reason to despise me.
Three months into marriage he had a small accident at the Manufacturing Unit.A small fall, not that far. Ten feet or so, but he’d crashed into a steel structure on his way down. He had a dislocated shoulder and some flesh wounds. Not that bad.
But my entire body had gone ice cold at the news, when i first heard it.
It was a brutal sort of realization.
That perhaps I wasn’t as indifferent to him as he was to me. Six weeks, with him had changed things. He didn’t talk much, other than the bare minimum but I didn’t hold it against him. I helped him anyway I could. Typed out emails for him. Helped him eat and change.
Hands brushing and time spent together meant tension. And a shift in the way he looked at me, sometimes. I noticed, wasn’t sure if I could act on it. But he was still my husband. And I didn’t really want to spend the rest of my life celibate.
So, even though it was so unlike me... I’d made the first move. Linked my fingers with his. Brushed my lips across his. A gesture that meant a hundred things. A touch that invited more. And he must’ve wanted it, at least physically. Because he indulged me. Gave me a glimpse of heaven on his bed.
And yet, six weeks of being as close as two humans could be didn’t change much.
We were strangers who slept together. Who appeared in public together. Who did everything our family expected of us. And I wasn’t sure how to bridge that awkward gap between us. Jungkook was a fiercely physical person. His free time was spent in the gym , or cycling or hiking.
I couldn’t walk across the room without having to grip the walls for support every few minutes.
Could anyone blame him for being bitter? For being distant? For not knowing what to do with me?
And in all this time , I’d only learnt a handful of things about my husband. How he felt on top of me. How he sounded when he came, how he looked eyebrows furrowed as he talked into his phone and of course, how little he cared about me.
Yes, we would have sex. Yes, he bought me a couple of gifts when he was overseas. But otherwise his heart belonged to my sister. It wasn’t something he hid.
As the days passed, I realized that it was time to keep myself safe. That I couldn’t show him all of me anymore. He was careful with me, guarded and secretive because he was smart. He didn’t want me to know anything about him.
There was a reason. There had to be.
So the best thing to do would be to do the same. Build that distance between us. This was going to crash and burn someday and I had to
And the past few weeks, he’d been busy with more deals. Some kind of MoU with some supplier had gone south and they were looking for different suppliers. Jungkook was busy. I hadn’t seen him in ten days.
And now apparently he had come home and left without so much as seeing me.
Sighing, I moved to the garden, walking slowly to the marble bench set under the large sweetgum tree. I settled down , sighing. I ran a palm over my belly, soft and hesitant.
I was two and half months along. It didn’t show...thanks to the oversized clothes I wore. But it wasn’t the kind of thing you could hide forever. I wasn’t sure why I started hiding it in the first place. It was just that.... I knew that no one would be happy for me. My family would be ecstatic but for the wrong reasons.
I could already imagine .
Finally. Now he can’t leave you.
I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of it. At the thought of someone talking about my baby like some sort of handcuff to lock Jungkook in.
I would have to tell him. Of course. But I didn’t know when or how . I didn’t want to hide it from him. There was no point. But ... I wasn’t quite sure i wanted to see that look of helpless disappointment in his face.
The sound of his car drew me out of my reverie and I startled, glancing over at the wide driveway. I glanced at the time . It was a little past eleven in the morning. What was he doing here?
“Leah! Get inside!” Jungkook’s voice rang out and I jumped.
“Jungkook?” I stared as he all but jumped out of the car rushing to me.
“Come on.. get up.”
“What’s going on..?” I asked, heart pounding as he gripped my elbow, drawing me into his arms.
“Dad fucked up. Got mixed with some shady bastards and apparently, they’ve put a hit out on me and hyung.”
My heart dropped.
“What?!!” I choked out, stunned. “ Jungkook...” My fingers curled over his chest, clutching the
“Don’t worry... we know who it is and we have guys of our own. They’ll take care of it. No one comes for a Jeon and lives to tell the tale. I just wanted to make sure you stayed in. Don’t go anywhere. there are guards all over the place. but i want you to stay home. Okay? Just till this blows over?”
I flinched, legs aching fierce as he led me up the stairs and he stared at me, eyes dripping with worry. The look was so foreign....so unlike the indifference I was used to that I could only stare.
“Are you alright?” He asked urgently and I nodded quickly, hands curving over my stomach instinctively.
“You’ll stay here right? With me...?” I asked softly and Jungkook hesitated.
“I... I need to go check on Lisa.” He said stiltedly and I froze at my sister’s name.
“She’s with her husband, right?” I asked sharply, anger building out of pure fear. “ Why do you-”
“Don’t question me. Go in. Now.” He said quickly and I frowned.
“You don’t have to go there. She has a husband of her own.” I said quietly, voice shaking.
“I have to. I... I have to just go make sure she’s alright.” He snapped angrily and I curled my fingers into fists.
Apparently, even when there was a very real threat to our lives, he would rather risk my life and his than let go of his obsession for my sister. i wanted to vomit. My skin felt clammy and my heart raced. I imagined him doing this when we had a kid....risking our child because he can’t stop thinking of her.... And he would do it..... Of course he would.
“Then go.” i snapped, tears filling my eyes . I yanked my arm out of his, stumbling a bit.
Jungkook looked shocked.
“Leah...” He reached for me but I pulled back and away.
“Go to her and don’t you dare come back here.” I screamed. Jungkook stiffened.
“Leah... enough.”
“You’re right. I’ve had enough . Of your dirty pining. Of you. She’s married for god’s sake. To your brother. They’re together. Its over and done with. Why can’t you just accept it and move on?!!” I choked out. My chest hurt.
“You knew I loved her when you married me.” He snapped back and I laughed in disbelief.
“Yes. And you knew I’d break someday. That I’d someday have enough of you treating me like I was disposable. Isn’t that why you kept at it for so long? You wanted me to be the one break things off right? So you could get out of your father’s anger...unscathed. Well, guess what. You got your wish.... I’m done!! “
He didn’t reply.
“Go inside. I have to go.” He said softly.
I watched as he turned on his heel and stalked back down the driveway.
Was it supposed to hurt this bad? My heart felt a bit like it was cleaving in two. Had I really just told him I had enough? What did that mean? Was I going to leave him? I felt my head spin , worry and fear laced with disbelief.
Someone was out to kill him? How could he be so flippant about it?
I shook my head. The Jeon’s were a weird bunch. Although they were one of the richest families in our society, they lacked any of the charming social graces that came with it. For years, everyone had kept them at arm’s length because while all other families had aristocratic roots and beginnings, the Jeon’s came from a background of mining iron ore and making steel : a rugged and dirty business.
The only reason my father had agreed to
And was I really going to leave him? where did I even begin? I couldn’t leave. I had no home to go to. My parents would take one look at me and send me back to Jungkook. I felt like a prize fool. I was stuck here. For eternity. That was all there was to it.
A decade ago, I’d had a future. But that evening on that mountain trail had changed my life forever. I was , for all intents and purposes disabled. I couldn’t just walk out of here and build a life for myself. I wouldn’t last a day.
I dragged myself to the living space, stopping when i saw how deserted the place looked.
There were usually people bustling about. Especially so close to lunch.
“Sana!!!” I called out, only to be met with the echoing silence of my own voice. And then a few seconds later she appeared ,
“Mrs. Jeon.... Is Mr. Jeon here?”
“He just left... Is everything okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Where is everyone? Are all of you busy?” I asked nervously.
She bowed. “ Yes, ma’am.... The rest of us are cleaning out the pantry and Cook’s in the kitchen. Seul and Leejin are out in the backyard cleaning the statues near the koi pond. Mr. Jeon’s asked all the footmen and guards to stay around the perimeter. Will you need anything else?
“No... I’ll just rest till lunch.” I said gently, waving her off.
She left.
The eerie silence that followed told me there was nothing to do but embrace the loneliness and I hesitated, moving slowly to the window and peering out. I couldn’t see any of the guards either.
My fingers shook a little as I moved slowly to the entryway that led into the dining space. It was dark in here, the light from outside only illuminating the west wall which had large windows set in. I moved to the windows and stared out into the Jeon estate.
Although Jungkook was the younger brother, he had been taxed with maintaining and caring for the family estate. Not because his father trusted him but because the old man knew just how much Jungkook hated the place.
I played with my wedding ring as i remembered the countless times I’d watched the two of them fight, Jungkook coldly still while his father hurled abuses at him. Jeon Jaesook considered his son to be incompetent and disobedient, which made little to no sense to me.
As far as i knew Jungkook had helped increase production and had cut down operating costs significantly over the seven years that he’d been working as the managing Director at Jeon Steelworks.
But it was obvious the old man favored Jihyun, Jungkook’s older brother. Jihyun worked in the air conditioned offices located in Gangnam, the CEO taking care of all their sales and marketing while Jungkook , who had an actual degree in Business spent his days slaving away at the smelting Units, a job that was physically and mentally exhausting.
And while it always made my stomach twist, this unfair treatment he got subjected to, there wasn’t much i could do. My father had made it clear that he wouldn’t agree to the investment, unless both his daughters married the Jeon brothers. And Jungkook’s father had made it clear that if Jungkook didn’t agree , he would be out on the streets without a penny to his name.
My leg began aching and I turned back around ready to go settle into my workroom where I usually worked on my writing when I heard his footsteps. I glanced up, frowning.
Jungkook stood in the doorway staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face.
I stared at him for a few seconds, waiting for him to say something.
When he didn’t, I sighed.
“Did you think I was going to leave?” I asked bitterly.
He sighed.
“I’m not going to cheat on you. “
I nodded.
“I suppose you want me to thank you for that?” I shook my head. “ You don’t have to keep your worthless vows. Go sleep with her. Why would it make a difference to me?”
He exhaled sharply.
“I thought you understood.” He said sharply.
“I did. I do.” I said curtly “ I understand that my parents screwed the two of you over. I understand that you had to do something you absolutely did not want to. But there’s something you need to understand too. Just because I’ve accepted this, it doesn’t mean I enjoy it. It doesn’t mean I have to be happy about my husband being in love with another woman, much less my own sister.”
Jungkook nodded.
“Right. Got it. “ He said curtly and I flinched when another muscle twitch told me I’d been standing for too long.
“I’m going to go lay down.”
“Do you need me to get you a heating pad? For the leg? Or send one of the girls to massage your legs?” He asked softly, stepping closer and lightly gripping my elbow when my knees buckled.
I didn’t have much choice than to grip his forearm, because the pain was intensifying from pins and needles to proper muscle spasms. Sweat began to bead on my upper lip and i felt just a little faint.
“Yes. “ I said , feeling pathetic. I should have used the crutches. It had been a bad day even when I woke up. I should have sensed it and taken the proper measures.
“Leah... Should I run a warm bath for you? “ Jungkook's lips brushed my ear when he leaned to hold my weight up and i stiffened.
“That won’t be necessary. I just need help back up to the bed, thank you.” I said shortly. He looked uncertain and shook his head.
“ okay, but I’ll get Sana to run you a warm bath and make you some willowbark Tea.” He said quietly, and when I stumbled a bit on the first step he swore.
“This isn’t going to work.... Come here.” He said gruffly and before I could protest he bent low, gripping the back of my knees and pulling me up into his arms.
i swallowed, head spinning as I cradled the curve of my lower belly.
Tell him... Tell him... Tell him...
I felt my head throb as I kept my arms wrapped tight around his shoulders.
“I’m pregnant .” i blurted out.
Jungkook stumbled , nearly sending the both of us tumbling down the flight of stairs and i clung to him in terror. Okay, maybe the timing could have been better.
“What?” He looked ashen. Like he’d seen an actual ghost.
“Just thought you should know.” I muttered under my breath.
We reached the landing and he didn’t say anything, looking away from me, his jaw taut and lips set in a thin line. I felt my throat go sandpaper dry. He waited till we were safely in the confines of our bedroom, placing me down on the bed gently and moving to close the door and lock it.
I stared up at the ceiling, refusing to look at his face.
“ Leah-”
“Its fine. You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t know till a week ago myself.”
Silence.
“Have you told your parents?”
I exhaled sharply.
“No.”
“Mine?”
“No...”
“Then would you consider.... “ He trailed off and i finally stared at him.
“No.” I said softly.
He sighed.
“Alright. Should I book an appointment with Dr. Lee?”
I laughed.
“How very practical of you..” i said.
“What else do you expect from me..”
“Not even an ounce of support, that’s for sure.” I snapped and he growled.
“You want me to lie? Fine.. I’m happy!! So fucking happy that we’re bringing an innocent kid into our fucked up family. ” He shouted.
This was why I didn’t want to tell him, I thought bitterly.
“You��re the only one who’s fucked up, Jungkook. I’m perfectly fine with myself and my choices. I can give my baby all the stability they might ever need.”
“ That’s not hat I'm talking about. do you know what its like to grow up with parents who can’t stand each other?” Jungkook shouted.
I gaped at him. Can’t stand each other? Is that how he saw us?
“As long as you don’t walk out on us, we’ll be fine.” I muttered despondently.
“ Don’t worry about that. I’m not going to run away from my responsibilities. ” He said quietly.
I finally turned to look at him, placing both my hands on my stomach.
“Do you want me to leave you?” I asked honestly.” Have you ever thought about it?”
He didn’t say anything.
“So you have.” I smiled sadly. It wasn’t surprising but it did hurt.
“Of course I have. You’re Lisa’s sister and Lisa is my... “ He paused, shaking his head, “ But, I know you can’t. I don’t expect you to either.” He said gruffly, grabbing the intercom.
I watched as he called the housekeeper, firing off instruction for Sana and then to the cook to send some tea for me. He hung up and turned to me again.
“Lisa and I are going to go to Japan for a week. She has a conference there and I’m going to scout for locations just in case we open up a distribution office there.”
I turned away.
“ You don’t have to tell me all that. You didn’t before, i don’t want you to start now.” I said firmly.
He didn’t reply and i turned back to stare at the ceiling.
Jungkook hovered for a few seconds before moving closer to the bed and grabbing the comforter and a couple of pillows. I felt a lump in my throat as he carefully picked my leg up, placing the pillows underneath. i was almost numb from the thigh down.
i closed my eyes as he carefully pulled the comforter over my waist, folding it over my chest.
“Rest well.” He said quietly before walking away. i heard the door opening and then closing.
i waited till I heard his footsteps fades away before opening my eyes and staring at the ceiling.
I should probably put some paintings up there, I thought.
Author’s Note : This entire fic can be summed up as me not having any self control.
#jungkook arranged marriage#bts arranged marriage#bts fic#bts arranged marriage fic#bts smut#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#jungkok fanfics#bts famnfics#bts fanfics
392 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mirrored Heart (captain rex x fem!reader)
rated: 18+ explicit
word count: 5.6k
warnings: smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, blow jobs, clone space racism?
a/n: ANYWAY HERE IT IS. ive had this draft saved since like a year ago and just now finished it. anyway kwjrkejh here YALL GO. also thank you @jango-fettish FOR LETTING ME BORROW SYRENA
It's curious.
Well, you, as a whole are curious—completely outside the realm of what Rex considers normal. As far as senators go, that is.
You're grumpy for one—worse than Skywalker and far more snide than Kenobi—a near gargantuan task bordering impossible. Wit and cleverness come to you easier than breathing, but it's your unwavering kindness towards himself and his brothers that sticks out like a blaster burn against alabaster white walls.
He passed it off as a joke—some sort of mockery. Rex’s existence has been full of them. The past year it’s been made glaringly clear as to what the clones are to the people of the republic—tools. Mindless war machines dressed with flesh and bone, heart and sinew instead of durasteel and a circuitboard. Humanity has been skimmed over with excuses and debates over the hollow argument that clones were created for the sole purpose of war—nothing more. Ignorance is bliss when you are not the one fighting tooth and nail for petty skirmishes and the survival of your family.
Ithyea, your home monarchal planet, is a newer member of the Galatic Republic—one of the firsts to advocate for clone rights—cutting through each argument with the steel headed javelin of hope and determination. Controversial in the eyes of the galaxy but no less than true. Yet with controversy, comes chaos.
Wedged between Takodana and the Cerean Reach hyperspace lane—it’s an essential key to accessing more neutral space sectors without stepping on any toes. While the planet does mirror the size of a larger than average moon, there’s nothing but grandeur with the cutting edge advances in space travel and military innovations. An arts district too, one that’s presented multiple times for the Senate apparently. Rex has yet to see it. It’s an easy guess as to why Ithyea has gone under pointed attacks from the Separatists—it’d be foolish not to try.
And of course comes the intergalactic mess of politics. You are not Ithyea’s first senator. Or second…or third. Just in the last six months, three of your predecessors have been picked off—two disappearances and a suspicious poisoning sandwiched between them. Which sides these assassinations stem from is anybody’s guess—a mix of both perhaps—all to silence and stamp the voice of your people out.
Heavy are the shoulders that wear those abhorrent senatorial robes, and Maker did it take some convincing for another Ithyean to step to the chopping block. It’s just…no one thought it’d be you. The infamous captain of King Arrian Felian’s elite guard—trained in combat levels high enough to contend some of those within the ranks of the Jedi Order. When your name comes up in conversation, it certainly doesn’t scream diplomacy.
Rex is not surprised that you hold the current record of Ithyean senators for surviving the longest. Evading an astonishing two attempts on your life by the skin of your teeth. You were just downright lucky the third assassin missed their mark. Sure, the blade of Syrena Aster skimmed the right side of your cheek and left behind a nasty scar to remember her by, but kriff—even with your background and low levels of public presence, you’re a high priced target. Whoever placed an order with the Heretics, really wants to see you six feet under.
Rex hasn’t been given the full report on exactly who the Heretics are—a rag tag bunch of untrained Force users and skilled assassins from what he’s gathered—but regardless, this attack is just the beginning. Until the Senate and the Jedi are able to retract the price on your head, you’re stuck under protective custody. Usually ushered away into the Jedi Temple or tagging along with General Kenobi and Skywalker. Despondently, no matter the circumstances of your protection, it can’t shield you from the dreadful invitations to senatorial luncheons.
And yes, you tried to slip by for this one.
You don't brush elbows with other senator’s like many of the members in the Jedi Order and your own cohort do. In fact, you actively avoid even speaking to them unless necessary, let alone stand in the same room with seven of them. Odd for an elected official of diplomacy such as yourself to be so cold shouldered—Rex would think senators wanted to mingle.
It's curious because you're standing in plain sight and yet no one pays you any passing thought. General Kenobi and Skywalker hold the majority of their attentions, shoulders already taught with exasperation at keeping everyone from tearing out each other's throats for, kriffing five minutes. Yet you...you are completely at ease, leaning up against a stone pillar, observing the unfolding chaos from afar with a keen eye.
Before Rex realizes he's stepping towards your position, you glance over and dip your chin in greeting. The ghost of a smirk pulls at your normally grim facade—his heart skips. "Captain."
"Senator," he mimics, posting himself to your right. There’s still a thin, healing scab from the assassin’s blade that extends from the swell of your cheek to your ear. Ouch. “Enjoying the evening?"
You snort. "Hardly enjoying it, Rex."
Stars—you shouldn't be allowed to say his name. Your words are razor-sharp like a jagged vibroblade, meant to jab and pierce through armor—tear a person to pieces without having to lift a finger. Everything about you is rough, gritty, brutal, unbecoming of what a senator should be, but—
You mouth his name, purring out the singular syllable with such tenderness that it's like a punch to the gut.
It's hard to swallow and he needs to clear his throat—an embarrassing act on his part, but your attention has already returned back towards the meandering senators. "How d'you mean?"
"Well," you sigh, "let's just say smalltalk isn’t my strong suit."
"Aren't you senators s'pposed to like diplomacy n' such?"
Your thumb smoothes over your bottom lip in thought as you shrug. "Diplomacy? Sure. Politicians? Can’t say I like them. I just—"
You wave your hand around, gesturing vaguely to the crowd. "I just don't understand why they can't say what they mean. Telling someone to have a nice day shouldn't entail certain death, y'know?"
"Speaking from experience?" He teases, gently prying into that harder than beskar wall you've created for yourself. There's fissions in your foundation and he means to tear it down all for just a mere scrap of information.
Your eyes flick over, your lips curling into a vulpine grin. “Perhaps...Though, it was partially my fault, I have to admit.”
“You’ll have to tell me the story sometime, Senator.”
You nod. “Yes, one day—when there aren’t so many political ears jumping at the chance of gossip.”
A swell of laughter interrupts your chat, your attention gravitating to Obi-Wan—ever the charmer with the crowds. The end of your mouth pulls into a frown as you sigh and carefully scratch at your brow with the back of your thumb. Rex might be pulling at straws, but what he mistook as you being standoffish may just be your nerves. Socially awkward and flustered when speaking in such an intimate setting.
Rex’s first instinct is to reach out and place a hand over your shoulder in comfort, but he’s not sure how you’ll respond to the touch. Flip him over your shoulder probably—
Instead he forces himself to jumpstart the conversation—something to distract from your anxieties. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“ His heart beat kicks up into a flurry of wild beats as you turn you head. “What uh..wh—did you want to become a senator?”
He likes it when you smile—like you’re letting him on some sort of coy secret. You shift your weight and shrug. “The king asked me personally. I’m flattered he thinks I’m clever enough—insulted he sends me to these abysmal gatherings like some sort of show pony.”
Rex chuckles. “Yeah, can’t say I like ‘em either.”
“Although…” Your thumb runs over your lip again, a sparkle of mischief igniting behind your eyes. “As a senator, I do get the occasional tidbit of gossip. Here, I’ll catch you up—“
The captain startles when you snatch his elbow and yank him closer. Maker he’s glad for his helmet because your lips brush against his earpiece as he leans down to reach your height.
“Look." You whisper, nodding casually in the direction of a particularly young senator with a shock of white hair. She's swathed in a pool of royal blue silk, much too large for her tiny frame, and all but hanging off Skywalker's arm with glittered nails filed into points. "That is Senator Ceci Paare of Corellia. She looks innocent, no?"
She does. Wide, crystalline green eyes stare up at the Jedi Knight as a pretty giggle escapes past her ruby painted lips. Skywalker grimaces.
"I quite like her," you continue with a sly grin. "Even if she does try to influence public opinion by an invitation to bed."
There's no time to process as you focus in on an older man. His hazy blue skin, ash white lips and vermillion green eyes cut an almost nightmarish profile, accentuated by mountains of black robes. Rex can’t recall what planet the senator represents. The senator holds his head stiffer than rebar to keep the ornate golden circlet from slipping off, his white lips curling in distaste as Orn Free Taa of Ryloth places a meaty hand over his slender shoulder.
"He is Lord Tal’en Sol Ra'ah. Cunning, but sympathetic to the pleasures of gambling."
It's a game to you—of perceptions and nuances only a trained eye can roll over. Rex expects nothing less. This sort of thing has been hammered into the very essence of your being since you were little—reading an enemy before they can strike. It works on politicians marvelously well.
Truth be told Rex should be paying more attention—but the closeness of your face to his helmet is maddening. His heart twists and coils as your bare hand skims along his gloved one—kriff. He’s not gonna make it before he bursts into a thousand little pieces.
Rex’s spell of lovesick yearning recedes as you swear under your breath. It was only a matter of time before someone approached your little corner.
"Oh, Maker save me," you hiss under your breath as a young Mirialan saunters over, the swatches of rich red and brilliant gold accentuate his violet skin like a bloody bruise. "Pretend you're speaking with me."
"I am speaking with you," Rex snorts.
Your hand waves in dismissal as your brows stitch together, hands balling into fists. Your jaw clenches as the senator in question puts on a dazzling smile. You look downright panicked. Rex has witnessed you face down numerous senators older than dirt and close to blowing away in the wind with plucky fervor, assassination attempts, being held captive, and you're frightened…by this?
This is too good.
Rex has half a mind to help you, wheel you away from your little predicament, but his intrigue with seeing your oh-so-solid resolve crumble is much too valuable and entertaining to pass up. He's going to remember this for years.
"Rex."
"Senator," he mimics, not at all frightened by your poisonous glare. "Some diplomacy might do you good."
You begin to snarl out a threat but are decidedly cut off by your object of horror planting himself before your hiding spot. You cower into the corner like a boxed in loth-cat. "Ah, my favorite Ithyean! I had begun to worry you would not make it, my dear friend."
"Senator Lin," you sigh. The smile you offer is tight and thin; a nervous one much in the same way one would be if presented with a box of toenails for a birthday gift. “How pleasant to see you."
Senator Lin’s deep violet lips part with an easy smile. He waves a hand in dismissal, his silver rings glinting in the warm lighting. "Please—call me Toluka. No need to bother with such formalities between companions."
Rex suddenly understands your trepidation with the Mirialan—he’s slimy. And, not to mention, not at all ashamed with the lecherous looks as his eyes sweep down your body. Rex clenches his teeth and folds his arms behind his back. He’s regretting not heeding your warning now…
Try as you might through brutal small talk and chilly answers, Senator Lin refuses to take the hint. A dark plume of venom green lashes through Rex’s chest as the Mirialan places a friendly hand over your shoulder. You grimace as Rex bristles and glares through the visor of his helmet.
Senator Lin’s lips pull into a gaudy smile as he glances at Rex and then at you.“My dear, don’t you know? It’s not worth wasting your time with a clone. After all, they’re all the same person. How boorish—come join us at the table.”
Your teeth bite into your cheek as your temper, like the silver of blade through the darkness, cuts through your steely irises. With poised nonchalance, you lift your hand and pinch Senator’s Lin’s fingers between your own and pry them off your shoulder. “Is that so?”
“Your campaign, valuable as it may be,” Lin continues, “is a useless endeavor. They are not our equals and never will be--you must know that."
Rex forces himself to remain calm—collected and certainly not imaging a thousand and one ways he’d like to see his fist breaking the fragile bones of the senator’s face.
"Fine buttons stitched upon your shoulders do not compel your worth, Senator,” the harshness of your words is a blow straight to Lin’s ego. His well-groomed brows furrow drastically as his tongue struggles to play catch up and find words to repair his shattered pride.
There’s no chance for Senator Lin to regain his footing as your snatch Rex’s wrist and sweep him out into the hall. Rex can feel your anger roll off of you in waves, frighting and holding the same caliber of roaring waves thundering against black, craggy rocks. It’s a miracle the night didn’t end with your hands wrapped around the senator’s throat or a blaster shot through the chest.
When you reach the lower halls of the cruise ship is when you release Rex’s wrist. You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers and release a long, dramatic sigh.
"You are worth far more than that pompous ass," you say with enough edge to slice through a droideka's shields. "He has no right to say those things to you."
“It’s alright,” Rex soothes, placing a hand over your bristling shoulder. “I’ve heard worse.”
Your features scrunch up into a wince. “That...that doesn’t mean you have to suffer through more of it, Rex.”
Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and loosen the heavy outer robes strung around your shoulders. You shrug out of them and fold the thick swaths of fabric over you arm—revealing the under layers of your uniform. You toss the bundle of fabric to the floor with a disgusted grimace and sit on the cargo crate closest to your left.
“Really—it’s ok.” Rex assures again. “I—“
You hold up a hand and shake your head. His mouth snaps shut. “I won’t hear it. To me you are nothing short of perfect and I refuse to argue about it. Maker knows I already do that for a kriffing living.”
There’s a fragile lull in the hollow space—the distant chatter of voices and strange music collecting in the corners. You stand once again, toe to toe with the Captain and there it is again, that elated pitter patter of his heart thrumming through his veins. The nerves of being so close to you—you sweet face and not being able to touch you.
“Let me see your face.”
His hands come up to the edges of his helmet without hesitation, a hiss of hair escaping the seal once he pries it off. You smile and take a step closer until the only thing separating you and him is his helmet.
Rex’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into your hand you gingerly place over his jaw. “I wish the entire galaxy could see you through my eyes,” you whisper, the warmth of your soft palm radiating out and warming his entire body.
It’s a matchstick to kerosene—his helmet clatters to the ground and there’s only a second to spare as both hands move to cup his cheeks, dragging him into a mouthwatering kiss.
He hasn’t kissed many people—save for those rare times at 79’s, head swimming under the haze of one too many shots of Corellian fire whiskeys where he could barely distinguish his ass from his hand. Those drunken make-outs were nothing like this.
No—this…this is what a kiss should be like.
He dreams about you all the time—so constantly ravenous that all he can feel some days is pure ache. Every and all words that spin around his head starts with you and finishes with his pounding heart close to bursting free from his ribcage. Not in the same way a flood rips through an unsuspecting village—more like the brilliance of a thousand doves, marble white plumage thrashing free from their gilded cage. Your lips taste like the core of a newborn star—scorching and yet still so sweet upon the tongue the same way caramelized sugar sticks to the roof your mouth. You are his first and last everything.
There’s a certain kind of tragedy hidden beneath your tongue, fragile promises and the eggshell thin shards of hope stapled to the roof of your mouth. Rex will take it—seize any threadbare strand and run with it—spool it into the palm of his hand until you’re wound so tightly together it’ll be impossible to untangle.
Just when the dizziness sets in from elation and not enough air, you part and leave a sticky trail of warm kisses up his jaw. Rex groans and hugs you closer, you humid breath blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.”
The words on his tongue crumble to ash once he nods in agreement. Your kisses dip lower, not even stopping when the reach the edge of his chest plate. Stars, you’re…he never entertained the idea that your lips could look so divine in contrast to the battered plastoid. When you fold onto your knees his heart leaps to his mouth, a flare of arousal flashing through his groin.
You rest your chin over his codpiece and smile. “Do you like seeing me on my knees, sir?”
Rex huffs and studies at the opposing wall—
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Your fingers find the claps over his codpiece. “Can I take this off?”
Rex jerks his head in a yes but grabs your wrist. Not a rough hold—a tentative one as hesitation swirls in his eyes. “Don’t—don’t have t’ do this for me—“
You quirk a brow. “I want to because I like you, Rexy.”
A rosy blush blooms over his sharp cheekbones. The captain nods again.
The codpiece clatters to the ground and immediately you move your hand to palm him through his blacks. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut. There we go.
Biting your lip, you pull down his blacks as far as the plastoid plating allows, greeted with the hard length of his cock, beautiful and flushed a rosy brown. Fuck—he’s thicker than you thought. You wrap your fingers around the base, delighted by Rex’s airy gasp as he throbs in your palm. A bead of liquid shines at the tip and just the sight of it makes your mouth water.
Moons—you should’ve done this sooner.
With a stuttering inhale, Rex trails his forefinger along your cheek and tucks a stray hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingertips skim lower and lightly pinch your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Your eyes lift to meet his. “You—you sure?”
You answer with a kiss over the dip of his navel, the skin searing hot under your lips. Rex curses and rolls his head back onto his shoulders when your palm slides up the length of his cock and then back down. Your grip is firm and tight as Rex slumps onto the crate, goosebumps rushing up his exposed flesh. Stars, when’s the last time he’s gotten release like this?
You lean forward and lick a languid line from the velvety skin of his balls all the way up to the tip. Rex’s hips jolt. You purse your lips and suckle at the head, dipping your tongue over the slit then down to trace the ridge of his frenulum all the while your hand rolls up and down his shaft. Rex tangles his fingers into your hair with a hiss. You open your jaw a bit wider and take him down a few inches into the wet heat of your mouth, feeling your lips stretch around his cock. You you drag the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft to make the thickness easier to swallow down, but he's still only halfway into your mouth when he hits the back of your throat.
“Fuck—" Rex moans as his hips strain to remain still. “S’good—such a good girl.”
You glance up, eyes devouring the attractive length of his clean shaven throat and the underside of his chin. Rex swallows and let’s out another little sound. You whine softly in return and slip a hand into your pants, pressing your fingertips against your throbbing clit as you start to carefully bob your head up and down. Yeah—your jaw already aches just from holding his cock in in your mouth but fuck it—it’s worth it.
Rex's chest heaves with exertion as he mindfully rocks his hips up, pushing and rolling his cock deeper into your mouth until his shaft is nearly seated all the way in. Ditching your own pleasure entirely, you swallow around him, forcing down the urge to gag and simply hold him here. Allowing him a moment to just enjoy the soft warmth of your mouth before launching into the main event.
Rex murmurs your name and strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re beautiful—so pretty like—like this..ah—”
You pointedly hollow your cheeks and suck, his flattery warming your chest with pride. You swallow around him another time, squeeze his shaft, your fist following your mouth as you lift up then back down to the base. You grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you pull halfway up and let Rex rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans of your name.
Soon enough he’s twitching in your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as his head tips back onto his shoulders. The gloved hand sweetly cradling your cheek slips to the nape of your neck, tangling his fingers into you hair to anchor himself. He’s close—quiet gasps and broken curses tumbling out, hips unconsciously rocking into your mouth in search of release.
Rex whimpers your name, his leg jolting as you work your jaw wider and swallow him down, the dark curls tickling your nose once it brushes his groin. “Oh, fuck.”
You hum around him, delighting in the mumbled praises. Almost there…That’s it.
He’s dangling on the precipice—on tiny shove away from euphoria—
“Wait—“ Saliva dribbles down your chin when his cock pops out from your swollen lips, throbbing from the unintentional tease. “Maker—shit.”
If not for the gloves covering his hands, you’re sure they’d be turning white from how tightly he grips the edge of the crate. His eyes are squeezed shut, slightly bent forward as he falls away from the edge of his release. Rex sucks in a steadying breath, amber eyes meeting your confused ones.
“I don’t—can we—“ Rex’s eyes flit and focus on anything but you as he stutters and works up the courage to ask for what he wants. “Do we have time—“
You rolls your eyes and rest your cheek on his thigh. Silly man. “You wanna fuck me, Rexy?”
“Kriff, yes.”
You smile and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I don’t think they’ll miss us."
Rex doesn’t complain when you take his hands and yank him onto the grubby floor and over your senatorial robes. He props his back against the crate as you shuck off everything below the waste and clamber into his lap. His hands, warm even through the leather, land over the swell of your hips and wrench you closer until your front presses up against his chest plate.
The rough prickle of his stubble is, in all sense of the word, addictive. He tilts his head to kiss you, the slick touch of his tongue on your bottom lip adding jet fuel to the fire low in your belly. Rex groans and cups your jaw, holding your mouth open to dance his tongue along the length of yours. You whine and shudder as he purses his lips and lightly sucks on your tongue before you both part.
Rex drags his teeth over your bottom lip as you both pant for precious air. His dark lashes sweep up his cheeks when he looks at you. This close you bare witness to the dazzling color of his eyes—crystalized pearls of amber over the crackled bark of pine tree in the midmorning sun. Muted gold threaded through the brown like fine lace and the slow shimmer of the sun dappled through water. To think such a man like him is dredged through the bloodied mud of war is despicable.
You blink away the swell of tears prickling at your eyes and kiss him once more. Sighing, you whisper down, mouthing soft nibbles and teasing kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Rex squirms and rock his hips up, your cunt clenching around nothing. You need him.
“Rex,” you groan. You slide your hand between your bodies and grab at his thick length. Rex gasps into your mouth, long fingers clamping onto your waist in a death grip. “I want you.”
“I’m yours.”
Your nibble at his earlobe as you grind your hips against his length, the folds of your cunt teasingly out of reach. “Touch me, Captain.”
Rex tears off his vambraces and gloves, hand wedging between your thighs, touching the very tips of his fingers to your throbbing clit. You whine and clench your jaw—the pleasure is raw—sizzling electricity that crackles with the deadly promises of your pleasure. It’s as if you’ve had the breath knocked out of your lungs the second he bears down a bit more on your clit, drawing tentative circles, each completion sending a shockwave of tightly spooled ecstasy through each and every nerve. You nearly sob as his fingers slip away.
“So wet already,” Rex moans as you tip your head back when two of his fingers begin circle your dripping cunt. They’re thick and long and perfect. Your hips stutter as your cunt easily accepts his fingers, the heel of his palm slotting perfectly against your pussy to stimulate your clit.
Maker you’re seeing stars as Rex rocks his hand into you—the bend of his fingers the perfect angle to catch all the right places that make you tremble. He kisses your cheek and moans your name into your ear, all low and gravelly—
Your body seizes up tight as you soar, plummeting off the edge only to tumble so fast and so hard that tears prick the corner of your eyes. Rex peppers kisses over your cheeks and runs his free hand through your hair, purring praise and adoration as you shudder—your mouth parted in a silent cry as you cum and dissolve into his hands.
When you suck in a steadying breath and open your eyes, Rex is gazing upon you with starstruck eyes—pure adoration that makes your cheeks flare hotter than the surface of two mini suns. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You’re not sure you deserve to be looked at like this…
However, you’re impatient and running on stolen seconds. As much as you’d like to just simply stare at him—there’s not enough time. Rex wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slides the tip of himself through your soaking folds. Each stroke against your still throbbing clit makes you buckle into yourself, but the angle that your knees are propped over his hips means you're stuck here.
Rex pauses and cups your cheek. His thumb scrapes over your cheekbone. “You want this?”
You place your hand over his and turn your head to mouth a kiss over the lines of his palm. Oh, fuck yeah. Kind of him to ask as if hadn’t just cum over his fingers but—no. “I need you to fuck me, Rex. That’s an order.”
Rex huffs out a low chuckle and bumps the crown of his forehead against yours. “As you wish, Senator.”
Rex runs the blunt head of his cock through your folds again, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the hard plastoid as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and wiggle. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s in no small. You’ll feel him for days, you’re sure of it as your cunt swallows inch after inch.
You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw his clenched tight as sweat beads at his blonde hairline—Stars above, he’s a sight, struggling not to loose control the second he’s buried inside of you. Desire tickles up your spine, tugging at the fabrics of your being until all you can focus on his how Rex isn’t moving. You shift your hips in tiny, almost imperceptible motions, and squeeze around him.
“Damn—“ A ragged moans slices through his words as your gentle rocking morphs into needy jolts. It’s easy to fuck yourself onto his cock like this, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. “Fuck, cyare, you’re tight.”
You smirk and grab at his sculpted shoulders—it’s the push he needs. Rex snarls your name, cups his hands under the globes of your ass and pulls you off his cock nearly all the way out only to slam back in. There’s no time to adjust before Rex sets a pace, fevered and rabid All pent up energy collecting over the weeks you’ve known each other. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what feels like ages.
You squeal in surprise as Rex pushes you onto your back and hoists your legs around his hips. Rex buries his nose into the crook of your neck and moans your name like a sweet prayer wrapped in honeycomb. Rex shifts his weight, widening his knees to sink deeper into your cunt—his stubble tickling your throat as his staggered exhales burn hot over your skin.
You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, scorching through each and every veins with the catastrophic brilliance of an imploding star. Shit—
“So good t’me—so perfect,” he huffs into your ear. Rex turns his head and steals a kiss. “Feel fuckin’ good stretched around my cock."
You clench around him hard as Rex’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s barely any build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of devastating warmth that sweeps through your body, from your aching center down to your toes. It steals away all the air left in your lungs and leaves your clutching his arm and shuddering for a hold in your own reality—the steady warmth of his body that’s unburdened by armor a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.
His gentle, and pliant kisses morph into little pricks of his teeth over your neck and collar bone as his hips struggle to keep a definitive pattern. Rex’s curses string together and blur into nonsensical noises and loose tongue admittances that are comparable to moving inches from an imploding star.
“Where can—can I?”
You grab at his head and whine his name. “Anywhere—in me—you can cum in me.”
With a loving caress over back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, he reaches release. Rex’s moan is airy as his eyes slam shut and captures your mouth in a sizzling kiss. He’s twitching in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides and beginning to leak over your robes you lay over. Whatever.
Rex nips at your skin as the last dregs of pleasure jolt up your spine. Neither of you say a word as Rex’s hips come to a slow. Time trickles through your fingers like sand through an hourglass half empty but instead of rushing to dress, you choose to lie on the ground—two halves of a mess someone’s been meaning to clean up for the better part of a long while. You feel at home here—content as your fingers run up and down the back of his head, a bit irked by the armor still covering his back. You’re terrified of the months to come—but at least you have each other. After all, gardens will bloom and flourish with fresh blooded love and wild mistakes sculpted from passion forever if you believe hard enough…wont they?
#we out here#yeehaw#my writing#captain rex x reader#captain rex x you#ct-7567#captai rex#clone x reader#clone trooper x reader#the clone wars#tcw#anakin skywalker#obi wan kenobi#star wars#sw
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Their son clingy phase started a war with Levi for Petra’s affection. Both won’t back down cause like father, like son 😆
probably not what you asked for, but I had this image in my head before I went to sleep. a spin off of Heart Like Yours (this is not the definitive ending I had in mind) where Petra has another kid 18 years after Ollie. Ollie is pissed at his dad for endangering his mother, and the Ackermans duke it out.
Rating: T
Word Count: 800
Intellectually, Ollie knows his parents have sex. At eighteen years old, acquainted with the world at this point, and just a few months shy of attending the local art university. Intending to live with his parents until graduation—after all, he can’t leave his poor mother alone since dad went away on expeditions—he is beginning to second guess his decision.
Fireplace stoked, ottoman drawn flush with the loveseat, his mother reclines back with her bare feet propped up. Swollen at eight months of pregnancy, his father is on the ground, massaging her, while they exchange whispers. His mother’s face is red, either from the heat or other things by the grin his father is trying to hide and with a tap of his foot, Ollie clears his throat.
“I’m right here, you know.”
Perking up, Petra waves him over, extending a hand. He goes to her side, interlacing his fingers with hers, and he feels his chest swell as he eyes his mother’s large stomach. He knows his parents have been wanting another child since they got back together; at this point, he can hardly remember a time without his father. Thirty-six isn’t elderly, but his mother is on the older side as far as pregnancies go. Ollie made a point to attend all of her doctor’s appointments, holding her hand when dad couldn’t be there, and he dutifully took notes to recall them later.
“Can I get you any tea?” he asks, swinging their arms. Levi mutters something under his breath, but Ollie ignores him, his demeanor icier since they announced the pregnancy. If anything happened to mom because dad couldn’t keep it in his pants—
Petra smiles and pats his arm. “That would be great, sweetie. You know how I like to take it.”
“Oi, get me some too while you’re at it,” Levi barks, and Ollie doesn’t flinch.
“Get it yourself.”
Levi pauses and gets up from where he’s kneeling, glowering. “What was that tone?” he hisses.
“You heard me,” Ollie says, standing up straight and heads for the kitchen. Taller than both of his parents by nearly a foot (a sore spot for his father, though Ollie knows he’s secretly proud), he inherited all of his father’s traits except his cheeks were slightly rounder, an attribute of his mother’s. Bangs a bit shaggier, he adopted Levi’s undercut, and while he wasn’t as muscled as him since he wasn’t in the military, his skinny frame often had people confused for Levi. Eyes also a hair lighter, and preferring a button-down than stiff suits, Ollie wonders who his new sibling will take after.
Finishing off the tea, with a drop of honey and a slice of lemon, Ollie pads back over and places the saucer and cup on the end table. “Here you go, mama.”
Levi makes a face and storms off to the kitchen. “Would have it killed you to make another cup?”
“Would have it killed you to not ravage my mother like an animal?”
“Ollie!” Petra scolds, though there’s laughter in the wrinkles in her eyes. She lowers her voice while she brushes some of Ollie’s bangs back. Giving him a thoughtful look, she muses, “What happened to the little boy that idolized his father?”
Leaning into her touch, Ollie pouts. “I still love him, but I’m worried.” He looks down at her belly. “What if something goes wrong? You’re older, you know. At this point, the doctors said you should be resting more. Maybe I should skip orientation so I can run errands tomorrow—“
“Ollie,” her voice soothes. “I’ll be fine. I gave birth to you at home. This time we have a hospital and doctors right down the road.”
He continues frowning. “I want to go over the birth plan with the midwife again.”
Petra finishes off her tea and scoots over to the far right side of the loveseat. She pats beside her and Ollie follows, squishing himself against his mother and he curls over to her side like a cat. With his long legs sticking out, he knows he looks ridiculous, but the softness of his mother’s hair soothes him while she runs her fingers up and down his undercut.
“I’ll be fine,” she assures him. “I have you and Papa.” She laces her pinky with his. “Together forever, remember?”
Ollie forces a smile and shakes their joined hands, though his heart aches with apprehension. Levi returns, teacup in hand, his fingers splayed along the rim and he snorts while noting Ollie’s odd position. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”
“Piss off,” Ollie says, but Levi merely chuckles and makes himself comfortable beside his little family.
She’ll be fine, Ollie tells himself over and over. Even if she isn’t as strong as me and Papa.
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
PREQUEL ARC: PART 3 - THE BOUNTY
A/N: Part 3 of Stitches has arrived! This chapter was difficult to write, I'll be honest. And I'd really appreciate any feedback if it doesn't read as well as the first two chapters or doesn't make sense or is boring etc. etc.
This is the penultimate prologue chapter, with the story very much shifting to surround the dynamic and growth of the readers relationship with Din so if you can hold out for me just a bit longer, I promise, I'll make it worth the wait. You know what I'm talking about friends.
Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader
Word Count: 7k
Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)
Warnings: None
Summary: You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.
AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist
9 ABY, on the Hydian Way.
Din prided himself on the strength of his principles. An unwavering certainty in everything he did that gave him a modicum of peace as he wandered throughout the galaxy amidst wars, rebellions and the chaos that ensued in their aftermath.
He was certain when he took the Creed, when he sacrificed a future for himself in service of the covert; something he had never regretted to this day. He had never regretted any bounty taken; unmoved by pleas, promises or threats. Neither tears nor anger could sway his resolve.
Truly, he could count on one hand the things he regretted in life; the job on Alzoc III, challenging a fully grown Mandalorian to a fight while still a hot blooded, angry teenager, and not trying to pull his parents into the bunker where they had hidden him from Separatist droids as Aq Vertina was invaded.
In his line of work, there was seldom room for self-doubt. Inner conflict led to hesitation, which could be a death sentence for a bounty hunter.
And yet, as he came out of hyperspace, that unfamiliar gnawing presence in the pit of his stomach began to rear its’ head again. The job he had accepted was… dubious, to say the least.
Din snorted in self-deprecation; most of his jobs were dubious in nature.
What brought on this unnatural doubt, however, was that this was a job for Imperial remnants. Din wasn’t a fool; he knew half the jobs he had taken in the past could have been traced to the Imps if he cared enough to look, but taking a job from them personally… well, he didn’t know how to feel about that just yet.
He pondered the feeling in his stomach again and frowned. Was it doubt… or instinct? Instinct was his most trusted companion as he travelled through space alone. A tickle at the back of his neck, a wary step forward, even a flash of electricity down his spine; those were only some of the ways that instinct spoke to him. And he always listened.
An uncomfortable feeling in his stomach though? Never that.
If it was instinct, then he was going against his very nature in ignoring it. If it was doubt, based on some misguided sense of morality in dealing with the empire… that he could deal with. He could smother doubt with control and consistency; going through the motions of a job brought security and familiarity. Sooner or later, that doubt would make way for a stoic acceptance, a state that had gotten Din through some of his roughest years.
His eyes were drawn to his shoulder, where the glint of newly crafted beskar shone in the gentle lights of the cockpit.
A down-payment…
“Makers Helmet…” he groaned, running a gloved thumb and forefinger across his tired eyes to pinch the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on as the pressure at the back of his skull increased due to the loop his thoughts were going in.
A job was a job. He circled back to his original thought that had led him to accept the clients offer. A job with a bounty greater than anything he could have ever hoped to receive in his lifetime, let alone in one go. It was mere sentimentality and conscience getting in the way of good business. That beskar could not only provide him with armor to reaffirm his loyalty to the covert, but assistance and support to the foundlings and those who raised them.
His resolved steeled. He had never regretted putting the covert before himself, and he wasn’t about to start now.
Turning his attention back to the navicomputer, he scanned the co-ordinates that his most recent lead had pointed to. He had hunted the trail of his latest bounty to the general direction of a vast area of space that straddled the outer reaches of the Outer Rim and halted as it reached Wild Space. There was nothing to stop the bounty from being in those unexplored parts of the galaxy, and if the tracking beacon led him that far, he would have to be ready. With no spaceport on any of the planets he had seen dotting the area on the navicomputer, he thought it wise to refuel and gather provisions should he be there for any prolonged period.
As he lazily assessed which planet to land on, his eyes were drawn to a familiar name. A memory brushed against his thoughts. Not necessarily a pleasant one, but not entirely unpleasant either. For the sake of fairness, Din scanned the planets surrounding the one he pondered; some were equally as well equipped for his needs but the majority he had not been on in years if ever. Somewhere he knew, even briefly, gave him more comfort than the unknown.
At least, that was what Din told himself as he punched in the co-ordinates of Dandoran, the flicker of warmth the memory brought him was something equally as unnatural as the doubt coiled in his stomach.
Bantha balls, maybe he had been poisoned again...
Din tossed a few credits to the human female who received the Razor Crest into the hanger she was managing.
“She needs to be refueled.” Was all he said as he made his way out of the hanger and into the not unfamiliar streets of Mynock. It didn’t look like much had changed in the several months since he was here last; the place was still crawling with a mixture of criminals, bounty hunters and people who just didn’t want to be found. All in all, a good example of most Outer Rim cities.
Mynock had two main pedestrian streets that ran for over two klicks and intersected at the middle. From what he could tell, all legitimate business ran from those two streets, the further into the alleyways and twisted lanes that branched off those two streets one ventured, the seedier the business.
From what he knew, the practice you worked at was on one of these main streets. He paused, causing a few disgruntled pedestrians to have to jerk to a halt and make their way around his imposing frame. He was not here socially. He was never anywhere socially. He shook his head; between self-doubt and sentimentality, the tight leash he usually kept himself on was looser than he remembered and he had no idea just when it had started to slack.
That could not continue. But being aware of a problem allowed him to deal with it. So, with a greater sense of fortitude, he mentally choked any distracting feelings beyond the determination to collect this bounty. That included the somewhat interesting possibility of seeing you again.
Thankfully, Din only needed to stick to the main streets. The road was flanked by stall upon stall of foodstuffs, clothing, trinkets, ammunition and what looked to be a husbandry of Massiff dogs. The large, reflective eyes turned to the Mandalorian; all bared fangs and hostile snarls. An understandable response by most non-sentients when a Mandalorian had no real physical cues they could read, being as covered as they were. Until he lifted his hand for the one closest to sniff, they could only assume he was a threat.
A sniff was usually all it took however, before the snarling stopped. Din brushed a hand over the scaly head as he continued on his way to collect what he came here for.
An hour later, and Din was feeling much more at ease as he picked up the last of the supplies he thought he may need; ration packs, bactapads, generic ammunition that he liked to keep well stocked on the ship and so on. He was once more mentally compiling the information he had gathered on the location of the bounty, running through various routes in his mind that would cover the most planets in the parsec in the shortest amount of time.
He nodded his thanks at the change the Rhodian merchant returned to him and began to make his way back to the Razor Crest. If it hadn’t been for the long flick of your hair in the tie you kept it up in when you turned your head to look at someone at a stall across the central walkway of the street, Din was certain he’d have walked on none the wiser. But alas, that same higher power that had gifted him with a keep perception of his surroundings cursed him in the same fell swoop as the movement attracted his attention.
He came up short, running a mental check on himself immediately. No, no injuries. His shoulder still ached on occasion from being dislocated six months earlier, but it was a phantom pain at most these days. He was fit as a mythosaur and he wasn’t about to have that good streak ruined by getting injured in your presence… again.
Din wondered if he could escape to his ship without you noticing; he didn’t want to tempt fate anymore than he already had. Plus, awkward interactions that left him feeling frustrated both mentally and physically were not high on the list of things he enjoyed, thank you very much.
As a Mandalorian, Din expected attention wherever he went. It was just something he chalked down to being a necessary evil to live by his Creed but he had never wanted to be more invisible than he did in that moment, thinking that at any moment he would be trip into a sarlacc pit or something equally unpleasant.
But you hadn’t seen him, thankfully; much more invested in the choices at the fishmonger’s stall.
Despite his better judgement however, he paused from slipping back to his ship silently.
He was taken by the slight pink flush that rose to your cheeks at something the woman behind the stall said, intrigued by the color and what caused it. Din tilted his head slightly. He had noticed you getting flushed in frustration or annoyance both times you had treated him. It was fascinating to see your cheeks flush for a reason other than irritation and anger.
That particular thought touched a dangerous part of Din’s mind, a part that made him wander into the realm of curiosity to ponder what else might make you blush like that.
Oh, but it was a delightful color on you, and he watched longer than he ought to, a small quirk lifting the corner of his lips. The image of domesticity as you adjusted the parcels of food already in your arms to accept the fish was so foreign to his eyes and certainly not one he ever associated with you until now. It spoke to a part of him that still slumbered but began to fidget in its sleep, on the verge of consciousness.
That tentative smile that he had unwittingly been giving into as he indulged his senses by watching you, dropped the moment three males approached you. The Twi’lek was standing too close for you to be comfortable and by the rigidity of your spine, he knew you were not.
You had taken a step away from the men easily, your body language read cautious but not fearful and he knew better than to underestimate your abilities to wrangle men into whatever position you wanted them in. He had first-hand experience in that department and honestly, it wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded in his head.
Din relaxed the grip he had unknowingly tightened on the blaster at his hip when you made to leave the stall, away from the three. He shook his head at himself; you had lived here for years. You knew how to handle yourself perfectly fine.
Letting out a breath, he was about to continue back to the ship when that same cursed perception caught the Twi’leks arm shoot out to grip your upper arm tightly, preventing your exit.
Din was behind you before he even realized he had moved.
You examined the range of fish on offer, eyes skeptically crossing off anything that looked like it had been sitting out too long or anything with more than four eyes. You weren’t squeamish by nature, but the fewer dead eyes that were staring at you while you prepared dinner, the better.
One of the few perks of Mynock, was its proximity to the Great Basin of Dandoran that opened out to one of the many oceans to cover the planet. Fresh seafood was a staple in the city and after years of ration packs between the Rebellion and Klatooine, eating fresh was a luxury you would never take for granted again. Your own home planet was mostly covered in water too; the greater population spread over countless clusters of islands where seafood was also the meal of choice for most. It was a tenuous connection but being able to cook dishes somewhat like the ones your mother made when you and your brothers were younger made it feel like you weren’t so far away.
You smiled to yourself at the thought as you pointed to the light blue colored Berbersian crabs, knowing the trawlers had come in only this morning that carried them. The claws were meaty with the slightest sweetness to their flavor that complimented most dishes. Not to mention that when cooked, they turned the most vibrant blue that their shells alone could be used for decoration and craft.
You chatted aimlessly with the fishmonger as she cleaned and prepared the translucent peachy pink fish you had also chosen for good measure.
“Busy at Biran’s?”
“When are we not busy?”
“It’s all them fights between the gangs. Folk say since the Hutts were chased out that things are better but it’s even more dangerous with the others tryin’ to take their place.”
You only gave a non-committal hum to that; you didn’t get involved in politics of any kind. Gang or otherwise.
The mindless chatter continued on nonetheless to more safe topics.
“Did I tell ye, Drea had her baby not three days ago. Another girl.”
“Poor Nej will have his hands full when they all get older.”
“I’m sure they’re dying for a boy at this point. Great excuse to keep sowin’ the crops though, ain’t it?”
“I’m sure they don’t need any excu—”
“Ever think of havin’ any of yer own? Yer well into that time of yer life, I’d say no?”
You blinked, nearly missing the bag of produce as she handed it across the stall to you. You could feel your face heat up at the direction this conversation had turned, and you definitely never thought you would be discussing your biological clock with a fishmonger over Berbersian crab.
“Well I---”
Movement from the corner of your eye stole your attention from that progressively awkward conversation and the no doubt insufficient answer you would have given as three males came to stand at the same stall, facing you. Your eyes scanned the trio sideways, not prepared to give them your attention unless it became unavoidable. There were two humans and a Twi’lek and given the way the humans flanked the large blue male; you had a fair idea about who was in charge as he sneered at you in what you assumed was meant to be a disarming smile.
The blasters at each of their hips and the emerald green coloring on the right sleeve of their jackets told you they belonged to one of the gangs the fishmonger had been complaining about not a few minutes earlier. This gang in particular, the Quai-Kisu or Emerald Dagger in Basic, were a faction that splintered off from the main Hutt crime syndicate once their influence in Dandoran lessened. Their trademark was spice smuggling but anyone with two braincells knew that they accepted the lesser charge to hide the true wealth of their criminal activity, flesh trafficking.
Suffice to say, you didn’t want anything to do with them and you most certainly didn’t want them to want anything to do with you.
“Can I help you?” You kept your eyes on them as you handed the fishmonger what you owed her when it was clear they weren’t going to leave; the woman wisely remaining quiet as she accepted the credits.
None of them responded immediately, and you wondered if this was a new scare tactic they were employing to make people anxious. The crimson hue of the Twi’leks eyes glinted as he contemplated you, running down your figure lazily before meeting your eyes again when you frowned,
“Ol’ man Biran available for a house call?” He rumbled, the sun catching the points of the filed canines as he spoke.
“I’m afraid Biran doesn’t make house calls anymore. Besides, he’s been under the weather for the last few days unfortunately.”
You reeled the lie off effortlessly, having learned over the years who Biran would tend to and who he would rather see succumb to whatever ailed them. It was a steep and difficult learning curve for you, your initial training taught you that you must do your utmost to save every life. Biran had laughed in derision, saying that that mindset wouldn’t serve you well out here. These were gangs, not the flyboys of Corellia. Saving one of their lives might condemn countless others. So while you struggled, you accepted that it was his practice and he made the rules and after over two years on Dandoran, you had seen enough victims of the gang warfare to not feel any pity when one of them suffered an injury.
“C’mon beautiful. One of our pals was injured in a… terrible, terrible accident.” The taller of the two human males, a lanky man with a neck that looked much too long and eyes that took way too much liberty in running over your body.
“There are other doctors in Mynock.” You replied steadily, “I’m sure one of them can help.”
To humor them any longer would be to encourage trouble, so you cut the conversation short and turned quite deliberately to make the point that the conversation was over, flashing the fishmonger a wan smile before turning back the way you came.
“We weren’t done talkin’ to you.”
Your eyes widened marginally when an iron grip closed around your upper arm, your free hand dropping the items in your arm immediately to click the safety off your blaster and lift it in the time it took for the Twi’lek to yank you into facing him again.
“Did I say you could lay a hand on me?” You hissed, the blaster pointing upward from where you held it close to your body towards the underside of the Twi’lek’s chin.
“Quite the little spitfire, ain’t she lads?” He crowed, amused by your action. His laughter was like shattered glass on your ears, making you want to wince, but you kept your hand steady even as your heart pounded. You received as much training as anyone when they joined the Rebellion, but your experience in actual combat beyond treating people on the front line was limited. You knew your own limitations, and that there was no way you would be able to take on all three of them.
The hand around your arm squeezed painfully and you clocked the blaster, lifting it closer to sit under the Twi’lek’s chin, “Release me. Now.”
And like most men of his ilk, he ignored you in favor of his own voice,
“From what we’ve seen, you work with the good doctor. Shouldn’t be a bother for you to fix him up. Nicer to look at too, eh fellas?” He tossed over his shoulder to the snickers of his lackeys.
“Then you can go back to target practice with your toy gun.” He chuckled darkly, leaning in where the pungent smell of his breath made you turn your head away in distaste, “That is, if we let you go at all.”
You swallowed thickly at the threat, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as your mind scrambled to come up with a solution, a way out, something. You felt the familiar sting of tears at the back of your eyes when each avenue came up blank. You couldn’t think of anything and suddenly, you felt so terribly alone in this shithole of a town on a faraway planet far from anyone who gave a bantha crap who would actually be able to help you.
Their laughter only grated on your already frayed nerves and pissed you off even more. You had fought too hard and suffered too much to let these assholes take the one thing you owned, your freedom. Your eyes flashed with anger and snapped back to the Twi’lek, ready to pull the trigger because if you were going out, it would be on your terms.
Their laughter suddenly ceased then, and you blinked. Had they copped that you planned to take at least one, maybe two of them out with you? Before you could figure it out, your arm was shoved away. You raised your now free hand to steady the blaster as you aimed it at them, but they were backing away, eyes averted.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You growled, hiding the waver in your voice.
They said nothing in reply as the Twi’lek bared his teeth and made towards you again. One of the humans grabbed his arm and hissed something to him. You couldn’t make it all out, but you swore you heard a name you never thought you’d hear again.
Teff.
With one last growl and glare, the Twi’lek conceded to the advice of the humans and all three of them melted back into the crowds of Mynock leaving you to release a heavy breath as you lowered your weapon, replacing the safety with ease as your eyes continued to scan the street. You wanted to be certain they had really left.
“Huh, maybe they were smart after all.” You muttered to yourself, proud that you had dealt with the situation somewhat and holstered your blaster against your hip again, “Still got it girl.” You commended yourself as you stooped to pick up your dropped groceries.
A snorted, “I beg to differ” had you blinking up over your shoulder at the familiar, cocksure figure of the Mandalorian; a hand only grazing the blaster at his hip as he stood casually behind you, his head tilted down to look at you and a resounding sigh leaving his helmet when you smiled.
“Mando?”
An incline of his head was the only greeting you received before he crossed his arms across the wise expanse of his armored chest.
“One sec.”
You got back to your feet and, as if by instinct, ran your eyes over his body, “You didn’t poison yourself again, did you?” You teased lightly, realizing that you were seeing him uninjured for the first time. Well, the second time. But walking into a cantina to do battle with a Houk didn’t could in your estimation.
It gave you pause to notice things about him that you didn’t usually; the way he stood, leaning his weight back on his left foot that gave him an air of lazy arrogance that wouldn’t be misplaced in a loth-wolf relaxing in the winter sun. The strength of his thighs seems to be accentuated by the posture; one hand placed securely at his blaster. If you didn’t know any better, his stance was like an open challenge to every male around him; submit or suffer. But you did know him somewhat, and you knew that he didn’t need to lay down any challenge. He had already won the second he stepped off his ship. The wide breadth of space given to him by passers-by only highlighted that fact.
Even with every patch of skin covered, you could feel the raw power rolling off of him, or was it testosterone? Whatever it was, it tugged at a more primal instinct and ignited a slow, steady heat inside of you that made you both embarrassed and intrigued.
Okay, so you were attracted to the way the man stood. That was fine, that was acceptable. You were a warm-blooded woman in her prime who knew her desires and embraced them. Finding how a Mandalorian… stood, was just another interesting thing to add to your list of things you found attractive.
Along with a raspy baritone and penchant for trouble…
You know what, it was probably just a fantastic indication that you hadn’t been laid in a while, so you made a mental note to deal with that particular issue later.
“I never poisoned myself.” That same low, gruff voice rose to your bait so easily and you had to bite your lip not to laugh, his hand fisting at his side before he unclenched it. Probably thinking about strangling you, honestly. Now there was a thought, for later. Nope, it was definitely the recent dry spell that had you like this. And the sun. The sun always had a part to play in these delusions.
Mando seemed to figure out your game of teasing him however, when you couldn’t fully mask your smile and responded in kind,
“You’re welcome, by the way.” His voice rumbled and you were certain that if you were only a few inches closer, you would be able to feel the vibrations brush against you.
“For what?” You laughed in disbelief, “I had everything under control before you decided to strut into the fray.”
You tried to prevent the frown from creasing between your brows when you thought a little more on the situation. You had a blaster literally pointed to the neck of one of those thugs and they didn’t care. It didn’t even seem like Mando had drawn his weapon and all three had scarpered? Was there any fairness in the galaxy? Obviously not.
The unpainted helmet tilted, the impassive T-visor giving away nothing of its wearers feelings beyond the sigh that left him, “What did you plan to do? Shoot the son of a mudscuffer and have an entire gang out for blood in less than an hour? Yeah, that’s smart.” He snorted.
Your mouth fell open in incredulity, “Talk about the Jawa calling the Ewok short, you’d have done the exact same thing!” You cursed your short temper, especially when it came to the stubborn mule of a man in front of you. The fact that his voice never once rose frustrated you. It remained gravelly but soft, like the sound of pebbles and stones being pushed and pulled by the ocean you could hear from your bedroom as a child.
You were a mature person; you were proud of how you dealt with most things. But in this instance, you allowed your immature side to rear her head momentarily as you began to stalk back to the practice. A piss poor option since the Mandalorian scoffed and kept up with you easily, obviously not content with you having the last word.
“But I wouldn’t be so reckless to not think it through before shooting them.” He tipped his helmet back a little, as if he dared to look down his nose at you. Frustration simmered in your blood as your eyes narrowed at him sideways.
“I was wrong, you obviously are injured. A blow to the head this time was it, Mando? Must be hidden under that kettle you call a helmet” You let out an exasperated breath, shaking your head, “I’ve no cure for that unfortunately.”
You could have sworn you heard a soft noise that sounded remarkably like a chuckle, but it was so quiet and the streets so noisy that you were certain you were wrong.
When the door to the practice-come-living quarters for yourself and Biran came into view, you stopped short. How did you get back here so quickly? Looking over your shoulder, you realized you had led the Mandalorian on a merry chase to nowhere he needed to be. He didn’t look particularly fazed, but the small voice of guilt that sounded an awful lot like your mother had you opening your mouth before you could think twice,
“Do you want to come in?”
What possessed you to invite him in?
It was obvious from both the stilted way you asked and the drawn out, deeply awkward silence that followed. You were about to tuck tail and run inside, slam the door, and pretend you weren’t as mortified as you knew you were when he cocked his head. The movement made you pause in your escape, opening your mouth to tell him to forget about it before the words got lodged in your throat.
“Sure.” Was all he said, and that was how you found yourself staring at a fully armed Mandalorian taking up two thirds of the small settee in the living room to the back of the practice, his hands placed on each thigh as they spread a bit when he sat.
Biran, bless him, took up the last third of the same settee, unfazed by the type of man in his living room and chatting merrily about the last Mandalorian he had met over fifteen years ago.
“And that wasn’t you?”
“No.”
“Ah maybe someone you know then!”
“Maybe.”
Mando’s conversation skills were abysmal.
You didn’t have very high expectations in the first place, but watching it without being a participant, was downright comical. You hid your smile behind the glass of water you had fetched for yourself but the slight tilt of his helmet in your direction told you he had caught your amusement. For someone whose face you couldn’t see, you could practically feel his eyes narrow at you. It made the giddiness from being equal parts anxious and entertained from watching Mando try make nice with the elderly Mirialan rise again and you had to physically bite your lip to stop.
Mando wasn’t listening to Biran anymore, that much was obvious. He wasn’t even looking in his direction, more comfortable blatantly glaring at you instead. Biran was unfazed. Truly, the Mirialan didn’t need a response to have a conversation. A listening ear was sometimes all he wanted. It was a characteristic that endeared you to the him in the first place. The elderly were so often overlooked and written off, but when one only cared enough to listen, they would find themselves enriched with experiences no history book could ever compete with.
“…So how do you two know each other?”
Your attention was dragged back into the conversation so fast you might have given yourself whiplash. You blinked a few times as the Mirialan watched Mando with a clueless smile on his face, completely ignorant to the stiff body beside him.
“Coercive medical attention.” You choked a bit on the sip of water you had taken to buy yourself some time to think; coercive? That rotten---
“Ah, you were a difficult patient, were you?” Biran chuckled, knowing your methods well, “Sweet as pie if you do as your told, but the minute you resist she’ll go for you like a sand panther. I can’t imagine there was much room for bedside manners in the Rebellion, but thankfully that attitude works well in cities like Mynock.” You spluttered again, putting the glass down since it was out to get you too apparently.
Of all the treacherous--, why were you so nice to this old sod again? You would show him a sand panther when you ‘forget’ to buy his favorite tea next time you went shopping.
You seethed to yourself, leaning back in the armchair you had perched yourself on earlier, flyaway hairs from the breeze outside falling into your face which you blew away with a frustrated breath.
“Hm, a panther?” Your eyes rose as the low baritone filled the air after Biran had finished having his laugh at your expense. Mando cocked his head pensively to the side as he looked at you briefly, “More like a kitten, I’d say.” And with that, he looked away.
He didn’t bother saying anything else after that, content with letting Biran’s laughter fill the room and smother the tense silence the two of you were sitting in.
You could feel your cheeks heating up once more as you glared daggers at the tin can in front of you. Why did it feel like you were being simultaneously insulted and flirted with? You couldn’t make the distinction, so you didn’t know how to respond.
Instead, you decided to poke at a different part of the conversation.
“For someone who was coerced, you sure do find yourself on my table quick enough when you need treatment.” Your eyes ran up and down the length of his body candidly when he looked back at you, “and when you don’t need treatment, evidently.”
You smirked when the Mandalorian clenched a fist on his thigh, the third occupant in the room seemingly forgotten as Mando hissed,
“I never asked for your help.”
You scoffed and decided not to deign that with a response.
“Besides, I only stopped over for supplies and fuel.” He admitted and a treacherous part of you sunk a bit at the honesty in his voice. Seeing you was just a coincidence, like always. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air and you fought the twinge of sadness that chased you because of them.
Biran looked between the two of you before standing shakily and patting the Mandalorian on the shoulder with no hesitation, “Allow us to provide you with something extra for your travels then.” He turned his wrinkled face towards you with a smile, the deep groves of his crow’s feet increasing as he nodded to the bags of forgotten groceries, “I think our guest should try the crab. Knowing you, you bought too much as usual.”
You flushed at being caught out, were you really that predicable?
“There’s no need. I got what I came for so, I’ll be going now.” Mando stood fluidly despite his armor, and you were once again struck with how different it was seeing him injured as opposed to healthy. You felt you needed to get used to his presence all over again, with how much it filled the room.
“Thank you, for your hospitality.” He tipped his helmet towards Biran, his voice still rather gruff but laced with a polite softness uncharacteristic to him. Biran waved him off and started making his way back out to the practice when he heard the binary from his medi-droid welcoming a new patient.
That left the two of you standing in a room that suddenly felt much too small for the tension that hung around you both like a blanket. You moved into the kitchen to separate the food you would keep and the food you would give to Mando on one of the countertops, tying the bag tightly by the straps so that it stayed clean and fresh when you were done. You couldn’t hear him move, but you could feel the slight disturbance of the air when he leaned his shoulder casually against the doorframe, arms crossed enticingly once more as he watched you.
“So… what did he call you again? A sand… kitten, was it?”
“Oh, shut up.” You growled over your shoulder at him before turning and shoving the bag with two of the Berbersian crabs and some herbs you knew went well with them, into his hands.
“I don’t need these.” He held the bag out, straightening his stance as he pushed himself from the doorframe. You wisely ignored him.
“All you need is a pan. And water. And heat. Boil them and actually give your body some proper nutrients, would you?”
You explained as you began leading him out towards the private entrance of the residence, through the small kitchen and out into an alleyway that gave you an immediate sense of déjà vu the moment Mando stepped outside. The sun was still beating down and it glinted across the helmet that was becoming as recognizable as a face to you.
“In case you didn’t realize, I’m perfectly healthy.” He replied smoothly, getting his bearings as he examined the alleyway and noted the sounds from the nearby street as the direction he needed to go.
“That’d be a first.” You griped at him, but there was no venom in your words, and he knew it.
You knew he was about to leave, and the suddenness of his departure was as jarring as his arrival. You didn’t know why you felt the need to stall, and you pushed that urge down rapidly in the face of the warrior when he looked back at you from assessing the street not a few feet away.
You sighed and let out a chuckle, wondering again how this man constantly came barreling into your life, disrupting the precarious peace you had brokered while here. You might have said it was a nuisance, but deep down, you knew that he brought a breath of life back into yours every time he crossed your path, reinvigorated the aimless routine you found yourself in. It was unsettling, the way this man had wormed his way into being such a… significant presence in your life. Even after only meeting him three times and always under less than pleasant circumstances.
Part of you wanted to tell him he could stay longer if he wanted; but you knew he would refuse.
Part of you wanted to tell him to be safe; but you knew he wouldn’t be.
Part of you wanted to tell him that you would see him around; but you knew that you probably wouldn’t.
So you settled on a lackluster, “good luck on your hunt” with a small smile as a peace offering for the fraught bickering you always seemed to fall into with him. A peace offering, he seemed to accept as he lifted the bag silently and looked inside,
“Pan. Water. Heat. Right?” His own attempt made your smile grow as you chuckled and nodded,
“You got it, sunshine.”
He nodded once in affirmation while you moved around him back towards the door of the practice. For some reason, you didn’t want to watch him walk away this time. It was easier for you to leave instead. A rumble of your name from the Mandalorian had you looking over your shoulder at him questioningly, the blush that had risen to your cheeks at the sound of your name on his lips not lost on Mando. He had turned back towards you when you moved and after a beat, spoke again.
“See you next time.”
And just like that, your chest hollowed, and a warmth filled you. The weight of his words were like an embrace, a reassurance you didn’t know you needed. Had needed, for longer than you probably knew. It was something secure and encouraging in these times of change and uncertainty, and you felt yourself cling to those words like a lifeline.
The placid nod you offered him with a gentle smile was all he stuck around for. Spinning on his heels, he took off towards the streets of Mynock once more, disappearing in a flash of beskar and steel and for once, you didn’t ponder about possibly seeing him again. You knew you would.
Din settled back into the pilots’ chair of the Razor Crest twenty minutes later, running through the familiar process of flying the ship out of the atmosphere and into the comfort of space, eager to escape into hyperdrive as soon as he was clear enough from Dandoran.
See you next time?
He groaned leaned his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling of the cockpit, his brows drawn low over his eyes as he frowned. What possessed him to offer that promise, he didn’t know. Maybe it was the way your eyes had dimmed slightly when he was about to leave, or when you had wished him luck on a job he was still so uncertain about. Maybe it was the way you blushed when he said your name.
Or maybe it was just because he wanted to see you again too.
And that was the most troubling reason of all.
Din didn’t do friends, he had acquaintances and colleagues even if the term was tenuous. He had the covert and the foundlings, but he didn’t have people he actually wished to see. Never trusted anyone beyond what they could each offer one another. You hadn’t looked for anything from him, and it was unsettling. He didn’t know if he could trust you, years of training and experience told him otherwise. But from the old memories of you pressing Raquor’daan poison from his wound to the teasing friendship you displayed with the old Mirialan, his resolve softened a little.
His eyes flicked to the rapidly shrinking planet he was leaving.
Trust was too strong a word right now, but respect… he could admit that he respected you. And that alone put you on a very short list of people, one he was sure you would never truly understand the importance of.
And he was right.
You would never know the significance of being on that very short list of people, but in that moment, Din’s grudging respect for you set both of your lives on a very different course than either of you ever anticipated; one that revolved around a very special, very small, green child.
Once Dandoran had faded sufficiently behind the Razor Crest, he keyed in the co-ordinates to the far reaches of the Outer Rim and entered hyperspace and after several days of travel, he finally struck beskar when the tracking fob starting beeping as he coasted through space. He smirked behind his helmet as he changed direction and noted the closest planet on his navicomputer where his bounty was hidden.
Arvala-7.
Gotcha.
Stitches Taglist:
@geannad @ayamenimthiriel @sarahjkl82-blog @gracie7209 @nova646 @pychedelic-rainbow
#the mandalorian fic#the mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian fanfic#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#din djarin fic#din djarin#mando x reader#mando fic#mando x you#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian#mando#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal fic
525 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dad of Destruction
requested by anon - thanks for the super fun request! I hope you enjoy :) (a picture of your request is at the bottom of the one shot)
Premise: You love Namjoon with all your heart, and you’re so happy that together, you get to raise this child. However, you also want that child to make it to adulthood in one piece, and Namjoon has a startling talent for breaking things. Mama bear mode = ON.
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings: none, but I’m so soft for this concept
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You’d heard plenty of people joking about how much of a mama bear you’d be once the little one came along, you just never realized that they were right.
Sitting up in the hospital bed with the smallest, most beautiful bundle of joy wrapped up in your arms, you can almost feel this new side of you sliding into place.
“I won’t let anything hurt you. Ever.” You mumble the words out with tired but glowing eyes. Namjoon grunts in agreement from where he stands beside the bed, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his newborn daughter.
Giving him a soft smile, you can’t help but feel like you’re floating above the clouds with the way your daughter yawns in your arms, completely unaware of the world she’s just been born into.
Namjoon brushes your hair back behind your ear. “You must be exhausted,” he observes. You make a noise that resembles a yes. “Here, let me take her. You rest.”
Suddenly you’re wide awake. “N-no, it’s fine, Joon. I’ll hold her. I’m not that tired.”
“You sure?” There’s a small flash of concern in Namjoon’s eyes, but he knows to just let you have your way for now. After all, you did just go through a grueling delivery.
“Positive.”
~~~~
You can only get away with it for so long.
You manage to stay another night at the hospital, with Namjoon only ever holding Lily - that’s what you and Namjoon decided to name her - when you are in the room.
Preferably within arm’s length.
It’s not that you don’t trust Namjoon...
It’s just that you don’t overly trust him. Especially as you were reminded of his destruction abilities this morning when he very nearly broke the carseat as he attempted to get it set up in the back. With every crack and curse that he quietly spit out at the infernal device, you held Lily a little closer to your chest.
Winking down at the newborn, you faked a confident smile. “Daddy’s got it, don’t worry. We’ll get you home in one piece.”
Of course, you drove home. Namjoon tried to protest (he’d gotten his driver’s license six months ago purely for the ability to be able to drive his child around) but one look from you had him chewing on his lip while sheepishly sliding into the passenger seat.
The next few days comprised of a few small gatherings where the boys came bearing a ridiculous amount of gifts and even more ridiculous smiles once they spotted Lily. Everyone commented on her beautiful eyelashes, and argued over who she resembled more.
You secretly hoped she’d take after Namjoon’s side. If you were being honest, she already had little dragon eyes that resembled her father. It made your heart melt.
Your heart positively stopped beating altogether anytime Namjoon wanted to cradle Lily in his arms to show her to Jin or Tae.
Everyone noticed, and laughed. Your tense shoulders and unblinking eyes as you tracked Namjoon’s every movement had the boys in tears as they guffawed over your actions. Namjoon blushed, settling Lily in Tae’s eager arms.
It got worse once Namjoon realized that you relaxed once your daughter was in Tae’s arms.
Or Jin’s.
Or even your nosy neighbor’s, who had come prying not long after the boys had left.
It had been endearing to see you all protective before, but now it was offensive. Because you were trying to protect your daughter from him.
If Namjoon was being completely honest, he still didn’t quite trust himself to not mess anything up. But he’d at least like a vote of faith on your part.
So a couple of weeks later as the two of you sat across from each other at the dinner table, he wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up with you.
Your shoulders were slumped, your eyes drifting shut as you picked at your food. Namjoon watched, waiting to see if you were about to pass out in your dinner. When you didn’t, he decided it’d probably be nice to make some small talk.
“I can’t believe I have to head back into work tomorrow,” he sighed. Bighit had given him two weeks off to spend with you and Lily, and it was safe to say that he’d loved every moment of it. But it was time for him to head back into work.
You frowned at him over the table, and the part of him that was sad about having to return to work only doubled in size at the expression on your face.
“It’s gone by so fast,” you muttered. “Can’t we pull just one more week? I’m going to miss having you around all day.” A part of you also wondered what it would be like to feel like you could take a nap without keeping one eye open in case of an emergency.
Lily could handle herself, it was Namjoon that always kept you in high alert.
Not that you’d ever admit that to him.
Namjoon smiled softly, and you noticed just how exhausted he looked as well. Through and through, you two were equals. “I’m going to miss you guys.”
Plural. A thrill races through your body at the plural form of his words, reminding you that together, you’ve created a little family.
Pushing back in his chair, Namjoon looks contemplative. “You know, I bet I could take Lily with me to work sometimes. On the days where I’m just working in the studio. She’s young enough that I could just set up the little newborn swing and let her nap while I work. The boys would love that, too. And you could...I don’t know, take a nap?” He laughs a little, oblivious to how pale your face has gone at the notion of him taking Lily alone to work. “We’d be fine, I think. I’d take the diaper bag, and there’s a bathroom just down the hallway-”
The images of everything that could possible go wrong - one of them being an entire speaker being knocked off the table by your clumsy husband only to land on your helpless daughter - is enough to have you shooting to your feet.
“No way,” you sputter. “That’s definitely not happening. Not for a long, long time, Namjoon.” Heart thundering against your chest, you hardly notice the crestfallen expression on Namjoon’s face.
“It was just a thought-”
“And I’m putting a stop to that thought.”
“I just thought it might be nice for all of us-”
“Nice?” You must look like a gasping fish at this point. “Nice, Namjoon? No. I wouldn’t be able to rest without Lily here! You really think I could just leave her with you? What if something happened? What if you knocked something off your desk and hurt her? Spilled hot coffee on her? Forgot she was there? I...that would be a nightmare!”
Namjoon hardly has time to open his mouth to respond before you’re grabbing both of your dishes and rushing back into the kitchen to wash them. Chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, you hardly notice Namjoon’s presence at your elbow before he’s lightly nudging you to the side.
“Let me,” he mumbles quietly enough that you hardly catch the words. “Go to bed. I’ll finish up.”
You pay him no mind, scrubbing at the dishes with reckless abandon. Namjoon breathes in deeply, struggling to steady himself.
Tears are pooling in your vision now, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve lost all control over your emotions.
Over your life.
“I...” you sniffle in the direction of the sink, “I’m sorry, Joon. It’s just-”
“No, don’t apologize.” Namjoon nudges you again, pulling the sponge from your hands and setting to work on the dishes. “I know that everything is different and new, and you’re probably feeling out of balance. I should have thought about that. Lily is...your anchor right now. I was just upset, because that’s supposed to be my role.”
His words have your eyes widening as you realize that everything he said is correct. Namjoon doesn’t bother to look to see if his words rung true, opting to focus on the plate that has been clean for a while now but continuing to scrub at it.
“Go to bed,” he orders lightly, still not looking at you.
Mouth wide open, close it again. Then re-open it. “Namjoon, I swear, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m just...freaked out.”
He nods curtly. “I know.”
~~~~
A part of you remembers feeling the bed dip not long after you’d collapsed upon it, letting you know that Namjoon was also settling down for the night. He’d gone completely still after sitting on the edge of the bed, looking over at you as though he might say something.
Instead, he’d slid under the covers as smoothly as possible before turning the lamp off.
It was one of the rare occasions that he’d managed to not tip anything over in his search for the lamp switch, but your exhausted brain hadn’t bothered to celebrate the occasion.
You were exhausted. And you realized that it wasn’t so much physical exhaustion as it was emotional.
Of course you didn’t want Namjoon to have to go back to work tomorrow, but you were also looking forward to a little sliver of peace knowing that you only had to worry about Lily.
Starting tomorrow it was just going to be you and Lily. A little team of two against the world.
Sleep completely overtook you, and Namjoon’s words managed to slither their way into your brain, following you into your dreams.
“She’s your...anchor. I was just upset, because that’s supposed to be my role.”
~~~~
You were so far gone into your dreamland that Lily’s cries took much longer to get to you that night. In fact, it was more the feeling of suddenly being alone in the bed that roused you from sleep than it was your daughter’s crying.
Completely disoriented and still half in a dream that had to do with anchors and Namjoon’s studio, you sit up in bed and struggle to rub the sleep from your eyes.
Another couple of minutes passed before you bolted out from under the covers, realizing that Lily had been crying, Namjoon was gone, and now it was utterly silent.
“Oh no.”
Wrapping your robe around your frame, you padded down the hallway to Lily’s room. Her door was open, with the soft light from her nightlight spilling out into the hallway. You’d just made it to her door when you heard Namjoon.
“See? We’re doing alright, Lils.”
Peering into the dimly lit room, your heart clenched and then completely melted at the sight before you.
Namjoon, clad in nothing but his basketball shorts and mussed hair, stared down at his daughter with a smile so soft that you were sure you’d never seen it before. His eyes, however tired, practically glowed with adoration. Ever so gently rocking back and forth in the rocking chair placed in the corner of the room, he only had eyes for his daughter.
Lily appeared to be utterly content in her father’s arms, already drifting back to sleep. The only sign that she was still somewhat awake was the little hand that reached up to grip Namjoon’s finger.
Together, your entire world swayed back and forth in the rocking chair that had taken an entire afternoon to put together. Quietly, gently.
And as Namjoon slightly adjusted his hold, he did so carefully. And that’s when you saw it.
The flicker of worry in his eyes as he brought Lily closer to his chest. The way he held his breath until she settled back into her sleepy daze. How that little smile reappeared as her little exhales tickled his skin.
Namjoon was learning, and judging by the fresh diaper laying atop the wastebasket by the door, he was doing just fine.
No thanks to you, of course.
At the sound of your sniffle, Namjoon’s head shot up. He winced, glancing down to make sure Lily hadn’t been rudely awoken.
His eyes found yours from across the room, and he immediately bit his bottom lip. He began to slow his rocking, preparing to let you take over.
You held up a hand. “No, it’s fine. Keep going.”
Namjoon froze for a moment before remembering to continue rocking. “...what?”
Shrugging, you silently make your way into the room and take a seat on a footstool beside Namjoon. “Keep going.”
“Are you sure?”
You give him an apologetic smile. “Yes. I...truly, I’m sorry, Namjoon. You’re just trying your best, and I haven’t given you any credit for that. You...” Tears blur your vision. “You’re a great father. And we both love you.”
Namjoon stares at you for a moment longer, eyes wide with emotion before looking down at Lily’s sleeping form. “How did we make something so perfect? She’s absolutely perfect.”
You giggle quietly. “Are you doubting my abilities, Mr. Kim?”
That soft smile splits into a boyish grin, the same he sported on your second date all those years ago.
“Of course not. Although it does make me wonder...”
Your eyebrows raise. “What?”
That grin doesn’t falter as Namjoon whispers, “What do think the chances are that the next one is just as perfect?”
Fighting the urge to punch his arm, you settle for rolling your eyes. “We are not even entertaining the idea of another kid right now, Joon. Our daughter just turned 2 weeks old. Give me a break.”
“I want to give you a break,” Namjoon presses, wiggling his eyebrows. “So how about you let me take her to work? That would be a great break for you. You wouldn’t have to worry about either one of us!”
“Nope.”
Namjoon frowns. “Still a no?”
You look at the small form in his arms, peacefully sleeping. “Absolutely not. Maybe when she’s 10.”
Gasping, Namjoon’s eyes twinkle with joy. “10?! I was thinking more like 3...”
“Nice try, loser.”
“4?”
You give him a long look, finally rising from where you sit. Pressing a kiss to Lily’s rosy cheeks before turning to brush your lips against Namjoon’s, you sigh.
“6. Final offer.”
Namjoon sighs, but appears to be content. “Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you negotiate?”
Heading toward the door, you stifle a laugh. “We are not having another kid right now, Joon.”
His sigh of disappointment has you grinning, feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.
Once you’re back into the hallway, you turn to get one last look at this moment. Namjoon has already focused on Lily again, oblivious to your actions. The moonlight trickles in through the curtains, and that’s when you take a mental picture of this moment.
Of your love, your husband, your anchor. Holding your daughter in the soft moonlight.
masterlist
#bts as fathers#bts as dads#bts dad au#bts namjoon fluff#Namjoon fluff#namjoon husband au#namjoon x reader#bts x reader#bts fluff#seriously loved this idea#so cute#namjoon oneshot#namjoon imagine#namjoon soft hours#bts soft hours#bts and babies#bts x you
406 notes
·
View notes
Text
The First Day of Spring
[cover art by @raymicart on ig and used with permission, x.]
fandom: six of crows // kaz x inej x jesper // polycrows
word count: 5,075
rating: mature (for general horniness)
summary: You know that tweet that goes:
one time at a party i kissed someone’s girlfriend and to make sure he wasn’t mad about it i kissed him too?
Yeah, this is that. Kaz is the boyfriend, Inej is the girlfriend and Jesper is the kisser.
AO3
~
The Squat is full of people.
Inej’s earnest little band of activists, including a mother and her fourteen-year-old tween who definitely doesn’t want to be here at this odd little gathering in the middle of the day. A few old members of the Dregs, whom Jesper has been good naturedly slapping on the back all day. They don’t have much to talk about these days, what with how Jesper’s gone legit, almost a year into working down at the shipyard on aluminium alloy fabrication—the Kerch merchant navy is all in a tizzy about new metal compounds coming out of Ravka by technologies unknown. Sadly, Anika’s not up-to-date on her material science. She is still a laugh though, so Jesper isn’t surprised to have spent most of the last few hours throwing back lukewarm VKs in the TV room arguing about her distaste for 1950’s blues music.
Somewhere in the crowd are Kuwei’s PhD friends too. They’re beyond intimidating. Socially awkward and way too smart for their own good. Five Kuwei clones, give or take. One of them, a lithe creature by the name of An, had for a moment—Jesper is fairly certain—been hitting on him. At least, they’d laughed way too hard at his sarky little jokes and insisted on repeatedly stroking his not-all-that-impressive bicep through the mesh top he’s wearing. The attention is flattering, of course, and he didn’t throw on this teal mesh top and wide-leg silk trousers for nothing but Jesper is solidly spoken for. More spoken for than he’s ever been in his life, which he can hardly believe. No less than an eighth of the present company lays claim to his time and six people is a lot to handle, even for Jesper. Not that he needs to handle them. They’ve got a rota. Down in the kitchen, there’s a calendar and whiteboard (fully equipped with water soluble pens Kuwei stole from his department at uni), detailing the myriad dates and hangouts and polycule conference calls going at least two months forward. Not every arrangement in the group is sexual, not every one is romantic, but love abounds.
For eight months now, he, Kaz and Inej have been carrying on sexually. And four months ago, Wylan had joined the fray too. Seeing him and Kaz together had been the culmination of many a daydream for Jesper. Turns out Kaz is capable of being mean in the bedroom given the right motivation.
All in all, Jes is not ashamed to admit, it’s been the adventure of his life.
As the day wears into night, the sinking sun painting the world a Peach Melba confection, Jesper finds himself on the balcony, Inej tucked under his arm.
.
Inej is quite used to feeling small. She is small. Barely 155cm (5’2), she reaches just under Kaz’ chin. Once upon a time, she’d hated that. Feeling small, fragile, vulnerable. No matter the strength she gathered in her limbs, her speed and dexterity and athleticism, she always felt weak. Self-defence classes and weapons training, the knife she kept in her purse and tucked into her boot, all felt like crutches. Concessions to her smallness, her femaleness. It made her feel like prey in a world of predators.
But here, watching the sun set on the Spring Equinox (a day she’s celebrated for as long as she can remember), tucked into Jesper’s lanky frame, Inej feels nothing but safe.
His heart is a barely perceptible flutter against her cheek and under her palm. Everywhere they touch, her body is warmed by his—a veritable furnace—so although the air is brisk this evening, she has no inclination to go back inside.
They’ve been doing this for a while now, she thinks. Finding comfort in each other, physically. For a long time, Jesper was the only man she could stand touching her at all. There is something easy and careful and adoring about the way he is with her that has always put her at ease. That is not to say he hasn’t made mistakes because he has but ultimately, when the chips are down, Jesper would never hurt her on purpose, would hurt himself in the process of avoiding just that.
A year ago, Inej had watched Kaz and Jesper fumble their way into physical intimacy, with breathless anticipation. Sex would never be the same for them as it was for anyone else and Inej knew she could not be physically intimate with anyone she did not know completely but Jesper… Oh , she’d dreamed about Jesper. With every long limbed hug and easy smile and perfectly timed joke and outrageous wink, Jesper had burrowed his way into her fantasies. There were things she could not ask of Kaz, with his limited mobility and sensitivity to skin-skin touch, but she could ask Jesper. And it hadn’t taken them long to learn just how much Kaz enjoyed watching.
Inej discovered and rediscovered things about herself, about her capacity for pleasure and joy, in her relationship with the two of them she’d all but given up on. Not-so-gently bullying Kaz into asking Jesper out had been by far one of her best ideas.
Behind them, through the double-glazed windows of the veranda, Inej can just about make out the sound of Jesper’s hifi being turned up. The party switching gears as day bleeds into night.
“Oh, Ghezen ,” Jesper groans above her, half-turning to look back into the flat. “Who the fuck let Anika pick the music?”
He sounds distraught. The low rumble of his voice and the note of distress—which she knows to be exaggerated—makes Inej smile. Lightly, she turns her face and presses a kiss into the mesh fabric just above his heart. Doing this, she realises she can see his nipple through the material and proceeds to kiss that too. It works as intended, distracting him from his anguish. Briefly and teasingly, the arm he has wrapped around her tightens before slipping down slightly to curl more firmly around her waist.
“Inej, darling. Anyone could see.” There is not a hint of reprove in his voice and when she looks up he’s beaming down at her, eyes shining in the dying light. “Kiss me again.”
She does because she is happy and free and safe.
.
The heat of her breath is immediately apparent through the less-than-substantial fabric of his top, it ghosts over his skin and raises goosebumps all the way up his neck. Delicious and tantalising.
Inej rarely gets like this—teasing and flirty and physical—but when she does, it’s all Jesper can do to make himself available to her.
Pulling her closer to him, he flattens his palm against the small of her back. Though he is half naked, she is swathed in a lovely chiffon dress the colour of fresh oak leaves, pooling around her feet. With a high neck and bell sleeves, only her face and hands are bare—the better to avoid accidental touch. It also hides her figure, which Jesper knows is slim and strong and perfect, which Jesper knows is not for public consumption. Slowly then, he traces the subtle curves and soft lines of her body, pressing firmly into the curve of her waist and the dip of her spine where he knows she needs it. She isn’t kissing him anymore, her lips slightly parted and eyes closed in surrender.
“Did you have a good time at your hippy party?”
“My hippy party is still ongoing,” Inej says, chin tipped up and resting against his sternum.
Letting go of her waist for a moment, Jesper cups her face in his hands, long fingers pushing her hair back.
“Let me rephrase, are you having a good time at your hippy party?”
She smiles, eyes wide and shining, and nods. It’s awkward with the way he’s holding her but he can’t bring himself to stop.
Those dozen or so alcopops he had earlier with Anika and that dirty pint he ended up drinking after losing Ring of Fire are making him feel warm and fuzzy around the edges, softening the light and warming his belly.
“May I kiss you, Inej?”
He has to ask. Because he’s a gentleman and because they’re not exactly in private and because the answer to that question changes day-to-day, minute-by-minute.
“Yes, please.”
The way she says please is warmer even than the booze.
The journey to her mouth is long. He has to stoop quite substantially to reach her hemisphere but then she rises on her tiptoes, hands gripping his shoulders and meets him—not halfway, but at least a third of the way.
Her mouth is soft and she tastes of peaches and sea salt. Maybe it’s that peach margarita he saw her drinking earlier or maybe it’s just her, sweet Inej. He thinks, as he always thinks when kissing Inej, that there is nothing else he’d rather be doing. Under his palm, which has slipped to cradle her neck, he can feel the minute patter of her pulse. A hummingbird's wing under the skin.
Of all his lovers, he thinks Inej’s sounds are his favourite. It took some doing for her to feel comfortable enough to vocalise her pleasure as and when she wants. By Kaz’ reckoning it had taken her years to get that comfortable with him and he was decidedly not jealous when, barely five weeks into their new arrangement, Inej properly, full-body moaned for Jesper. It’s not a competition, he’d said. We’ll see about that, Kaz had answered.
Now, with his hands in her hair and skating down her arms and at the curve of her waist, Inej is sighing. It’s a soft, easy sound. Unrushed and undemanding, she makes it directly into his mouth and Jesper does his best to swallow it down.
.
Despite the warmth of Jes’ arms and the warmth of his breath and the warmth of his tongue, Inej feels the spring air bite. She drops back onto the balls of her feet and presses on his shoulders to correct his skewed posture.
The feel of Jesper’s mouth against hers lingers and she licks her lips, chasing the sensation.
“You look spectacular tonight by the way, darling.”
The urge to pluck at her dress, to shrug, is overwhelming. All she can think is, “I’m not sure Kaz noticed.”
“No? That bastard.” Jesper gives her a squeeze, arched brows knit in concern. “Shall I have a word?”
“No,” she sighs. “It’s not the same if he doesn’t initiate, you know?”
He does know. Jesper’s been there since the beginning, has been on the receiving end of Kaz’ inscrutable stoicism. Even now, many years into her relationship with the man, she cannot pin down his moods. The gestures he makes, unsolicited and grand beyond all reason, followed immediately and unavoidably by sullen silences and frowns. She knows he loves her, she knows it by the way he looks at her and the way he listens to her and the way he changed for her but some days, being loved by Kaz Brekker seems an impossible thing.
“We can’t blame ourselves for who we love. Kaz is a thief and a liar of the highest order, nothing on God’s green Earth could have prevented him from stealing our hearts once he set his mind to it.”
“I know.”
She does know.
Smoothing a few stray baby hairs away from her face, Jesper tilts her head down and presses a kiss to her crown.
Somewhere, the party goes on. It is as Jesper mentioned her party. She should, probably, at least try to be a good hostess. That would mean leaving behind the quiet and the darkness of this moment, this little island of calm with Jesper.
“I don’t want to keep you from the festivities,” she says, instead of asking him to stay with her a while longer.
“Festivities? There’s a limit to the degree of festive going on in there when the life of the party is out here.”
Jesper’s pierced left eyebrow is somewhere near his hairline as he says this, a smirk making a picture of his beautiful mouth, and, as intended, it makes Inej laugh.
“Jackpot,” he whispers, lips at her brow. “Sweeter than the richest fudge brownie.”
The words slide through Inej, warm her up despite the nip in the air. He’s always been like this, a fountain of easy compliments and easier affection. But, rather than lose their charm, Jesper compliments only appreciate in value.
They stand for a while longer, wrapped up in each other, swaying out of time to the pulse of the music inside.
.
A prickle of awareness tells Jesper they're being watched. When he glances up, he finds Kaz, eyes wide and dark, watching them from the dimly lit interior of the flat. The boy is standing by the kitchen island, what looks to be a glass of water in his hand. It’s almost jealousy. Jesper will not call it that because he knows Kaz is working on it. That he is, by nature, greedy and covetous, but is working to dismantle his insecurity, his possessiveness. Still, the darkness in his gaze, brows low and tense, makes Jesper shiver. He is not opposed to being owned, possessed, kept.
It’s unclear how much exactly Kaz can see with the reflection of the flat’s interior in the window but when Jesper licks his lips (not even trying to be subtle), Kaz puts the glass down hard enough Jesper can see the water slosh over.
“Inej, my darling, I think he noticed.”
She blinks up at him, “what?”
Jesper juts his chin behind her, indicating her scowling boyfriend.
“Oh,” Inej’s laughs the moment she sets eyes on him. “Oh, he’s such an idiot.”
“That he is.” Disentangling himself from her embrace, Jesper makes toward the balcony door. “Let me go smooth his ruffled feathers.”
The door slides open on a wave of humidity and bass. Behind him, Inej steps back into the flat, flexing her toes in the sudden warmth. Before he has a chance to say anything else, she’s making a beeline for where Wylan and Nina are curled on the sofa, heads bent toward each other.
“Right,” he mutters to himself, focusing on Kaz.
Naturally, now that they’ve come inside, Kaz’ attention is elsewhere. Specifically, his attention is on filling the dishwasher to his exacting standard.
Making no secret of his approach, Jesper walks up behind him and bends to prop his elbow on the counter beside the dishwasher.
“I know I was outside for a whole twenty minutes but I think beginning the cleaning is a bit desperate, Kaz. The party’s only just begun.”
“That’s no reason to let the mess get out of hand.”
Kaz is wearing black slacks, a perfectly ironed white button up, and forest green suspenders that stretch deliciously over his broad shoulders. The fact the whole polycule is wearing some shade of green (Wylan in slouchy, second-hand emerald cashmere, Nina in a green-so-dark-it’s-almost-black velvet jumpsuit, Kuwei in a black turtleneck and a lime green, pleated miniskirt, and Matthias—after losing a bet—in a drab olive juicy velour tracksuit, diamante juicy on his ass and everything) is no accident. Today’s dress code is clearly listed beside the cleaning rota on the organisational whiteboard.
Though he didn’t go to much effort, Jesper cannot fault Kaz’ outfit. The collar of the shirt sits perfectly flat against his neck, crisp lines accentuating the dark edge of his hairline, the suspenders emphasise the lines of his back and the shift of the muscles in his shoulders, and the trousers… well, Jesper thinks the only match for how they look on him, is how they look off him.
“Come, love, leave that,” Jesper coos, snagging the corner of one of Kaz’ yellow rubber gloves where it gapes open around his wrist. His leather gloves are on the counter, lying like hands clasped. He stands up reluctantly, eyes on where Jesper’s still holding the glove. “We’ll clean up later, I promise.”
“Who’re you including in that ‘we’, Jes?”
It’s his favourite thing, Kaz calling him Jes. His smile is irrepressible. “Me, Inej, Nina probably, Wylan definitely… Matthias almost certainly.”
“Hmm that sounds likely.”
“You know how I feel about probabilities, Kaz. Come—” He’s now tugging the rubber gloves off and reaching for the leather. “Do you wanna dance? Play beer pong? Darts? Sit in a corner and brood?”
At the last, Kaz throws him a truly tremendous scowl, which in turn, makes Jesper laugh. He fingers the collar of Kaz’ shirt and tugs on it gently. “Pretty please.”
Despite his reluctance, Jesper knows Kaz is having a good day. The fact he is in the kitchen at all, navigating the ebb and flow of bodies trying to reach the fridge and the snack cupboard and the sink, is a sign of a good day.
“Wylan told me you’re going to be staying with him for a few days next month. Did you run that by Inej? I think she has something planned.”
“Who do you take me for? Of course I didn’t, Wy did. I’ll be back in time for the anarchists book club or whatever it is she wants us all here for.”
“Good,” Kaz says quietly, looking down at where he’s running his fingertips over the waistband of Jesper’s trousers. “You know these things are important to her.”
“I do.” Jesper plays with his lip piercing to keep from touching Kaz. “You should tell her you think she looks pretty, by the way.”
“She knows I do.”
“That’s not the point.”
Colour rises over the edge of Kaz’ collar, staining his neck. “Is that what you two were talking about? Outside?”
Jesper smiles and boldly curls a hand around Kaz’ neck—over the stiff fabric of his shirt collar. “Do you mean, were we talking about you?”
.
After making her way to the sofa, Inej ends up wedged between Wylan and Nina, with the latter’s ample thighs in her lap. The brunette beauty is laid out on the couch, head against the arm rest, winking at Matthias across the room. It looks like he’s caught in a heated conversation with one of Kuwei’s PhD friends. Over the music, Inej can’t make out what they’re saying but Matthias has that wide-eyed flustered look he only really gets whenever Kuwei flirts with him—half scared, half intrigued. Nina is enjoying the tableau tremendously.
“Oh good, Jesper’s convinced Kaz to stop doing the dishes.” Wylan seems less interested in whatever is unfolding with Matthias, his attention trained on their boyfriends bickering in the open plan kitchen.
“It won’t last. He’ll be back at it in an hour.”
“Didn’t he have that big auction today?” Wylan says, slender fingers pressing firmly into the arches of Nina’s feet.
“He did. It went well, all things considered.” Inej drops her head on Wylan’s shoulder and closes her eyes. “But it has been a long day, now that you mention it.”
“ Oh—“ Nina moans long and loud as Wylan hits a particularly tight spot. Across the room, Matthias’ eyes snap in their direction. “Gosh, you’re good at that.”
Wylan preens a little, smiling smugly at Matthias, who takes one step toward them. Before he can make it any further, Kuwei appears out of the crowd and, hand trailing across Matthias’ chest, does a little pirouette. The turn causes his skirt to lift slightly, revealing tight, lacy little panties in the same lime green as the skirt. Inej almost chokes as she watches Matthias’ gaze falter and catch on the sight, pupils blown wide and utterly black.
Though admittedly, it doesn’t take much to get the big guy to blush, the shade of puce he turns now is almost record breaking.
Kuwei returns his hand to Matthias’ pectoral, fingers pressing firmly enough Inej can see the indentations in the velour tracksuit. That scared and intrigued look is back full force and focused entirely on Kuwei, whose other hand is playing idly with the hem of his skirt.
“In Matthias’ defence,” Nina begins, eyes on the pair of them. “Kuwei does look incredible in that skirt.”
All she gets is affirmative hums as Wylan and Inej both watch the scene unfold.
Watching Kuwei with Matthias is like watching a wolf stalk its prey—and Matthias, the six-foot-something ex-Marine, is not the wolf in this scenario. Kuwei’s flirting is typically too direct and too demanding to work on the others but Matthias is utterly helpless in the face of it. Plus, as it turns out, he’s also dangerously attracted to Kuwei for reasons he doesn’t fully understand.
Looking at Kuwei’s little excuse for a skirt bouncing with every move he makes, Inej thinks she understands perfectly what’s got their resident jock so out of sorts.
.
In the kitchen, Jesper and Kaz are entirely oblivious to the soap opera happening only a few yards away.
“Would you like to know what we were talking about, Kaz?”
The chances that he’ll admit it are slim. Kaz prefers to maintain his stoic facade, unphased and unconcerned with mortal affairs.
“Yes,” he says, hand now clutching Jesper’s waist. “I—I’d like to know.”
This is the most pleasant surprise.
“Well, since you asked so nicely.” Carefully, he leans into Kaz’ touch, sighing a little just to see Kaz’ lips part as they always do when he vocalises. “We were talking about how good Inej looks in that dress, about Anika’s terrible taste in music, about your filthy, thieving ass—stealing our hearts right from under us.”
Kaz smiles at that. It’s a lazy, slow kind of smile that travels all the way to his eyes. In it, Jesper sees he’d been expecting something worse, genuine criticism perhaps.
“You don’t guard it well.”
“No, no I don’t suppose I do.”
Kaz’ eyes shutter when Jesper tightens his grip on his neck, pressing a thumb into the apple of his throat.
“I know—” Jesper feels him swallow. “I know I’m not good at this.”
“You’re not good at this, you’re right,” Jesper murmurs, watching the way Kaz’ lashes cast shadows on his cheek. “But I am and Inej isn’t bad either and Nina and Wylan are pros—you’re not in this alone.”
Over the sound of the music, the humidity of two dozen people breathing in a handful of rooms, Jesper can’t focus on anything but the way Kaz moves into him, tightens his grip on his hip and holds him closer.
Then, his eyes flutter open to reveal the darkness between stars.
“I’m not jealous,” he says in a voice orders of magnitude deeper than his ordinary speaking voice. “Of you—or Inej.”
“Not even a little bit?” Jesper pouts, tilting his pelvis just so.
The little catch in Kaz’ breathing is like a shot of espresso or being handed a particularly lucky hand.
“Maybe a little bit,” he murmurs in response, eyes on Jesper’s mouth.
“Yeah?” Jesper scrunches his nose with a smile. “What’re you gonna do about it, boss?”
Despite the fact they are not alone, despite the fact the kitchen is open to the lounge and the balcony and the landing, despite the fact several dozen near strangers can see them, Kaz takes Jesper’s chin between his gloved fingers and kisses him. It’s fleeting, soft and impossibly gentle. Nothing like his kiss with Inej. Barely a kiss, really.
It takes all of Jesper’s miserly willpower not to chase it.
.
They stay by the half-filled dishwasher while the party goes on.
At some point, Jesper pulls a stool over from the breakfast bar and forces Kaz to sit, which he does. This has the added benefit of allowing him to stand between Kaz’ parted knees. Inevitably, Jesper rests his hands on Kaz’ thighs. They’re strong and defined and a little lopsided. Jesper would happily spend his remaining days braced between them.
When Kaz’ eyes flick briefly over Jesper’s left shoulder, he knows to expect Inej.
Her slender arms wrap him in a hug mere moments later. Cheek pressed against Jesper’s arm, Inej watches Kaz watch her.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Kaz rasps, eyes on his girl.
She gasps and smacks a hand on Jesper’s belly. “You told him!”
“He told me you look good tonight, which is true.”
Jesper can feel her smile against his arm, can feel the tickle of her eyelashes. Keeping one hand on his belly, Inej reaches out to take Kaz’ gloved hand with the other.
They stay like that, warm—too warm maybe—in each other’s embrace for what feels like second, like hours. Oblivious to the party, oblivious to time.
But it can't last forever and sooner than Jesper would prefer, Inej is dragged away by one of her activist friends—the one who did a little jail time for chaining himself to the railing outside the Fjerdan embassy—and Kaz is dragged away by Kuwei who has questions about the precise mechanics of finagling grant money out of international organisations and Jesper is dragged away by Wylan, which, to be fair, he doesn’t mind at all.
The evening takes them on different routes.
Jesper’s is short and direct. A one way trip to the sofa with Wylan in his lap. It is unfortunate, to say the least, when after no small amount of grinding Wylan climbs out of his lap and makes clear his intention to leave.
“Wy—baby,” Jesper is very nearly whining. “You can’t leave me like this.”
Like this meaning, half-hard and needy.
“I’m sorry.” Wylan dips down, bites Jesper’s bottom lip and licks into his mouth.
“You’re not sorry at all!”
Wylan chuckles at that, hand propped teasingly on Jesper’s thigh.
“Can’t you stay?” He’ll beg if need be. “It’s so late, you shouldn’t walk home alone.”
“I’m getting an Uber.”
“Staying here is free.”
“I’m literally a millionaire.”
“Stay with me.”
Wylan sighs and cups Jesper’s cheek. “You have a house full of lovers here, go find someone else to help you with that.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
He has no plausible deniability.. “I love you.”
“And I love you!” Wy gives him one last kiss and says, “if I see Nina on my way out I’ll send her your way.”
With that, he’s gone.
.
The lounge is a mess. A hundred different glasses with the dregs of a hundred different drinks litter every surface in sight. It’s almost enough to give Inej a headache.
To avoid thinking about the cleanup, she finds Jesper, fully reclined on the sofa—head on one arm and bare feet up on the other. His eyes are closed, the temptation too great.
As lightly as she can, she takes a seat in his lap.
The subsequent reflex approaches disaster. He snaps up like a marionette, chest and knees in. One second she’s perched on his crotch, the next he’s collapsing beneath her. Catching her in his arms just in time, Jesper drops back onto the sofa with a shout.
“‘Nej!” He barks. “Are you trying to give an old man a heart attack?”
Adrenaline has her pulse high and insistent, the shock of his reaction so unexpected. Though after a few breaths her heart still skitters slightly, she eventually dissolves into laughter. Curling against his torso and clutching at his top, she manages, “I’m sorry, old man. I didn’t—I didn’t realise you were so out of it.”
“I was damn near asleep, you madwoman.”
Now, he’s laughing too.
One of his hands is curled protectively around her waist, holding her firmly but not tightly. The other he drags up the length of her arm, where it’s draped across his chest. It’s nice like this and slowly but surely their laughter subsides, ebbing into silence.
Propping her chin on her folded hands, she looks up at Jesper.
From this angle, all she can see is the underside of his chin, with its day worth of stubble. As if sensing her regard, he tips his head up, doubling that chin.
“What’s up, beautiful?”
“Nothing.” She smiles and lays her head back down, ear pressed to his chest.
The steady thump of his heart is a rhythm she could sleep to but not long after, a familiar gait makes its way into the lounge.
“That doesn’t look very comfortable.”
“I am supremely comfortable, I’ll have you know.”
Looking up, Inej discovers Kaz has gotten changed. He’s wearing his favourite striped pyjamas which must mean he intends on leaving the cleaning until tomorrow.
“Lie down with us?” Her hand reaches across the space between them but Kaz only eyes the sofa, warily.
“How?” After a moment's hesitation, “where?”
Briefly, Jesper’s belly tenses under her, his abdomen engaging as he sits up and turns on his side slightly. With an arm scooped under her waist, Jesper keeps her settled against the length of his body, the sofa at her back. Her head is pillowed in the crook of his shoulder when she hears him pat the sofa above her.
“Right here.” It escapes none of them that this would put Jesper’s head in Kaz’ lap nor do any of them think it’s a good idea for them to sleep like this—not when they have a perfectly good bed—several, perfectly good beds in other parts of the flat. But Jesper has read her reluctance to move so he pats the sofa again. “Only for a little while.”
Rolling his eyes a little, Kaz does as he’s told.
Inej knows when Jesper has his head in his lap by the way he hums and the sound Kaz’ silk pyjamas make as Jesper inevitably nuzzles his crotch. Her suspicions are confirmed when Kaz growls, “don’t start anything you’re not ready to finish.”
It doesn’t take long for Jesper to grow hot and hard where he’s pressed against Inej’s belly, working Kaz up with strategically placed open-mouthed kisses everywhere within reach.
When Jesper’s free hand begins roaming, smoothing over the slight swell of her hip and palming the back of her thigh to hike it up over his waist, all her earlier lethargy slides away. His touches are careful and deliberate even as his attention is trained elsewhere. Heat blooms, sweet and slow. She exhales it in a shudder over his heart.
They do not stay on the sofa for long.
When finally they do all fall asleep, a contented tangle of limbs, the sun is rising on the first day of Spring.
~
A/N: I will not be taking any questions, thank you very much. However, if you're mad/blue balled about the fade-to-black? Why not try First Night of Spring, my smutty follow-up to this fic.
#six of crows#modern au#polycrows#polycrows supremacy#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#jesper fahey#nina zenik#matthias helvar#kuwei yul bo#(we include kuwei in the crows in this house)#fluff#tooth rotting fluff#domestic fluff#a domesticated kaz#i'm not even gonna list the pairings/combos there's too many#something for everyone#but this is primarily a kazpernej fic#can you tell i'm currently experimenting with ethical non-monogamy in my personal life????#lololol#write what you know#right?#my writing
50 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
3kroner-blog-blog
(CV: Koyasu Takehito)
sophiechorus
Sophie Chorus
guardiansgalore
"Once Lady Yuna fixes her hair, we leave."
jdmcarotaku
当時の頃
dream-listing
d r e @ m l i s t i n g