#...........i need to write out those season summaries lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelscruff · 2 years ago

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one day i'll feel alright (joel miller x reader) 18+

here it is... the Big One. i've been hyping up this part of my soft!dom joel series for a while now (probably too much, i'm sorry) but i'm so excited to finally share it with you guys. i just wanna note that this is not the end of soft!dom joel by any means. i wanna keep writing for these two as long as i can, just probably nothing else as long as this lmao �� enjoy! | masterlist summary: joel must finally face his demons when you don't return from patrol. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: fem!reader, age difference (reader is mid 20s, joel mid 50s), dom/sub dynamics (joel is dominant but not degrading or aggressive), hurt/comfort, angst, praise kink, dirty talk, bathing together, oral (both f and m receiving), unprotected p in v sex, size kink, orgasm denial, comeplay, come eating, yall this one is SO filthy be warned word count: 15k | ao3 spoilers: this contains vague spoilers for part two of the video game (and most likely for season two of the show). nothing too major (joel does NOT go golfing in this fic).

The patrol schedule is posted on Monday morning outside the community center and you're one of the first people to look at it, eyes frantically scanning for your name as your heart pounds in your chest. There's no way, you think to yourself, still searching, He wouldn't actually talk to Tommy about a schedule change.

You finally find your name and feel those annoyingly familiar angry tears begin to burn in your eyes.

"Fuck you," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head, "Fuck you, Joel."

You're no longer his patrol partner.

You briefly consider going to his house, pounding on his door until he answers and screaming in his face about how ridiculous and immature he's being, but you realize that doing so would make you just as immature. Instead, you just decide to pretend it never happened, like you never patrolled with him to begin with.

"Steve is nice," one of your friends says to you later, "I like him, you'll get along."

Who the fuck is Steve? you want to ask, but then remember that it's his name that has replaced Joel's on the schedule. To make matters even worse, you're no longer going up to the ski lodge and are instead going out past the perimeter, a patrol location known to encounter raiders pretty often. Fantastic.

The next time you see him is that night in the dining hall, sitting in his usual corner by himself and gulping down bites of chili like he hasn't eaten in weeks. It used to be endearing, those big bites, now it just pisses you off.

He doesn't look at you. Over the past few weeks you'd grown accustomed to him peering over at you every so often, giving you small smiles to acknowledge that he saw you and remembered what the two of you shared every weekend. Neither of you would talk about it; it was private and belonged on the mountain, which you were fine with. At least he'd give you those looks, those smiles, and remind you that you were his pretty girl, his little secret.

Now his lack of acknowledgement, his purposeful ignorance of your presence, it makes you feel sick. You end up having to excuse yourself before you do something you'll regret. Like punch someone.

Steve is nice, but that's your first immediate problem with him. He's too nice. He talks too much, constantly trying to fill a silence that doesn't need it, asks you way too many questions and doesn't seem even vaguely put-out when you give him the most basic possible answers. He's young, probably in his mid-thirties, and you find yourself desperately missing the long and comfortable silences you shared with Joel, his gruff sighs, his breathy chuckles, his music, his books, his age. You realize pretty quickly that you view Steve as a boy and not a man, despite him being older than you. Internally, you tell yourself you need to get a grip.

Your new patrol location isn't as bad as you'd first thought; you're stationed in an abandoned cabin in a wooded area past the perimeter. It's cozy and inviting, kind of reminds you of the ski lodge, which quickly makes you feel depressed. You both take turns circling the area - although at first Steve had suggested you do it together; you'd vetoed that immediately. Your main responsibilities are checking traps and watching out for infected. It's actually a bit more engaging than your previous patrol which you feel slightly grateful for; it's nice to feel busy. And to shut your thoughts up.

At the end of your first patrol with Steve you both walk back to Jackson together in the early morning, him still continuing to chat and tell you things about himself regardless of whether you respond. You're almost back to town when you notice that you're suddenly on the same path you and Joel used to take, the one that leads up to the mountain. You stop in your tracks.

"What time is it?" you ask, interrupting whatever Steve had been prattling on about.

He looks down at his watch, "Almost six," he smiles at you, "We'll be back just in time for breakfast."

Almost six; around the time you and Joel would usually be reaching the bottom of the mountain. Your eyes scan the tree line, brow furrowing as you search for any sign of him making his way down the path. Steve stands there awkwardly, waiting for you to say something.

"Should we...?" he gestures toward the path you're both on, toward town, and you bite your lip in thought.

"Just gimme a sec," you say quickly, still searching, "I wanna say hi to my old patrol partner."

"Aw, that's sweet," he says with a smile, and it's so earnest and endearing that you can't necessarily be annoyed, "My old patrol partner, we-" he starts chatting again, buying you some more time.

Not more than a moment later, two figures suddenly emerge from the trees: Joel and Tommy. You feel your heart start to pound as they walk down the path, neither seeing you and Steve standing there until they're almost directly in front of you. They're caught up in some kind of deep conversation, you might even call it an argument judging by Tommy's stiffness and Joel's flared nostrils.

Tommy sees you first, giving you a wave and a smile, then nudging Joel. Joel follows Tommy's eyeline and suddenly freezes in his tracks, standing still on the path while Tommy continues to approach you.

"Good patrol?" he asks, nodding to Steve, "No trouble?"

"No, sir," Steve says, eager and polite, kind of like a golden retriever puppy, "No problems whatsoever."

"Glad to hear it," he looks at you again, "Hey, mind if we meet later for a chat?"

You wonder if he wants to chat about whatever he'd just been arguing about with Joel. Intrigued, you nod, "Sure."

Joel reaches you then, pace slow and hesitant. You turn to look at him, trying not to let the anger you feel toward him completely overtake you; the last thing you need right now is to either start crying or yelling.

"Hey," you say with a stiff nod.

"Hi!" Steve says beside you, and you try not to wince as he puts his hand out, waiting for Joel to take it, "I'm Steve."

Joel simply stares at him, then his hand, and then looks at you, eyes dark and cold. His gaze slips between the two of you back and forth for a few seconds, expression unreadable, then continues down the path without speaking.

"Meet me by the stream 'round noon, alright?" Tommy says, backing away to follow Joel, "I'll bring you lunch."

You watch as he catches up to Joel, says something to him, but Joel doesn't respond and just keeps on walking ahead, pace quicker and quicker. You're still just standing there watching their forms get smaller when Steve finally speaks again:

"He's...uh...friendly."

You laugh without humor, hitching your pack up your shoulder and starting to walk, "Oh, you have no idea."

You meet Tommy around noon by the stream like he'd asked, crossing the bridge and giving him a small wave of acknowledgement as you approach. He's got a paper bag with him; lunch, just like he'd promised.

"Tuna fish," he says with a kind smile, chuckling at the face you make as he hands the bag to you, "It was either that or egg salad."

"The dining hall must stink today," you reply with a scrunch of your nose, but you take the bag gratefully, "Thanks, Tommy."

"No problem," he gestures toward the bench he's sitting on, inviting you to join him, "Let's talk."

He talks and you mainly listen, nodding along every so often and chewing your tuna sandwich thoughtfully. He starts by thanking you for "everything" you did for him and Maria, which you quickly dodge because all you'd done is take a patrol off his hands - a patrol that's gone back to being his again, but he doesn't mention that part. He talks about how big a help you've been, how he's glad you're here, all the basic stuff he's already told you before. You're almost done your sandwich when you realize he's talking complete bullshit.

"Tommy," you say, balling the paper bag up and shoving it into your pocket, "If you wanna talk about Joel, just do it."

He freezes, recognition dawning in his eyes as he sighs and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. It's a habit he and Joel share, and you can't help but feel an ache in your heart when the image of Joel doing the same thing crosses your mind.

"I'm sorry about the switch," he finally says with a deep sigh, "Joel told me to do it. Not asked, told. He was pretty obstinate, told me it wasn't workin' between you two anymore and he wasn't gonna stay on ski lodge if you were there."

The words sting, even coming from Tommy. You swallow the last of your sandwich and cast your eyes down to the stream, watching the water ebb and flow as Tommy continues to speak.

"I just want you know that if I had it my way, you'd still be up there with him," he says it earnestly, and you understand now why he'd led with all the compliments and reassurances; he'd thought you didn't know why you'd been switched.

"I know," you say quietly, "Tommy, I know it was Joel's idea. He told me last patrol that he was gonna ask you to take me off ski lodge."

"But why?" he sounds genuinely confused, "It was working so well, Maria and I thought you had a great thing goin'."

You nod slowly, refusing to look at him, "We did. But I guess he never told you any details?"

You sense him shake his head beside you, "No, I spent almost the whole patrol trying to get him to talk about it and he wouldn't. Just kept saying it wouldn't work anymore and that he wasn't gonna say anythin' else about it. Stubborn, my brother. Always has been."

I know, you want to say, believe me, I know.

"So I figured I'd ask you."

You finally look over at him then, "There's not much to say, Tommy."

"But there's somethin'," he leans forward, looking concerned, "I know my brother, I know when he's hidin' somethin'. There's somethin' he's not telling me and I want you to tell me 'cause otherwise I'm just gonna assume the worst."

"Which is...?"

He sighs, leaning back against the bench again, "I don't even know."

You touch the back of your neck awkwardly, trying to decide how to word it. There's absolutely no way you're giving him all the details - or any details for that matter - but you do owe him some kind of explanation considering he's now losing his free time again over this.

"Me and Joel, we..." you bite your lip, "We had...." you sigh and shake your head, "Okay, what I'm about to say does not leave this bench, Tommy. You can tell Maria but that's it."

"Oh shit," he says, eyes going wide, "Were y'all fuckin' up there?"

You groan, leaning forward as your arms fall to your knees and you cover your face with your hands. He's not necessarily correct, but somehow the reality is much more embarrassing to admit. You don't say anything in response, confirming his suspicions.

"Jesus Christ," he says, voice full of genuine surprise, "I was...holy shit, I was not expectin' that."

"Anyway," you say into your hands, skin turning bright red beneath your fingertips, "It's over now and he doesn't want me up there with him anymore, that's all you need to know, okay?"

"Yeah," Tommy says immediately, "Yeah, sure, of course. I wouldn't dream of -" he makes a weird noise, "God, I did not think that's what was goin' on."

"Sorry," you wince, pulling your hands away and sitting up again to look at him. He looks genuinely uncomfortable, arms crossed as he shifts next to you on the bench, cogs turning in his mind. He's probably thinking about what exactly the two of you have been doing up there when you're supposed to be patrolling and the very thought makes both of you cringe simultaneously.

"No, don't apologize, I asked," he shakes his head again, eyes still wide, "I, uh, I won't tell anybody, no worries."

"You can tell Maria," you reiterate, "I don't want you keeping anything from your wife."

"I'll tell her but I doubt she'll believe me," he's staring ahead, still in shock, "You? With Joel? I'm sorry but..." he laughs loudly, still shaking his head, "I didn't think my brother had it in him."

You make a face and stand up, "Okay, that's my cue to leave."

"No, sorry, I'll leave," he stands up as well and digs his hands down into his pockets awkwardly, "I'll uh... be at the bar, if you need me."

He goes to cross the bridge but stops halfway, turning slowly and giving you one last kind and gentle look, apologetic.

"Hey, I'm sorry it didn't work out," he says, and you can tell he means it, "You're real sweet, my brother's just an ass."

"I know," you say with a small nod, "You did warn me."

"I did," he says it sadly, looking down at the stream, "He has his reasons, though. Maybe he'll tell you one day."

"Maybe."

He turns back around and walks away, leaving you standing there alone by the stream with an ache in your heart that won't go away.

He was pretty obstinate, Tommy's words echo in your head, told me it wasn't workin' between you two anymore and he wasn't gonna stay on ski lodge if you were there.

You stare at the steady flowing water and try not to think about how much it hurts to know he really said that to Tommy. Is that how little you mean to him? How little what the two of you shared meant? You've known the whole time that it wasn't a "real" relationship, you haven't even kissed him for god's sake, but it was a relationship nonetheless. A little weird, a little timid, but soft and new and safe and warm. And all along you'd just been a distraction for him.

In the deepest parts of yourself you've known this all along, remembered how many times in the past few weeks he said that it would be the last time, that he couldn't do it anymore, and you'd just continued to persist and persist until he'd finally had enough. You hadn't really thought he'd end it, didn't think he really meant it.

The tears start flowing before you can stop them. You continue to just stand there dejectedly, staring at the water and trying to figure out what exactly it is about you that made him simply stop caring - if he even cared to begin with.

A rustle of branches makes you jump and your head snaps up, looking toward the sound. A short distance away you catch a bush moving in an unnatural sort of way, shaking back and forth like someone had been watching from behind it. Quickly, you dash forward and pull the leaves apart to find the culprit.

No one's there.

Hurriedly you wipe your face and walk across the bridge, shoving your hands back in your pockets and hoping someone hasn't just witnessed your moment of weakness. And if they have, they'd better keep it to themselves.

Another week passes without any acknowledgement from Joel. You decide to stop eating in the dining hall because it hurts too much, instead grabbing your meals to-go and eating them either in your house or by the stream. On one occasion you'd arrived at the stream at the same time Ellie had decided to sit and practice guitar, freezing in place when you saw her. You hadn't spoken since that one very brief conversation months ago when she'd asked about your scars. You hadn't known then what you know now.

"Hey," she'd said with a nod, then went back to strumming aimlessly on her guitar, "You can eat your lunch here, I don't mind."

You'd shaken your head and taken a step back, "No, that's okay, sorry," then you'd turned and practically run away from her, not entirely sure why.

She reminds you of Joel, you dummy, you'd thought to yourself on the walk back home, biting down on your lip and trying to keep the tears at bay this time. Everything reminds you of Joel.

On Saturday morning you hear a knock at your door. You're still in bed, confused and bleary eyed as you sit up and wait to hear it again, just to be sure you're not still dreaming. When you hear a second series of knocks you practically tumble out of the bed and run downstairs, blanket trailing behind you as you dart to the front door.

It's Joel, it has to be Joel, he's here to apologize, he's gonna kiss you and tell you he's sorry.

You yank open the door and feel your face fall immediately when you see none other than Steve standing there, hands on his hips. He grins at you but it falters slightly when he looks down and sees that you're still in your pajamas.

"Morning, sleepy head," he greets you, reaching forward to playfully bump your arm with his fist, "Looks like someone missed their alarm."

You stare at him, vision still slightly blurred from sleep. You reach up to rub your eyes so you can see him clearer, make sure he's actually standing there in front of you. Yup, he is.

You force yourself to smile back - something which takes a lot of effort but he seems to find genuine - and reply, "My bad, I guess I did."

"No worries," he says with another wide grin, "We got some time before we need to leave, no rush!"

You force one last smile and shut the door in his face, trying not to slam it - even though you really want to. You look at the clock on the wall over your fireplace and make a face: 4:30. He woke you up at 4:30, half an hour before your alarm.

"Steve, I swear to god," you grumble to yourself, heading for the bathroom as you drop your blanket to the floor and clamor back up the stairs; there's no point in going back to sleep, you're wide awake now and pissed.

You know who'd never do this? Joel.

After a shower and a quick bowl of cereal you head back out to meet Steve, prepared to put on your best everything is great impression again. You stop dead in your tracks as soon as you open your door.

"Listen, sir, I think you should leave," Steve is saying, voice cracking slightly as he talks to the figure in front of him.

It's still dark outside; the sun hasn't come up yet and everything is muted and hard to make out. It takes you a few seconds to figure out who Steve is talking to, the figure shrouded in shadow and half hidden behind Steve's tall form. You feel your face go pale when you hear him reply.

"You didn't answer my question," the growl is unmistakably Joel's and you grip the edge of the door in your hands tightly, not opening it all the way as you eavesdrop. What the fuck is he doing here? What question?

"I don't think I owe you a reply," Steve replies, attempting to stand his ground but sounding pretty pathetic, voice shaky and high, "I think you should move along, sir."

"What the fuck are you doing at this girl's house at four in the fucking morning?" Joel practically spits, taking a step toward Steve. In response, Steve takes a step backward. He's not a confrontational guy, you know that from the one patrol you've spent with him, "Answer me."

"I'm her patrol partner," Steve finally says, putting his hands up in defeat, "I'm waiting for her to get ready."

"Patrols don't start 'til five thirty."

"It's true, I swear, you literally met me last week!"

That seems to stump Joel, and he must be trying to figure out what to say next when you shove the door open and walk out onto your porch.

"Joel, what the fuck are you doing?" you ask, voice steady and firm. He looks over at you in surprise, backing away from Steve. Is it just your imagination or did his expression soften when he saw you? But that doesn't matter now.

You walk down the steps of your patio and stand in front of Steve, shoving him behind you lightly, "Steve, I'll meet you at the gate," you say firmly.

"But-"

"Steve. Please leave. I'll meet you in a few minutes."

"...Okay," you can't see him but you hear him walk away from you, trudging down the gravel path in the opposite direction. Once his footsteps are faint enough, you finally address Joel again.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you repeat, "Why are you berating Steve in front of my house?"

"Who the fuck is Steve?" Joel asks; the question of the hour.

"My patrol partner," you reply, shaking your head, "I mean, you should probably know that seeing as you're the one who switched with him."

"I don't know who I switched with, Tommy did that," he retorts, looking away from you, down at his boots, "Wasn't my decision."

"Right, 'cause nothing's ever your fault, right?"

He looks back up, a glint of emotion in his eyes that you've seen only once before, "You have no fucking idea," he says, voice heavy and gruff, "Don't even-"

"Don't even what, Joel? You're the one standing in front of my house at the ass crack of dawn yelling at some guy you've never even talked to before. Steve's actually great, by the way," you're laying it on thick but you don't care; you want him to think you've moved on, "Patrolling with him is much better than patrolling with you."

He raises an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

"Yeah," you lie, cheeks going red with anger, "He actually talks to me."

"And fucks you, I gather?" he says it with a hard edge that makes your blood run cold.

You stand there just staring at him, mouth agape as he lets what he just said wash over you. You inhale and exhale deeply, feeling those godforsaken tears sting in your eyes as you take a step away from him, genuinely fearful that you might end up slapping him or punching him or doing something you shouldn't.

"Fuck you," your voice is small and broken and the tears are already flowing, "Fuck you, Joel."

His expression changes then, and you know an apology is coming. You put your hand up before he can speak, shaking your head.

"Don't," you say, firm and solid, not bothering to wipe your tears as they flick off your face into the grass below, "We're done." You turn on your heel and stomp away from him, feeling a sob wrack through you as you cross your arms and speed walk to the main gate where you know Steve is waiting.

Joel doesn't follow you.

Steve knows better than to question you about what happened. As soon as you'd approached him at the gate he'd seen your tears and the shake of your head when he'd opened his mouth to say something. Ten minutes later you were on your way out to the cabin again without either of you saying a word.

Now you're back on patrol with an aching heart and a huge lump in your throat that won't go away no matter what you do, trailing the perimeter back and forth with your head hung and eyes downcast. Joel's words repeat over and over in your head like a curse, damning you into a feeling of guilt that you don't think you really deserve. You haven't done shit with Steve, the assumption that you'd just immediately moved on from your sexual relationship with Joel to another man makes your blood boil. Who the fuck does he think you are?

Do you really even know him? This whole time he's remained so secretive and aloof, mysterious and cryptic. You hadn't pushed him to reveal more about himself, hoping eventually he'd open up to you, but he never did. Just kept you on a short leash with good girl and pretty girl and the way he'd look at you in those moments where you bared yourself to him.

But you're not much better, you remind yourself with a grimace, and you know it's true. You never told him much about yourself or your past. Yes, you would've, but you didn't. And you're the one who kept asking to get off with him, kept expecting more and being disappointed when he wouldn't give it to you even though he was clear about his boundaries.

"But that doesn't give him the right," you mutter to yourself, still walking through the muddy grass, deep in thought, "It doesn't make what he said okay."

No, it doesn't. But maybe he's hurting more than he lets on. Maybe this isn't as cut and dry for him as you'd thought. Why the fuck had he been snooping around your house so early this morning? He only lives a few houses down from you; had he seen Steve and felt he had to protect you? Does he actually care about you, as much as he tries to put on a front that it's only been sexual between you two and nothing more? Is that why he's been so distant?

You suddenly realize that you've gone much further than the perimeter, continuing to walk ahead instead of turning back and circling the area. You freeze, eyes scanning around as you try to discern exactly how far you've gone.

"Fuck," you mutter, turning around and starting to walk directly back the way you came, hoping it'll lead you right back to where you're meant to be.

It doesn't.

You'd been so lost in thought that somehow you've managed to lose the original path, the tall grass hiding any sign of your own footsteps. This is only your second time out here so nothing looks familiar; it's all grass and mud and trees and rocks. How long have you even been walking? Joel had once admonished you for not having a watch, said one day it was gonna bite you in the ass; you hate that he was right.

"Steve?" you call out, unsure if he'll be able to hear you since you don't know how far you've trailed from the cabin, "You there?"

No reply. You stop again and do another quick glance around, looking for anything that seems familiar to you. But no, this isn't the ski lodge perimeter where you'd grown accustomed to each tree, each stump, each rock. Nothing here is even vaguely telling you exactly where to turn.

You feel the dull throb of panic beneath the surface of your emotions but you quickly shove it down; you're good in situations like this, you've certainly been through enough shit to not get frightened over being a little lost. You've been lost before, you'll figure it out.

All the same, you keep track of the sun's location in the sky as you continue your directionless trek, noting that it's directly above you; noon. You have plenty of time before dark to find your way back, no sweat.

It must be around three o'clock when you finally make it back. Relief floods your entire body as you walk into the clearing and see the small wooden cabin sitting there still and picturesque, exactly how you'd left it. You bend down, closing your eyes and pressing your hands to your knees to take a few deep breaths and ground yourself. The panic had started to really settle in about an hour ago, but luckily it hadn't gotten to a point where you'd been too afraid to keep going.

"Steve," you say loudly, still breathing deeply, "I'm back."

No reply. You open your eyes again, heart still thumping in your chest as you eye the cabin for any sign of him. You walk over hesitantly, feeling a knot forming in your stomach when you open the front door and are greeted to a dark and empty cabin.

"Steve?" you say again, voice shaky.

No reply.

Fuck. He must have gone looking for you when you didn't come back to switch. Either that or he went back to Jackson, but you can't see a guy like Steve doing that. The way he'd stood up to Joel this morning, as embarrassing as it was, it had been enough to show you exactly what kind of man Steve is. He'd definitely gone to look for you. It's only fair that you do the same for him.

You grab a roll of twine from the cabin and start your search, making sure to mark the trees every now and then so you can find your way back again. You'd been advised in your patrol orientation not to do this because of raiders, but you doubt Tommy or Maria will give you shit for making sure you and Steve actually make it back to Jackson alive.

The thought makes the panic start to rise again, but you keep going.

You keep hoping you'll find some sign of Steve, but it's been about two hours and nothing has caught your eye. The twine is starting to run out and you fear you'll have to go back to Jackson without him, which will undoubtedly start a panic and a huge search party, all because you got a little distracted. This shit with Joel doesn't even matter anymore - you can't believe you let it affect you how it did. And now Steve is paying the price.

Another hour passes and you're preparing to turn back when you see it out of the corner of your eye. You freeze, hair standing up at the back of your neck when you look down to see shiny droplets of blood painting the grass.

You lean down instinctively, eyes wide, reaching forward to touch one of the many large red drops. It shivers beneath your finger, not yet fully dry. It's fresh.

Without hesitation you stand back up and pull your pistol out of its holster, cocking it and holding it steadily in front of you as you start to walk again. You have absolutely no idea what you're expecting to pop out at you; raiders? Infected? Or maybe Steve just cut himself somehow and you've taken your gun out for nothing.

A loud scream suddenly pierces the silence of the forest.

"STEVE!" you scream back, face going pale as you begin to sprint through the woods, gun still in front of you, "STAY WHERE YOU ARE, I'M COMING."

It's the last thing you say before you suddenly feel something tight grip your ankle and send you flying into the air, gun falling out of your hand. You find yourself completely upside down, entangled in a net.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You sway back and forth in the thick netting, trying to find your gun somewhere below you, but you quickly become much too dizzy to discern absolutely anything. You hear Steve's scream again, further away this time, and your blood runs cold. The panic takes over and you can't speak.

Please, you think to yourself, shutting your eyes tight and trying to keep the dizziness at bay, please don't let me die before I see him again.

It's not Steve you're thinking about.

It doesn't take long for the blood to rush to your head, for your body to go completely numb as you hang there upside down, completely alone. You pass out within minutes.

It's pitch black when you wake up.

You're no longer hanging from a tree in the forest, no longer tangled up in a net. Instead, you're lying on what feels like a concrete floor. Your head is pounding, lips dry and parched. Your whole body feels heavy and achy, so much so that you can barely move.

"She's awake," you hear a voice say somewhere close by; it's female and sounds familiar, but not enough for you to place it.

You hear the squeaky hinges of a door opening, then a few hushed whispers that you can't make out. The door shuts again and you swear you hear the sound of a deadbolt being locked in place.

"Where am I?" you finally whisper, voice rough and broken, "Let me go."

"You're in Jackson," the female voice replies, kind and gentle, "You're safe now."

"Who are you?" you can't bring yourself to open your eyes, unsure if this person is really telling you the truth.

"It's Ellie," the voice replies, and recognition dawns on you immediately, "Remember me?"

You nod slowly, wincing at the pain as you continue to lie there on the floor, "Y-yes."

"When you didn't come back this morning they sent out a search party. Tommy found you hanging in a tree, brought you back right away."

This morning? So you must have been hanging there all night. Jesus, no wonder you feel the way you do.

You finally open your eyes then, and are beyond relieved when your vision isn't dizzy and blurry like it had been before you'd passed out. You spot Ellie a few feet away, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, peering down at you with a soft expression.

"Steve?" you whisper.

Her brow furrows, "They found him too. I don't know the details but he was hurt pretty bad," she shakes her head, "They're gonna do everything they can."

You nod again, swallowing and wincing at the dryness of your throat, "C-can I have some water?"

"Oh, fuck, of course," she reaches behind her and grabs a bottle, then walks over to you. Her movements are slow, hesitant, and when she hands you the bottle her arm darts out and back extremely quickly.

You stare at her in confusion, slowly bringing yourself to sit up. She backs away from you again, presses herself against the wall and crosses her arms again. It's like she's feigning nonchalance.

Reality dawns on you.

"Am I bit?" you manage to whisper, clutching the water bottle tightly.

She swallows, looks directly in your eyes, "We're hoping you can answer that for us."

You slowly bring the water to your lips, mind racing. You try to remember anything beyond getting caught up in the net but there's absolutely nothing. If you'd been bit afterward, wouldn't it have woken you up? Wouldn't you feel the pain somewhere on you now?

You drink the entire bottle of water and place it next to you on the floor, then you begin to feel your body, placing your hands back and forth all over yourself and trying to find a particular spot that feels like it might have been bit. You come up blank; all that you feel is a steady ache from being numb for so long.

"I don't think so," you finally say, crossing your legs and bringing your hands to rest in front of you, "I feel okay."

"We only found you about two hours ago," she says softly, "So we weren't sure. This is where they keep people for observation, people who might be infected."

You assess your surroundings. You must be in some kind of shed; it's small and there's no furniture, only a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. If you'd woken up alone you probably would've thought you'd been kidnapped. Your brow furrows and you look over at Ellie in confusion.

"If I might be bit, why are they keeping you in here with me?" you ask, bewildered, "It's not safe for you."

Ellie kicks her heel and shrugs, "I don't know, they just thought you shouldn't be alone when you woke up."

She's lying and you don't know why, but you don't have the energy to press her further. What's important is that you're not alone, and you appreciate that. You watch as she inhales deeply, lost in thought, then brings her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezes. Just like Joel.

Joel.

"Does he know?" you suddenly whisper.

You didn't say his name but she clearly knows who you're talking about. She sets her lips in a firm line, "Yeah."

You place your head in your hands and sigh loudly, shutting your eyes tight. You suddenly feel like you want to cry, just at the thought of that big, broad, grumpy man being told that you didn't come back from patrol. Had he been upset? Annoyed? Angry? Scared?

"He's freaking out," Ellie answers for you, voice quiet, "He punched Tommy in the face."

"What?" you stare at her, eyes wide, "Why'd he do that?"

She laughs softly to herself, shaking her head, "Tommy wouldn't let him go with the search party."

Your face scrunches in confusion, "Why not?"

She looks away from you then, eyeing the closed door, "Because Tommy thought his feelings would get in the way," her voice is slightly shaky, like she might cry, "He thought if they found you dead, Joel might not come back, might try to find the motherfuckers who did it and make them pay."

You're already shaking your head, "That's dumb, he wouldn't do that."

Ellie laughs again, turning back to look at you, "You really don't know anything about Joel, do you?"

You stare, waiting for her to speak again. She adjusts her position, slowly sliding down the wall and sitting across from you with her knees pulled up against her chest.

"Joel's killed a lot of people," she says quietly, looking over at you with tired eyes, "I mean, a lot of us have, I'm sure you have too. We've all done shit we're not proud of," she thumbs a tear on her jeans, biting down on her lip, "But when it comes to the people he cares about... Joel doesn't do things halfway, never."

You swallow, "Ellie, I don't think Joel cares about me in the way you're thinking."

She smiles then, small and hesitant, but still a smile, "As I said, you don't really know much about him. Not like I do."

"But-"

She puts a hand up, "I know about the two of you. I overheard you and Tommy talking last week."

You remember that afternoon by the stream, the rustle of the bushes, when you'd pulled the branches back expecting to see someone but found nobody there.

"That was you?" you ask, eyebrows raised, "By the stream?"

She nods, "I showed up to play my guitar and you guys were already there talking. I wasn't gonna listen but then I heard Joel's name and..." she sighs, looking down at her knees, "I might not be talking to Joel right now but I like to know what he's up to."

You nod slowly, "So...you heard about..."

"The mountain, yeah," she makes a face, "Listen, I don't want the details, trust me, but I wasn't surprised when you said that, not the way Tommy was anyway," she giggles, "I love seeing him get all uncomfortable, it's so funny."

You snort, shaking your head, "Please, it was so awkward."

"He really had no idea, but I think I did, somehow," she smiles again, wistful, "As I said, I might not be talking to Joel but that doesn't mean I don't look out for him, watch him, make sure he's doing alright," she looks down again, "I'm not heartless, okay?"

"I know," you say earnestly, "I know you're not."

"I knew something was different with him. He's been so quiet and sad, doesn't talk to people very much anymore, but these past few weeks it was like he had a pep in his step, like the old Joel was coming back," she smiles at the thought, "And then I saw the way he'd look at you in the dining hall, all those little smiles. And at first I was like...gross. But then..." she sighs, shaking her head, "I don't know, I think it's cute how much he likes you. How much you changed him."

Her words elicit a warmth in your chest, soft and safe, like the feeling of being in Joel's presence. You wrap your arms around yourself, huddling forward and continuing to listen.

"We were eating breakfast when Tommy announced the search party this morning. As soon as he said what had happened I looked over at Joel. He looked like he'd just received the worst news of his life," her voice shakes again, like she's on the verge of tears, "He ran up to Tommy, started asking questions about the search, when they were starting, what way they were going, all that. Tommy told him that he couldn't come, they argued, Joel punched Tommy and then I had to practically pull them apart."

"You?" your mouth is agape, "You stopped the fight?"

She nods with another small smile, "As soon as Joel realized it was me pulling on him, he stopped. I told him I knew about what was going on, I said I'd stay with him until you came back safe and sound."

You feel tears prick in your eyes at the words, "That must have meant a lot to him."

"It meant the world to him, I know that," she says quietly, "I haven't talked to him for a long time, I'm sure you know that."

You nod, "I do."

She's silent then for a few moments, staring at the closed door again. When she finally speaks, her voice is shakier than ever, "I sat with him in his living room until they got back with you and Steve. He wanted to see you but they wouldn't let him, so I volunteered to stay with you. That's why I'm here."

She leans back against the wall with a sigh, biting down on her lip. You see tears beginning to brim in her eyes and you look away, knowing you wouldn't want someone staring at you if it was you getting emotional.

"He's lost a lot, you know," she says softly, sniffling a little bit, "He lost his daughter a long time ago, and a woman named Tess he really cared about," she takes a breath, shaky and full of emotion, "He almost lost me, too. That's part of the reason we're not talking."

You stare at the concrete floor, letting her words sink in. A daughter? Joel had been a father? And Tess, who was she? A girlfriend? A wife? Clearly someone important, and he'd lost both of them.

You've been through your share of trauma, experienced your own losses, but never to that degree. You'd never gotten close enough to someone to really feel a loss like that, can't even imagine what it would feel like. Your heart aches for him; that stoic, quiet, and mysterious man who'd let you in but kept you at arm's length... for reasons you're beginning to understand.

You stand up slowly, wincing at the aches you feel, your skin feeling prickly and uncomfortable as your circulation continues to regulate. Ellie's words cycle through your mind as you stretch, ringing quiet and tender in your ears; I think it's cute how much he likes you. How much you changed him.

"When can I see him?" you ask softly, still avoiding looking at her as you pull at parts of your clothes, searching again for a bite you're pretty sure doesn't exist.

"I'll ask Maria," Ellie replies just as quiet, standing up as well and walking over to the door, "If you were bit you'd be showing signs by now, I think you're okay."

"Ask her about Steve too, please," you add, "I need to know if he's alive."

She nods and opens the door, then goes outside and shuts it behind her. You hear the deadbolt slide back into place.

You burst into tears.

Ellie returns with Maria about ten minutes later, both of them looking at you with kind and sympathetic expressions when they find you standing in the middle of the room sobbing your heart out. Without hesitation, Maria walks forward and wraps her arms around you tightly.

"It's okay, sweetie," she says softly in your ear, rubbing your back gently, "Steve's okay, he's gonna make it."

Ellie looks down when she says this, and part of you knows that she knows you're not crying about Steve.

They walk you home slowly, Maria on one side and Ellie on your other. You complain a bit, telling them you're okay to walk on your own, but neither pay your stubbornness any mind, just keep their arms linked through yours as they walk you to your house.

You're on your street when you see two figures up ahead, and your heart starts to pound harder and harder in your chest the closer you get. Because you know who it is.

Joel and Tommy are leaning against the banister of Joel's front patio, talking quietly to themselves. You grimace at the sight of Tommy's black eye but feel relief flood through you when you see that he's smiling at Joel, clearly no animosity present.

"Look who's up!" Ellie says loudly, and they both turn to look in your direction.

Joel freezes, staring at you for a few brief seconds of recognition before he's suddenly throwing himself from the patio and sprinting toward you. You feel both Ellie and Maria release you from their grips, right before you're suddenly enveloped in the warmest, sweetest, most sincere hug you've ever received in your life.

Throughout all these months of knowing Joel, he's never truly touched you. Sure, he's touched your hand, shook it during your official introduction, helped you stand up here and there. He's touched your face once, your lips twice. And he's touched you where you longed for him to, begged him to, but only for a moment, just one touch. Gentle, tender, but never long enough for you to really feel him the way you've wanted to.

Now he pulls you close without any hesitation, no rules, no consequences. He presses his lips to the top of your head and whispers your name over and over until it sounds like a mantra, a prayer.

"Joel," you breathe, and you feel the tears start up again as you shut your eyes tight and just feel, listen to him say your name and hold you like you'll fall apart if he lets go.

"I thought I lost you," he says, voice rough and emotional, "Before I could even tell you how sorry I am."

"Shh," you squeeze him tighter, burying your face in his strong chest, "Don't worry about that, I'm here. I'm okay."

He holds you impossibly tighter and you hear the unmistakable sound of a sob rip through his teeth, tears dripping from his face into your hair. You pull back just enough to look up at him, see him peer down at you with an expression on his face that you've never seen before, impossibly soft and fond, eyes bright and yearning. Love.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, inhaling shakily, "For everything."

You shake your head furiously, "Joel, it's oka-"

"It's not okay," he interrupts, voice breaking again, "I'm so sorry. Not just for what I said yesterday, but for everything else. For pushing you away, making you feel like it was your fault, I'm so fucking sorry," he pulls you in again, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, "God, you have no idea how bad I've wanted to just hold you like this. I was such a fucking coward."

"You were afraid," you whisper, shaking your head, "I understand, Joel, I get it."

He lets out another sob, squeezes you tighter, "Don't let me go," he breathes, "Please don't let go."

For the entire hug you'd thought he was the one holding you, but you now realize that for him it's the other way around. You feel yourself start to cry harder as you pull him in tighter and just stand there, arms wrapped around his middle, face pressed against his chest as the beat of his heart thrums steadily in your ear. You both inhale and exhale deeply, moving as one being, one solid force. He kisses your head again and you melt further into his touch.

"I'm gonna head back to town," you hear Maria say softly nearby, probably to Tommy and Ellie, "Tommy, can you go check on Steve, make sure he's still doing okay?"

Joel stiffens at the name, suddenly pulling back from you to look over at Maria, "He alright?"

Maria nods, "Yeah," she turns to look at you then, expression serious, "He told us that when you didn't come back to switch patrols, he got worried, went out looking for you. Ended up running into a group of raiders, the same ones who set that trap you fell into. They stabbed him a couple times but nothing critical, he managed to get a few hits in himself before he got away, led them in the opposite direction."

"Jesus," you mutter, feeling guilt rush through you, "Are they still out there?"

"No," Tommy replies, shaking his head, "We took care of it. Steve knocked 'em around pretty good but we made sure none of 'em were breathin' by the time we left."

You nod slowly, still in Joel's embrace, "Tell him I'm sorry," you say quietly, "It's my fault."

"Shhh," Joel pulls you close again, rubbing your back gently, "Don't worry about that, let's get you inside."

"Make sure she has a bath," Maria says quickly, "Keep her warm, give her some food."

"I'm not a hamster," you groan, and you're surprised to hear Ellie laugh behind you. You'd forgotten she was there.

Joel suddenly pulls out of your embrace, still holding you with one arm while he reaches toward Ellie, "Come here," he says softly, "Please."

She shakes her head, taking a step back, "I'm going with Maria," she bites her lip, looks down and then looks back at Joel who's still staring longingly at her, "But I'll meet up with you later, okay?"

"Okay," he says quietly, voice still shaky, "Promise?"

She nods, gives him a small smile, "Promise."

"Where do you wanna go?" Joel had asked you softly, "Mine or yours?"

"Yours," you'd whispered immediately, no hesitation, "Please."

You now find yourself in Joel Miller's house, somewhere you never really ever pictured yourself. It's pretty similar to yours but there are a few differences, namely the amount of books and art. You hadn't known that Ellie was an artist; there are drawings all over his house, some in frames, some just laid around, all signed by Ellie, all beautiful. There's a picture she drew of him that he has framed on his fireplace, and you find yourself picking it up with a smile.

"Bath's almost ready," Joel says quietly behind you, and you spin back around. He looks at the picture in your hand, smiling softly, "Ellie drew that."

"She's really talented," you reply with a smile, "Wonder where she gets all this artsy fartsy stuff from?"

He chuckles, still standing a few feet away from you, "It's a mystery."

You place the picture back down and turn to look at him, feeling a nervousness in the pit of your stomach that you haven't felt around him in a long time, not since that first night together. Things are different now, it's palpable, and both of you are aware of it.

"Will you take a bath with me?" you ask quietly, unsure.

He nods slowly, eyes trained on your face, "Of course I will."

The bath is warm and welcoming. Joel had told you to strip down, get in, and that he'd be back momentarily with some food for you. You can't help but feel a little disappointed that he hadn't stuck around to watch you undress, but maybe it would've been inappropriate considering the circumstances.

You ease yourself under the water, a satisfied moan escaping your lips as the bath completely envelops you. He's put something in the water to make it smell good, lavender or vanilla. It instantly relaxes you, the heat of the water and the delicious smell making you feel completely at ease.

You lay there for a few minutes in silence, eyes closed, focusing on your breathing and bringing things back into perspective. You're okay, you're safe. Steve is okay, he's safe. You're both back in Jackson. You're with Joel, you're in his bath tub, he's downstairs making you lunch. Everything is okay.

Ellie's words filter through your brain again, distant but present; He lost his daughter a long time ago, and a woman named Tess he really cared about.

A light knock on the bathroom door shakes you from your thoughts. You smile, "Come in."

Joel enters the bathroom, bowl of soup in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other. He places them on the chair next to the tub, eyes avoiding you as he focuses on the task at hand. He kneels by the tub and spoons some of the soup carefully, then finally looks at your face as he brings the spoon to your mouth. You open, letting him feed you, letting him take care of you.

"Good?" he asks softly, gaze still on your face, ever the gentleman.

"Good," you say with a smile.

He feeds you a few more spoonfuls, smiling fondly at you as you eat. After a few moments of this you put your hand up, shaking your head, "That's enough for now, why don't you get in with me?"

His gaze finally falls then, looks at your body beneath the water, sees your nipples poking through the surface. He sighs, leans back a bit on his knees and shakes his head.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he says quietly.

"Joel," you say quickly, voice steady, "Don't pull away from me. Not now. Not anymore."

He looks at your face again, expression sad and distant, "I'm afraid," he admits, "I'm afraid of being close to you."

"I know," you whisper, and you reach over to place your hand over his, stroking him gently with your thumb, "It's okay. It's okay to be afraid."

"I've lost a lot of people," he whispers, tears shining in his eyes, "I thought...I thought if I let myself get close to you, if I gave you what you wanted...I'd get attached. I'd fall for you," he says it earnestly, voice breaking slightly on the last few words, "But here I am, fallin' for you anyway."

You smile at him, soft and loving. You squeeze his hand and slowly sit up in the bath, putting yourself on display for him. His eyes don't leave yours, but he swallows and tenses his jaw at your movement.

"Bad things have happened to the people I care about," he says quietly, barely a whisper, "And you're young, you're beautiful, you have this whole life ahead of you and I'm-" his voice breaks and he looks down again, tears cascading down his cheeks, "I'm scared you'll end up like those people, dead and gone because of me."

"Joel-"

"And I'm scared I don't deserve it," he interrupts, looking up at you again, mouth trembling, "I don't think I deserve love. I don't deserve someone like you 'cause of everything I've done."

"What about Ellie?" you ask softly, squeezing his hand reassuringly, "She's alive and she loves you."

He scoffs, shaking his head, "She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," you mean it, leaning forward to cradle his hand in both of yours, "I talked to that girl for the first time today, really talked to her, and I can see it plain as day. She loves you more than you could ever know, Joel."

"She stayed with me today," he whispers shakily, nodding slowly, "She sat with me 'til we knew you were safe."

"And you think that's hate?" you ask softly, "Joel, that's love."

He looks at you again, expression pained. You bring his hand to your lips, press a gentle and tender kiss to every knuckle, showing him how much he's worth, how much he means to you.

"I'm afraid," he repeats through his tears, watching you kiss him, "I'm afraid to want you the way I do."

You release his hand and lean back slightly in the tub, extending your arm for him to take, gazing at him with all the love and care you can muster, "Get in with me," you whisper, the splash of water the only sound in the room save for your heartbeats, both of which you swear you can hear, "Don't be afraid."

His eyes cast downward to your lips and he swallows again, then looks back up into your eyes, "Okay."

You watch as he stands up and starts to unbutton his shirt. You can tell that he's extremely nervous, his fingers trembling as he fights to get each button open.

"I'm gonna close my eyes," you say tenderly, "And when you're ready, tap my shoulder and I'll let you in behind me, okay?"

He nods slowly, fingers frozen on the third button, "Okay," he repeats.

You close your eyes and lean back, listening to the rustle of clothes beside you as he undresses. You're not used to this Joel, the one who seems powerless and submissive. You're not usually the one giving him orders, it's always been the other way around. You know he's just nervous, afraid of being close to you like this, and all you want is for him to feel relaxed again in your presence, feel like himself.

After a moment he taps your shoulder; you lean forward in the bath and feel him ease in behind you, his legs entrapping yours along the edges of the tub. He seats himself down, places his hands around your middle and pulls you in close. You feel his groin press against your lower back; you've never felt his cock before, and somehow the casual intimacy of his softness pressed against you makes you smile.

"You can open your eyes," he whispers, then presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck.

You do as you're told, immediately seeing the way his legs are splayed out in front of you, long and strong beneath the water. You've never realized how small you are compared to him until this moment, completely enrobed in his body, heart thrumming against your back.

"This is heaven," you whisper, leaning back against him and closing your eyes again, "This is what I wanted, all along."

"I think you wanted a bit more than this," he replies with a chuckle, kissing your neck again, "And you'll get it, I promise. Let's just...let's just sit here for a little while first, alright?"

"As long as you need to," you murmur, and you swear you feel him smile against your skin.

You bathe together for a long time, just laying in each other's embrace and enjoying the company. Being this close to Joel truly is everything you could have ever hoped for, his strong arms wrapped around you as he noses your neck and breathes you in, holds you against his naked body like you're meant to fit there. He's so big and warm; you've never felt more safe.

At one point you scooch back a bit in this embrace, feel your ass unintentionally rub lightly against his cock beneath the water. Neither of you say anything, but you both slowly become aware of the way he hardens, begins to grow larger against you.

A few moments later the head of his cock is pulsing against your lower back. Your eyes are lidded, heavy, head bobbing backward to nestle at the base of his neck. His hands on your belly move upward to cup your breasts, holding you firmly and securely against him.

"Joel," you whisper, "Touch me."

The words bring both of you back to the ski lodge, the power he holds over you there, the way you're always at his mercy. You hope, despite the new situation, he'll be that person again for you. You crave it, need it.

"Not yet," he murmurs in your ear, "Be patient, pretty girl."

There he is.

You swallow, close your eyes and submit completely as he palms your breasts, tweaks your nipples between his fingers gently. You whimper pathetically, shuffle back against his cock again, feel the hard length of it along your back.

"You were a bad girl yesterday," he whispers in your ear, tongue darting out to taste your skin, making you shiver, "And today. Gettin' lost like that, makin' me worry..."

"M'sorry," you murmur, hands moving down to grip his thighs as he brings your earlobe into your mouth and sucks it, "Didn't m-mean to make you worry."

"I think," he whispers, breath hot against your skin, "I'm finally gonna have to punish you."

The words send tingles up and down your spine, eyes almost rolling back in your head when he sucks your earlobe again, eliciting sounds from you that only he knows how to generate. You squeeze his thighs tighter, feeling your pussy begin to pulse beneath the water.

"How?" you breathe, voice weak.

He releases your ear and noses your cheek, brings one of his hands from your breasts and rests a finger against your chin. He turns your face to the side, urging you to look at him. His eyes are dark, full of want and desire, and you know you're completely at his mercy.

"I'm gonna fuck you, baby," he whispers, "Gonna fill that pussy up with my cock."

The words send you into a tailspin, a guttural whine escaping your lips as your fingers press into his thighs, rubbing your own together to seek some purchase against your heat. He smiles, presses a gentle kiss to your temple, drops his hands and places them over yours, big and strong.

"I know that's what you want," he whispers, entangling his fingers with yours over his thighs, "But I'm gonna give it to you over and over again, gonna make you come as many times as I want, 'til you're begging me to stop, tellin' me it's too much, that you couldn't possibly come again," he squeezes your hands, licks a stripe up the side of your neck, "And then I'll give you another one."

"Please," you breathe, voice broken and full of desire, "Please, fuck me, Joel. I need it so bad."

"I know you do, baby," he whispers, "So be a good girl for me and do as I say, okay?"

"Okay," you whimper, leaning back in his embrace, feeling his cock prod your back.

"Say it."

"I'll be your good girl," you whine, trembling under his gaze, "I'm your good girl, Joel. Only yours."

He groans softly in your ear, "That's right, baby," he releases your hands from beneath his and cups your breasts again, squeezing gently, "Now, open yourself up for me."

With trembling fingers you reach beneath the water and pull your lips apart, using both hands to spread yourself for him. The water tickles you, makes you quiver in his grasp as you slowly push your middle finger inside.

"There you go," he whispers, "That feel good, pretty girl?"

"Y-yes," you whimper, throbbing around your finger.

"Add as many as you like," he tells you, "Need to be nice and open for my cock."

The very thought of finally having him inside you makes you whimper again as you add a second finger, feeling his familiar gaze on your cunt. It's so different this time, feeling how hard he is against you, being in his naked embrace while you obey his commands. This is nothing like being in his lap when he'd been fully clothed, holding you open for him. This is sex, pure sex that you know is going to last hours.

"Look at that," he murmurs when you've started to pump three fingers in and out of yourself at a steady pace, "So full for me, already ready to come, huh?"

You whimper, leaning back against his chest, feeling his wiry hair rub against your cheek. Without any hesitation he suddenly reaches down and presses his index finger to your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Remember when I touched this clit for the first time?" he murmurs in your ear, circling it softly over and over, "Remember how you came just from a little touch? So sensitive, baby. Such a good girl."

His words send you over the edge, making you squirm and shake in his embrace as he gives you your first orgasm of the day, coaxes it out of you easily. You whimper when he touches your wrist, pulls your fingers out to replace them with his own.

"That's one," he whispers, sliding his index finger inside your heat, and you're not sure if he's talking about the orgasm or the digit. You're too blissed out to care, head bobbing against his neck again as he fingers you, adds a second and presses his lips to your ear, "Baby, she's so tight," he breathes, teasing a third at your entrance, "How's my cock gonna fit?"

"Mnnhnngg," you can't make words, looking down beneath the water at where he's fucking you relentlessly, fingers so big and thick compared to yours, his thumb toying with your clit.

"Can't even talk, huh?" he whispers, "Need to come again, I bet."

You don't think you'll be able to, not yet; you're so overstimulated but he just continues to fuck you with abandon, rubbing your clit with every thrust of his fingers. You arch back against him, his cock throbbing against your ass. Your fingers dig into his thighs again and he chuckles in your ear.

"Can't do that, baby," he whispers, "Play with your pretty little nipples for me, show me how hard they are."

You bring your trembling hands to your breasts, squeezing your tender nipples between your fingers and feeling another orgasm start building in your tummy. How? It's so soon since you had your last one, how the fuck can he give you another one so quickly?

He pumps his fingers steadily in and out of you, watching as you play with your nipples. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the skin of your left breast, inches away from where your fingers are pinching.

"Put it in my mouth, pretty girl," he murmurs against the skin, nosing the little bumps and dropping his jaw. You whimper at his words, squeezing your breast and dropping it downward so he can wrap his lips around the sensitive bud. You groan, feeling his tongue dart out and begin to lick tiny circles around it.

Seconds later, you're coming again. You shake and shiver and then go completely still in his arms, eyes rolling back as he continues to suckle at your nipple. He removes his fingers, thumbs your clit one more time, then releases your breast with a light pop.

"Two," he says quietly, smiling at you, "Good girl."

Somehow you make it to his bedroom. Exactly how, you're not sure. You're so wrecked from having two orgasms in ten minutes that you feel like jelly, but you're vaguely aware of him picking you up from the bath and carrying you to his room, putting you in his bed. You lay there like a starfish, arms up and legs wide as you breathe heavily, chest heaving.

"So sleepy," he says tenderly, stroking your cheek, "You ready for bed, baby? Wanna stop?"

Your eyes snap open and you shake your head frantically, only to see him standing there with a wide smile on his face.

"I'm kidding," he says with a laugh, "Don't worry."

You roll your eyes and look up at his ceiling, "Ass."

"There she is," he replies warmly, "Missed my feisty girl."

"She never left," you say with a wink, turning to look at him; he's shuffled closer to the bed, standing over you with his cock in his left hand, slowly stroking up and down. Your lips part unconsciously, eyes going straight for the plump and wet head.

"Yeah, you wanna suck it, huh?" he says quietly, thumbing exactly where you want to place your tongue, "Tasted my come twice but never had me in your mouth, how naughty."

You look up at him from under your lashes, smiling playfully, "I'm a good girl, promise."

He smirks, "Are you? Then show me how a good girl sucks cock."

You don't need him to ask you twice. You sit up on the bed and slide forward, watching as he releases his cock and lets it bounce upward toward his stomach, big and thick. You've never been so close to it, never seen it in broad daylight like this; he's huge, so wide and girthy with a big vein trailing along the underside all the way to the head, fat and leaking. With a shiver you lean forward and suck the tip into your mouth, trying not to smile when you hear him release a deep sigh.

"'Atta girl," he groans above you, his hand immediately coming up to cradle the back of your head, "That's my good girl."

You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, swallowing down everything he's leaking and then starting to bob your head along the shaft, reaching up to grasp the base firmly in your hand. He tastes like the bath; lavender and vanilla, mixed with a salty and masculine flavor that makes your mouth water.

"Oh, baby," he murmurs, watching as you take his entire length in your mouth with barely any hesitation, the head hitting the back of your throat without even making you gag, "That's it, take the whole fucking thing, just like that."

You're aware of the fact that you don't have a gag reflex; you'd thought about telling him a while ago, thought maybe it'd convince him to let you blow him, but you'd never been brave enough to say anything. Now, you're glad you never did. Hearing his absolute wonder as you take his entire length is more than enough.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, watching as you pull back almost all the way and then push yourself forward again to fully envelop him, the tip repeatedly prodding the inside of your throat, "Jesus fucking Christ."

You swallow around him and look up from underneath your lashes, eyes wide and burning. He looks down at you and immediately slips his cock out of your mouth, taking a step back and putting his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, okay," he says quickly, hissing through his teeth, "I'm gonna come if you keep goin'. Fuck."

You look at him with faux-innocence, eyes wide, "Did I do something wrong?"

He shakes his head, inhaling deeply and taking another step backward, "You're gonna kill me, baby," he curls his hands into fists, and you swear his cock bobs again completely on its own, like he's about to come without even being touched. The thought makes you shiver, "I know I say that all the time, but I mean it. You're gonna kill me."

You giggle, falling backwards on the bed again and stretching out your arms and legs, closing your eyes and listening as he does a quick pace around the room to distract himself from the orgasm his body is threatening to have. You just laugh and rotate your legs back and forth, feeling an immense amount of pride that you're not the only overly sensitive one in the room.

"You think that's funny, huh?" he asks you, and your eyes snap open to see him kneeling in front of you at the edge of the bed.

"N-no," you say, but your smile betrays you. He looks at you darkly and suddenly grabs your legs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and pushing your thighs apart, "Oh," you whimper, looking down at yourself, seeing where he's looking, where you're wet and dripping all over the sheets.

"Messy," he whispers, "Such a messy little pussy."

"It's yours," you tell him, as if he doesn't already know, "It's your little pussy."

"I know, baby," he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, "I've wanted to taste her for so long."

You quiver at his words, brow furrowing as he presses another soft kiss to the opposite thigh. He licks a stripe along the inside, just outside your lips where you're puffy and swollen. He kisses your mound, drags his tongue down and down and down until it swipes lightly against your clit.

"Joel," you moan, throwing your head back and fisting the sheets. He pulls back and you look down again to see him smirking at you, eyes suddenly bright and playful again.

"Tastes like heaven, baby," he says softly, then ducks his head down and pushes his tongue inside you with no warning.

You let out the loudest moan of your life as he begins to eat you out, tongue alternating between twisting and licking your insides and then suckling on your clit like he'd done with your nipple, circling it inside his mouth relentlessly. You writhe beneath him, so much that he has to press his hands firmly against your belly to hold you down.

The noises you're making are practically inhuman, uttering almost a completely different language under your breath as he coaxes more ridiculous sounds out of you. You quickly realize that looking down at him is a mistake; the sight of his greying curls splayed across your pubic bone and the shape of his curved nose pressed into the hair on your mound, his eyes closed in pleasure as he sucks and licks and devours, just the image alone brings you close to the edge.

"I'm gonna come," you manage to squeak out, and he pushes his hands harder against your belly, the added pressure making you groan louder than ever.

He pulls his mouth away.

"No," you breathe, shaking your head wildly with wide eyes, "No, no, no, don't stop. Please don't stop!"

He smirks at you, removing his hands and leaning backward to release you completely from his grip. You stare at him, completely bewildered.

"Joel," you cry, real tears starting to form in your eyes, but not from sadness or anger - this time, you're just horny. "Joel, why?"

He still doesn't speak, just sits there and watches you groan in disbelief, your hands coming up to cover your face. You buck your hips into the air, seeking some kind of pressure, but nothing helps.

"Joel," you repeat, "This is mean."

"I told you I was gonna punish you, baby," he says it with faux-disappointment, like he's not the one who makes the rules, "I'm the one who decides when you come. And what I just did is exactly what you just did to me."

You pout, sitting up on your hands and giving him a dirty look, "That's not fair, you told me to stop, I would've kept going."

"But if you'd kept going, how would I have been able to do this?" he asks, and suddenly he's standing up and leaning over you on the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as he hovers above you.

"W-what?" you ask, but you know the answer as soon as you feel the wet head of his cock gently prod your entrance.

"This, baby," he murmurs, and pushes himself all the way inside.

You almost let out a scream, squeezing his sheets in your hands as his huge cock practically rearranges your guts, feeling him in your stomach as he reaches his hands up to entwine his fingers with yours, plying them away from the sheets.

"Oh, she wasn't ready, was she?" he asks quietly, nosing your neck and smiling at the incoherent noises coming from your throat, "Poor little pussy, never had something so big inside of her, huh?"

He stays still inside of you, letting you get used to his wide girth and thick length, so large within you that you feel like you're going to burst. You continue to make odd noises, twitching under his grasp, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that you're coming. You're coming, just from having his cock fully sheathed inside of you.

"Three," he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there, "That's three times now, baby. Such a good girl for me."

Your pussy pulses and throbs around him, aching and burning in the most perfect way. How does he know exactly what you need? How does he know exactly what'll get you there?

"You're okay, baby," he murmurs, stroking your hair gently as you convulse around him, "You're doing so well, takin' it all so good."

You've never felt so full in your life. You've only ever had sex a handful of times, only ever actually been with two other men. If you had to compare them to this, you'd laugh in their faces.

"Big," you finally find your words, barely a whisper, "So big."

"I know," Joel kisses your temple, pulls back to look down at you with a gentle smile, "I'll wait 'til you get used to it, don't worry."

It's only then, looking up into those big brown eyes, that you realize you still haven't kissed him. He's got his enormous cock inside of you, stretching every inch of you open, and you've never kissed him.

It's like he's suddenly thinking the exact same thing. You watch as his brow furrows, lips parting slightly as he leans down and presses a sweet and gentle kiss to your lips, your eyes closing as you kiss him back with a hunger you've never known. You slip your tongue inside his mouth and he grants you entrance immediately, breathing deeply against your face as he sucks you in, lets you taste him. You can taste your own wetness on his tongue and it makes you moan against his lips.

"You're so fucking perfect," he breathes against your mouth, closing his eyes and rubbing his nose against yours, "My perfect girl, always so good for me."

"I'm yours," you remind him, voice weak and shaky, "I'll do whatever you tell me to, Joel."

He inhales deeply, removing his hands from yours and trailing them down your body to hold you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your torso and trailing his fingers up and down your back.

"You can move now," you whisper, still pulsing around him, "I can take it."

"I know you can, baby," he murmurs, "Such a good girl."

It takes a few slow thrusts, your mouth still eliciting the most unhinged sounds as he fucks you at the slowest pace imaginable, but eventually you build up a rhythm. He's so big, it's hard to believe he's actually fitting inside of you. You'd only ever seen his cock from a distance, in darkness, never realized how fucking huge he was. You can't believe you'd even managed to fit all of him in your mouth.

"I'm close," you groan in his ear, your own hands coming up to grip his back tightly, loving the feeling of having him pressed so close to you as he fucks you, "Give me my fourth, Joel, fucking give it to me."

He laughs lightly in response, pulling back to look down at you, "Not much of a punishment anymore, is it?" he says with a smirk, shaking his head, "Now you're begging for it." He slows down his thrusts, eventually stilling inside of you and pulling almost all the way out, letting the head of his cock sit inside your pulsing hole.

"Look at that," he says softly and you sit up to follow his gaze, looking down at your already fucked-out hole, his cock only connected to it via the fat head that sits nestled at your entrance, "Look at all your come on my cock, pretty girl."

You notice the white and glistening spots along his cock, feeling your cheeks go red at the recognition that it's all from you. You bite your lip, chest heaving breathlessly as he carefully pulls the tip from your hole and places it against your clit.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper, watching as he gently rubs the head in circles on your clit, his tip continuing to leak and making you even more slippery than you already are.

"Here's number four for you, baby," he murmurs, and pulls back his cock to lightly slap the head against you, the pressure immediately making you moan. He slaps it again, a little harder, and you have to bite down on your lip again to stop the onslaught of little whines you're threatening to make.

"Come," he says firmly, deliberately an order, and slaps the head of his cock against your clit one last time, delivering the final push.

Your eyes roll back again and you fall back on the bed, body twitching as you come for the fourth time, feeling his eyes on your pussy as your hole pulses and throbs around nothing.

"Good girl," he whispers, and seconds later you feel his cock slide back inside of you, exactly where it belongs, "There you go."

You lay there completely limp for a few seconds, body only moving with the thrusts of Joel's steady pace. You finally open your eyes again, see him kneeling on the bed above you. He's holding your lower half upwards, hands digging into your hips and thumbs splayed across your tummy.

"Use me," you breathe, eyes closing again, "Just use me for a few minutes."

He groans, a guttural and fierce noise that rips through the silence of his bedroom. You relax completely, melting into the sheets and letting him take what he needs, take and take and take, using you like his personal fuck toy, something you'd only dreamed about and never thought would ever actually come to fruition. Your arms hang limp and loose off the edge of his bed as you inhale and exhale, trying to get your energy back as fast as possible so you can come again.

Because you know he's not gonna let you off at number four.

After a few more steady thrusts you slowly sit back up on your elbows, looking at him through hooded and tired eyes. He can see that you're close to being completely done, smiles gently at you and slows his rhythm.

"Welcome back," he says softly, leaning down to pull you up so you're level with him. He repositions the both of you so his legs are circling you, yours coming up to wrap around his lower back as you sit on his cock. He pulls you closer, cradling the back of your head and pressing kisses along the side of your face, "I know you're tired but I'm gonna give you one more, baby, just like I promised."

"I know," you whisper, voice shaky.

He holds you in his wide arms, completely envelops you as he fucks up into you steadily, nose and lips pressed against the side of your face as he brings himself closer and closer to release, continuously whispering a thread of dirty things to you, building you up.

"Such a tight fuckin' pussy, all for me," he murmurs, "So wet and pink and perfect, takin' me so good, so fuckin' full of cock."

"Joel," you whimper, leaning further against him and letting him fuck you mercilessly, letting him push you closer and closer to your fifth orgasm, "Keep talking."

"Okay, baby," he whispers, brow furrowed, "Okay, pretty girl. So fuckin' good to me, so fuckin' pure and perfect, lettin' me fill this little cunt, lettin' me fuck it so deep," you scratch at his arm, tension building in your belly, "Waited so long for me to give it to you, begged for it for months, and now you have it. It's all yours, baby. You get this cock whenever you want now, just say the word."

He reaches down and rubs your clit with his thumb, feeling you tense against him as your orgasm overtakes you. You shake in his embrace, moaning out his name one final time before you start to come, heart pounding and chest heaving as he releases your clit and hugs you close to him. You tremble beneath him, feeling completely spent, almost boneless in his lap as he keeps fucking you.

"Where do you want my come, pretty girl?" he asks you through clenched teeth, "You still want it in your mouth?"

"Yes," you say immediately, eyes widening, "In my mouth, please."

Without another word he pulls you from his lap, watching as you fall backwards on the bed weightlessly.

"Christ, I fucked the shit outta you, baby," he says, genuinely shocked at how blissed out you are.

"You did," you reply softly, feeling a smile cross your face, "Can't move anymore."

He gives you a gentle smile, walks around the bed and aims his cock toward your face, "Here's your reward, baby, open up, nice and wide."

You do as you're told, feeling an immense amount of pride and satisfaction as you finally get what you've been craving for months. He strokes his cock once, only once, and suddenly ropes of thick white come are painting your tongue and lips, your cheeks, your chin. He groans, long and low, watching as you close your eyes and take every drop he gives you, watching it all pool on your tongue, dribble down your chin.

"Fuck," he breathes, and you open your eyes again to see him staring at you, eyes still dark and pupils blown wide, "Swallow it, pretty girl."

You close your mouth and swallow all of it, reveling in the salty taste on your tongue and in the back of your throat. You bring a trembling hand to your mouth, push the leftovers from your cheeks and chin past your lips, swallowing a second time.

"Good girl," he whispers, leaning down to push your hair out of your eyes, "That's my good girl, did so fucking well for me. Did everything I said."

"I'm yours, Joel," you whisper, voice completely wrecked, "I'm your good girl."

He cleans you up tenderly, pressing kisses to your skin every now and then as he takes a warm washcloth and wipes you down, pays extra attention to your sensitive spots and lets you lay there in peace. He's so sweet, so gentle, you'd hardly know it was the same Joel who walked out on you back at the ski lodge.

But it is the same Joel. He's just finally let himself have what he wants, finally let himself give you what you want. When he climbs in bed beside you and wraps his arms tightly around you, you've never felt so desired in your entire life. He kisses your face all over, whispers praises, tells you how beautiful you are, makes you feel wanted.

"You asleep?" he asks you softly, hands running up and down your arms soothingly.

"In and out," you murmur back, "You really did a number on me."

He chuckles quietly, kisses your cheek and holds you tighter, "I know. It was okay, right? I didn't go too far?"

"It was perfect," you reply sincerely, leaning back into his touch, "It was everything I ever wanted, better than anything I imagined."

He smiles against your skin, "Good, I'm glad."

You both lay there in the silence of his bedroom for a few more moments, listening to each other's breathing. He kisses the back of your neck, noses your skin and inhales your scent.

"Are you still afraid?" you ask quietly, "You can tell me, I want you to be honest."

He takes a few moments to reply, sighing deeply and bringing one of his hands down to hold tightly to yours. You squeeze his back, quietly reminding him that you're here, that you're not going anywhere.

"I am," he says softly, voice barely a whisper, "But not so much anymore. I think it'll be easier now."

"It will be," you reassure him quietly, tightening your grip on his hand, "I'm here for you, okay? Every step of the way."

He nuzzles into your hair, presses himself against you and sighs contentedly, "Okay."

You close your eyes, focusing on the perfection of this moment, the feeling of his body so close to yours, warming you up and keeping you safe. You can't help but notice how perfectly your bodies fit together, how right it feels to be lying together like this.

"By the way," he whispers suddenly, "You'll be my patrol partner again, right?"

You grin, tilting your head back slightly so his cheek brushes against your temple, relishing in the feeling of his stubble against your skin, so natural, so easy.

"I thought you'd never ask."

i can't believe how long this took me to write but i'm so glad i finally finished it. this isn't the end of soft!dom joel, but i would consider it the end of their story, most likely. i'll probably write some more smutty one-shots for them, but i doubt i'll write anything for them again with this much detail. i feel pretty satisfied with this.

let me know what you think!!! i love hearing yalls feedback, it makes me so happy. i also have a kofi if you'd like to leave me a tip. thank you so much for reading 💖

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou fic #pedro pascal fic #*#fic: soft!dom joel

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endlessthxxghts · 9 months ago

Text

Solace

Din Djarin/The Mandalorian x afab!reader || W/C: 4.3k

Summary: You help Din release his frustrations after he comes back from a weeklong hunt.

Content/Warnings: Canon divergent around season 3 (no Grogu here; one tiny reference to Living Waters). Reader is able-bodied, but there are no specific physical descriptions. Pet names for both reader and Din (fem pet names for reader). Implied established relationship (you've seen his face and call him Din) - THEY'RE IN LOVE. Reader knows a bit of Mando'a. Helmet comes off. 18+ MDNI. This is 100% porn. Boot riding...blanket..riding...(there's a lot of riding lolz). Multiple orgasms. Cunnilingus. Din is a talker when his mouth isn't occupied. Blow job/face fucking. Unprotected P in V sex. Reader is on whatever form of birth control they have in space LMAO, so #twinkie time😋. Hints of a breeding kink. Praise kink (lots of it). Switch BDSM dynamics. Soft Dom!Din along with subby/desperate!Din. Sub!Reader and soft Dom!Reader. Please let me know if I missed anything! Xx

A/N: First picture was made by @djarin-desires, and honestly, this whole oneshot was inspired by this post they made! I literally could not stop thinking about these pictures all day, so I just had to write my ✨thots✨ down. I hope you enjoy!! Other two photos are found on Pinterest - middle does not represent anything about reader’s physical appearance.

masterlist || notif blog

“Oh, shit-” you gasp. “Din, please,” eyes rolling back in pleasure, your body shivering in its nakedness compared to his fully armored form.

“What is it, sweet girl?” he coos, his fingers caressing your cheekbone, pushing the hair from your eyes.

“Need- stars- need more,” you cry out, your current situation proving to only bring you to the edge, but not carry you off of it.

“One more like this, cyar’ika, then I’ll give you what you want,” Din reassures you, his leather-clad thumb running across your bottom lip, hooking himself in your mouth for you to make a mess of. “I wanna see that boot soaked, you hear me?”

Din always gets like this when he comes back from a weeklong bounty hunt. He gets hard. Dominating. In need of control. To take back the situation that got out of hand.

You were sitting on the ground cleaning one of his blasters when he came in. He was tense. Weirdly quiet. He’s always quiet, but not with you, not for a few years now. He threw the bounty into the carbon and froze him, his chest plate rising with every breath. You knew him well enough now to know when he’s seething, and this was it.

“Din?” you called out softly.

He just points his helmet at you, the visor staring you down.

“Everything okay?”

“What do you think?” He responds rather harshly.

“...Din,” you whisper, feeling every ounce of anger in those four words.

You like how it ends in these situations, though. It always ends with him a whimpering mess beneath you. There’s usually some kind of switch. He takes a third orgasm out of you, and always on the third, he becomes needy. Desperate. He just wants to be inside of you. To be balls deep and stay there, to release all of his tension while being wrapped up in you.

You’re his solace. His warmth. His home. He always needs you. But right now, he needs his control back, so even though it’s you who’s in control by the end of the night, you stay prettily on your knees and obey dutifully.

“I hear you, Din,” you struggle to get out with his thumb holding your tongue down, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth.

Your thighs are on fire from your constant back and forth motion, the squelch of your slick rubbing across his shoe sending blood straight to his groin. He can feel himself itching to make you rise, to spread your legs and split you open until he can’t hold himself up anymore. But he knows you’re close even though you whine and plea for more. He knows your tells—the way your eyes struggle to stay open, the sweat beading at your temples, the way you slowly start to clamp down harder and harder on his thumb. His personal favorite, though, he discovered in this new position, is the way you start hugging tighter onto his leg, your chest rubbing against his thigh plate in an attempt to cool yourself off, but you’re just so close, the cool beskar doing nothing to ease the heat.

“Just like that, pretty girl, come on,” Din groans, the sight before him truly testing his strength. You two have done many things together, but this? This is something new, and Din isn’t sure how long he can last. “I know you can give me one more, baby. Just one more, and then I get to feel you, come on,” he pleads, voice bubbling up into a whine.

Oh, he’s starting to break, already?

The thought is what sends you over, your hips stuttering in their rhythm as your arousal pours out of you, your clit shooting a sharp sensation up your spine at the sensitivity. “Dank farrik, you’re so damn gorgeous when you cum all over me, baby, so so gorgeous,” he pulls his thumb out and spreads your drool across your mouth, cradling your cheek softly in his palm as you shake in his grasp.

“Oh, fuck- oh yes, yesyesyes, Din,” you sob, head falling back between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, my sweet girl, Maker, you’re so beautiful,” he coos, leaning down to let the forehead of his helmet rest against yours, your hot breath fogging his visor. He smiles to himself as his vision blurs momentarily.

Din’s hands situate themselves beneath your armpits, pulling you up to your feet and supporting you as you allow your limp legs to gain their strength again. “Can I taste you, cyar’ika?” He asks as he wraps his arms around your waist, guiding you to sit on the armory crate in the corner of the hull.

“Thought you said you wanted to feel me?” you retort, a small smirk forming on your flushed face.

“Yeah,” he says as he drops down to his knees. “My tongue goes first.” Even with his helmet on, you can still hear the shit-eating grin with his comment.

Din reaches for his helmet, the hiss of air signifying it’s about to come off never fails to cause butterflies to erupt in your belly. The minute his chocolate brown eyes meet yours, your heart grows two sizes greater. Your hands reach for his face. “There’s my pretty boy,” you whisper.

His heart nearly jumps out of his chest at your words. He turns his head to kiss your palm. “My pretty girl,” he responds, bashful. “Lean back, baby.” You lay yourself back, body resting against the metal wall as his hands settle underneath you.

Din brings himself forward, the flat of his tongue starting at the bottom of you and licking upwards—slowly, thoughtfully, calculated. He takes his time moving through your soaked folds, as if he’s mapping it out for the first time even though he’s mapped your body more times than the amount of bounties under his belt.

The way you moan under his touch has him groaning into you, his fingers tightening their hold, his face more flush against you. He can’t get enough. His licks turn less controlled and more hungry; he uses his lips to help rub the surrounding area as he suckles every part of you he can, drinking you in, bathing in your slick as if to reclaim himself, as he did not too long ago in the Living Waters of Mandalore. His nose nudges your sensitivity as his tongue claims your entrance, the softness of your walls dancing with the softness of his tongue makes you breathless.

Your fingers find their way into his curls, grabbing on in an attempt to ground yourself, to keep your soul beside him as he brings you to the brink of ecstasy for the fourth time since he’s been back. You whimper in distaste as his tongue leaves your hole, but the disappointment is quickly replaced by a whimper of desperation when his mouth wraps around your throbbing bud and he sucks. “Just- oh, fuck, Din- just like that,” you let out, your hips involuntarily lifting to buck into his face.

He’s quick to bring his mouth back down to your entrance, licking up every drop of the sweet nectar you always keep him full with. His nose massages your bundle as he drinks from you, and the action prolongs your climax and syrupy moans; Din works to pull as much as he possibly can from you. It’s been a week of rations and shitty meals he can sneak. So when such a delicacy is placed before him, solely for his taking, oh, he’s not going to waste a single drop.

By the time he’s satisfied, the bottom half of his face is covered in your shine, the armory crate’s ledge is soaked, and you’re completely blissed out—face flushed and sweaty, tired eyes, a weak smile… to the average eye, you appear properly satiated. Although, Din knows that you are far from it.

“You alright, sweet girl?” Din asks, rising to his full height again. He brings his hand out for you to take, pulling you up to stand. Delaying your answer, you wrap your hands around his neck and pull him in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss, all tongue with your flavor embedded in each and every one of his taste buds. You moan into the kiss, pulling away with a bite to his plump bottom lip. “Perfect, baby,” you smile, pulling him to the makeshift bed—a pile of blankets—in the hull that you two sleep in.

You drop yourself down onto your knees, beginning to work his armor off from his legs as he starts on his shoulders. With you helping, he’s down to his flight suit in no time, and your mouth salivates at the sight. As soon as the last clink of the precious metal leaves his body, you’re leaning your face into him, into his bulge, pressing sweet little kisses to its covered form. You can hear Din’s breath hitch, his cock twitching under your touch. “Need you in my mouth, Din,” you say as you look up at him, his eyes already hooded over at the sight of your mouth near his length. “My turn to taste you, huh, pretty boy?” You ask in a teasing tone, his face too hot to register that you’re waiting for a response from him.

He finally registers the question when your hand dips into his bottoms, his hardness meeting your hand eagerly. You look at him expectantly.

Although technically it’s his cock’s turn to feel you, he cannot bring himself to deny you or your skillful mouth. He cannot bring himself to deny anything you want, really. “Y-yeah- yes, baby, your turn,” he says shakily, the anticipation putting his body into sensitivity overdrive.

He helps rip the rest of his flight suit off, and without giving him a second to breathe, you’re already spitting in your palm and working the length of him the way you know he loves. You use your mouth in tandem, your tongue licking from his base to his tip, and instantly, a loud whimper comes from the back of Din’s throat at this particular touch.

You’re delighted by his reaction, so you repeat the motion a few more times to pull more of those sweet sounds out. “My baby is so sensitive here, isn’t he?” You pump him with your hand as you speak, placing a wet kiss to his tip when the foreskin pulls back to expose it.

“Kriff…” he moans, his head suddenly too heavy to maintain upright. “Mesh’la, please,” Din begs.

With one more kiss to the tip, you stop your hand’s movement completely. “Please what, baby? Use those words, honey,” you look up at him, eyes wide and full of promises to please—as soon as he vocalizes what he wants.

His chest is heaving already at the sight of you, on your knees and looking up at him again, yet this time around, you’re the one calling the shots.

He prefers it this way, he thinks. Sure, he comes back from a particularly frustrating hunt and ends up taking his stress out on you. Sure, it’s the most beautiful sight seeing you so worked up and at his mercy. But he is always the one in the driver seat—calculating everyone’s every turn, every action before they even have the chance to act. Din’s mind is always active, always alert. Yet, when you have him like this, in this yielding state, it’s like his mind gets to be quiet. With you, under your touch and under your gaze, Din is able to exist in your presence without a worry. He’s finally able to just be. Not a bounty hunter, not the big and tough Mandalorian everyone fears. No, he’s Din. Your Din. Your sweet boy. Yours. And that’s the greatest honor to ever bestow upon him. At least, that’s how he sees it anyway.

“Y-your mouth, mesh’la, p-please,” he says softly. Your eyebrow quirks up. You want just a little bit more. “Want your- need your mouth on me, baby, please,” he breathes out, attempting and failing to ease the neediness in his voice.

You hum triumphantly before you begin pumping him again, your hand focusing on his base while your mouth lavishes his leaking head. You swirl your tongue around, the salty flavor of him quick to override your senses, and Din lets out a strangled moan, his hips softly bucking in your grasp.

Your hand releases him, letting your mouth take full control. You grab onto his thick thighs for stability, breathing through your nose as you let the tip of him reach as far back as you can handle. He gasps when he hits the back of your throat, the twitch of his body triggering your gag reflex, your throat tightening in on where he’s most sensitive. “Oh, fuck,” he grunts, fighting his hips to stay in place and let you do your thing.

You garble something incoherent, humming into his cock as you pull yourself on and off of him a few more times. Pulling back for a small breather, you use your finger to collect up the spit-arousal mixture from the sides of your mouth and pump it on his erection, his hips twitching once again at your ministrations.

You know what he really wants right now, but with his head in cloud nine, you know he’ll never ask for it himself. “You wanna fuck my mouth, Din?” You ask bluntly.

His entire face and chest turn red faster than the speed of light. He sputters in his response. “I- oh my Maker, mesh’la, is that- are- are you sure? I-”

You cut him off by leaning in to kiss his thigh. He softens in your touch. “Din, pretty boy, it’s a yes or no. One word. Choose.”

“Yes,” he replies, not a single hesitation in sight.

“Good boy,” you purr. “See what happens when you say what you want from me?”

You shift yourself to a more comfortable position sitting on your haunches, fluffing the blankets underneath you to soften the ache of the metal floor. You look up to Din who’s watching you eagerly but with a softness that tells you to take all your time in the world. Doing this isn’t just for him, though. Letting him take control of you here turns you on just as much as it does him, maybe even more.

You take one more glance into his thirsty eyes, and, well, okay… maybe he enjoys this slightly more. Nonetheless, you don’t take your time because you can feel the butterflies in your core beginning to flap once again as Din brings himself closer to you, lining himself up with your mouth.

“Don’t waste this opportunity, Djarin. Better use me good, yeah?” You tease, leaning your head back slightly as you stick your salivating tongue flat out, waiting for him to enter.

His entire body shivers at your words. “Yes, ma’am,” he says under his breath, focusing on easing himself into your mouth as steady as possible, trying to maintain some ounce of self-restraint he’s inevitably going to lose.

Once his tip is in your mouth, his hands find their home rooted at the base of your air, his thumb reaching forward to caress the apple of your cheeks. He doesn’t move at first, apprehensive in the case he might hurt you. He’s always like this at the beginning, and every single time, you reassure him it’s okay.

You let out a muffled mhm, his signal to keep going. Din’s fingers flex, guiding your head further in as his hips slowly meet you halfway. He’s holding his breath, you can tell in the way his belly twitches. But the moment your swallow reflex triggers around him, he’s gone. “Oh, shit-” he moans ragged, his hips never fully retreating before he’s bucking into you again. “Oh, sweet girl, fuck-” he gasps. “Always so perfect, feel so perfect around me, stars, baby-” he praises, his hips moving at a comfortable, steady pace now.

You moan around him, eyes rolling back at how good and heavy he feels coasting the expanse of your tongue. Your spit drips further down your chin and neck with each thrust, the messiness of it all mirroring itself between your thighs. Your hands leave the expanse of your thighs and reach for the blankets underneath you. As best as you can, you shuffle them in between you, using it to grind your hips on it, giving you a much needed relief. The material catches on your clit deliciously, pulling a muffled gasp from your throat, sending the sensation up Din’s spine.

“Oh, fuck, look at you,” he groans, his eyes fighting to stay open at the raw pleasure coursing through his veins as he starts thrusting into you harder, faster. “So pretty, baby, fuck- thank you, pretty girl,” he rambles. “Maker, you feel so damn good.”

Your moans and whines don’t stop, they reverberate off each metal wall and into his ears, providing him with the sweetest song. Din, ever the talker, is long lost in the way you feel and the way you move.

“Keep moving those hips, sweet girl, rub that pretty pussy on our blankets, baby.”

“Gonna cum like that again, baby? Gonna make a mess where we sleep?”

“Shit, gonna make me lick it up and clean it? Please make me clean it, baby,” he whines, his hips beginning to falter.

The last thing he says to you is what sends you over the edge, your fingers gripping the blankets below you, bringing it flush against your core as if it were Din’s curls you’re hanging onto. Your hips speed up, chasing the orgasm that is just right there, and with one last thrust forward, you’re cumming. You’re breathing heavily through your nose, tears streaming down your face as you whimper around his dick, begging for the one thing you know he’s not gonna give you.

With a few more thrusts, you can feel his cock start to twitch, and just as you suspected, he pulls out of you before he can finish.

“Baby, no,” you cry, leaning yourself forward, chasing after him. Right away, he’s dropping down to his knees, hands still on either side of your face as he’s finally eye level with you.

“Baby, cyar’ika, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please,” he repents, his chest rising and falling heavily, still out of breath from edging himself. “I just- I didn’t- I… I wanted to cum somewhere else, baby,” his voice falls quieter, shyer.

Your scowl fades, forming into a more mischievous demeanor, more hungry. You can’t quite argue his reasoning. Because, you, too, would very much like him to finish… elsewhere. “Yeah, baby?” You taunt. “And where do you wanna cum, sweet boy?”

He swallows thickly, his needy eyes on yours, blacked with a ferality he’s addicted to. “In- inside,” he whispers.

“Inside?” you’re quick to repeat. “Wanna cum inside me, sweet boy? Fill me up? I’ve made so many messes today, is it your turn to make one, baby?”

He leans in to meet your kiss, but you pull away slightly. Answer me, your face tells him.

“Y-yeah- yes, stars, yes- fuck- please, baby, I wanna cum inside you, wanna make a mess of you so fucking bad, please-” he starts to answer. Satisfied, you cut him off with your lips on his.

You wrap your arms around his neck, lips never breaking the seal, you pull him over you as you lay yourself down on your guys’ bed, scooting farther up for your head to reach a pillow, your back barely missing your puddle of arousal. Din multitasks, grabbing one of the other near pillows and placing it underneath your hips as your body lands on the ground. Your legs are already hooked onto his waist, not giving him the space to stray too far.

Once you’re settled, Din’s hand is cradling the back of your head while the other reaches for his cock, covered in your wetness and leaking with his own arousal. He guides himself to you, running his tip along your slick folds, stopping to tap on your clit before bringing himself back down to your entrance. He breaks the kiss when he does this, his eyes laser focused on where you two connect. His hand on the back of your head pushes to angle you down, so you can watch, too, both of you observing and listening to the lewdness of it all.

Finally, his head catches at your entrance, pushing himself in slowly. He’s always a stretch, always something you’ll never quite really get used to, but you love the feeling. Obsessed, even. There are some days where you rile him up on purpose just so he gives it to you, no preparation or foreplay. On those days, he has you screaming, your fingernails digging deep into his back to tether yourself to reality in some kind of way. On his softer days, you have to beg him to, reassure him that it doesn’t hurt—in a bad way.

As soon as he’s seated all the way to the hilt, he pulls back out entirely before he thrusts back in. You both moan out at the action, your pussy immediately releasing a fresh new wave of arousal around him. “Oh, fuck,” you both mutter at the same time, your eyes meet, and a euphoric smile graces each of your faces.

“Y-you feel so good, baby, s-so fucking big,” you mewl, your hands tightening their hold around his neck, both the tips of your noses kissing each other.

“It’s like you were made- fuck-” he stutters, his hips slowing for a brief moment, allowing himself to really feel you. “It’s like I was made for you,” he corrects himself. “I was made for you,” he says again, leaning in to slot his lips against yours.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” you say against his lips. I love you. “And I was made for you,” you squeak out, your head bobbing back and forth as the pleasure brings your mind further and further into space.

“Shit, mesh’la,” he grits between his teeth. His hips speed up at that, loving the way his native tongue sounds on yours. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum,” he repeats back to you. “I’m yours, cyar’ika. Yours,” he murmurs, his head crashing into the crook of your neck and shoulder, sucking and biting at the sweaty flesh.

He sits up on his haunches for a second, hooking the crook of his elbows into your knees before leaning back over you—the angle allowing him to hit so deep and allowing his pubic area to stimulate your pulsing nerve with every thrust in—you scream out as he repeatedly makes you feel things that no one has ever been able to do, not even yourself.

“Din,” you keen, his name leaving your mouth like a sinful prayer. “Din, baby, please, I think I’m gonna- fuck-”

“Gonna cum again for me, pretty girl?” He smirks. “Fuck, I’m never gonna stop saying this- you’re so fucking perfect. Come on, baby, cum for me, fucking soak me. Soak me before I make you fucking overflow with me, my sweet girl,” he snarls, his lips meeting yours in a bruising kiss, truly a dance of tongue and spit as he fucks into you at the same pace that brought you to yet another climax.

Your hands yank on his fluffy curls, back arching into his body as much as this restricting angle allows you to. “Din, oh my-! Fuck- so fucking good, fuck-” you wail out, your heart beating out of your chest as your pussy pulses around his cock, making an utter mess between your two lower halves.

The flutter of you and the instant wetness consuming him is what sends Din to his finish line. He continues thrusting, shakily, through his own orgasm, his load coating every inch of you, both inside and out. You wanted a mess, so he truly gave you a mess.

He releases the hold on your legs to wrap his arms around you, his entire body flush against yours as your legs wrap themselves tightly around him again. He’s still inside you, his hips softly still moving in and out as he leaves kisses all along your lips, your jawline, your neck.

The way you feel, full of him and him, has your hips meeting his small advances, both of you reveling in the aftershock of your highs as you use the pleasure to ease you back down.

“You okay, mesh’la?” Din asks eventually when you both come to an exhausted, satiated halt.

“Perfect, my sweet boy,” you smile, repeating your sentiment from earlier. ��You okay, though?” You ask hesitantly, and not about what you two just did together. He brings his lips to yours. Soft, and not in a way to arouse you again. In a way that says thank you and I love you in a way spoken tongue will never be able to convey.

“I will be,” he answers truthfully. “Pick a planet, you can pick me apart after we get food.”

“Sounds like a deal, baby.”

“Come, let’s get cleaned up.” He kisses your forehead before he untangles himself and pulls you up to your feet as well, both of you making your way to the refresher.

In the corner of his eye, he sees his now semi-shiny boot, starting to dry off in the midst of everything else you two did. He smirks to himself.

You catch it, of course. “What’re you smiling at, Djarin?”

“Nothing,” he says nonchalantly. “Just… I clean my armor and boots after every bounty.”

“And?” You ask, still not realizing where he’s headed.

“I don’t know if I wanna clean my boots anymore.”

Your eyebrows raise to the middle of your forehead, eyes bulging out of your face. “Din!” you slap his chest. Then, your face goes stern. “You will be cleaning those boots more often if you want me to do that again."

Oh.

“Yes, ma’am.”

End notes:

Thank you so much for reading, I really hope you guys enjoyed this one! Please let me know what you guys think, I really love hearing your guys’ reactions and feedback!🫶

Also, did y’all clock how many orgasms reader had in this damn thing?! Coochie of fucking steel fr 😭😭

Moon divider by @saradika-graphics 🩶

@pedrostories

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a-disturbing-self-reflection · 10 months ago

Text

🏁 Winner, winner, chicken dinner - EO31

SUMMARY: Social media au, y/n is an f1 driver for porsche. 2 best friends finally get a clue. PAIRING: Esteban ocon x fem!reader

Y/N13

Liked by Estebanocon and others

Y/N13 Proud of porsche 🖤

Sorry to end silly season before it begins, but here's to another year!

View all comments...

Estebanocon how long did that take you to think of?

↳ Y/N13 dont...

↳ User1 not him exposing her like that 💀

User2 yesss! Our queen is slaying staying

PorscheF1 We'd want no one else! 🔥💛

↳ alex_albon do I mean nothing to you?

↳ Y/N13 I love you Porsche admin 😍😍

↳ PorscheF1 😳

↳ Estebanocon stop flirting with the poor admin

↳ landnorris jealous? 🤨

↳ User5 ok Grandpa, lets get you into bed

User3 Can't wait to watch next weeks gp

User4 I'm taking time off work to watch next weeks grand prix! Cant wait to see you smash it, Hungary here i come!!

User5 She's such a porsche girly, I'm living for it

User6 I dont want, I NEED that jacket

↳ User5 ikr, its GORGEOUS

Estebanocon

Liked by Y/N13, fernandoalo_oficial and others

Estebanocon I don't know what to write I'm lost for words we just won the Hungarian @ f1GrandPrix i will forever remember this moment!!🔥 Thank you to @ alpinef1team, without them I would not have made it, and what a drive by the legend himself @ fernandoalo_oficial he's part of this too

View all comments...

alpinef1team 🔥🔥

↳ User6 alpine fr love their fire emojis

↳ alpinef1team 🔥

Y/N13 King of long captions and king of the podium!

↳ Estebanocon let me celebrate in peace

↳ User5 Mum help, they're flirting again

↳ User7 you are delulu

User8 You only got that win cause of Fernando clown 🤡

User9 💩

User10 Not the toxic Fernando fan boys in the comments 💀

fernandoalo_oficial Congrats 😁👍

↳ Estebanocon next win is yours 😉

Y/N13 added to her story!

Y/N13 Estie my bestie, we party like no others.

Reply...

landonorris I was there too you know

Y/N13 🥱

landonorris Of course you're only focused on him

Y/N13 whats that supposed to mean?

landonorris nothinggggg ;)

lando.jpg

Liked by Y/N13, charles_leclerc and others

lando.jpg Podium pals 😎

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User11 She looks like a godess... And they're... there.

Y/N13 Did Estie dirty there lmao

↳ lando.jpg Estie? interesting

↳ User5 HA he's so us

User6 lando got those moves 🕺

Estebanocon It was a great night to end a great day

mclaren looking good Lando! 🔥

charles_leclerc This is charles erasure

↳ lando.jpg Next time dont DNF then 🤷‍♂️

↳ User15 He didnt 💀

User14 Ocon embracing the squirrel

F1gossip

Liked by landonorris and others

F1gossip seems it's not just lando norris who got tired during the Belgian GP! Y/n L/n and Esteban Ocon caught snuggling up during the red flag

View all comments...

User5 INTERESTING

User15 They're childhood friends, obviously they're comfy with eachother

↳ User16 Let us L/nOcon shippers live in delusion ok

User17 When is it my tuuuurn

User18 why is no one talking about how cute lando looks

User19 Lando in the liiiikes??

↳ User20 He's the #1 f1 gossiper, of course he's in the likes

Y/N13

Liked by alex_albon and others

Y/N13 And thats how you celebrate P2

View all comments...

User16 Who's the person you're playing uno with?

↳ landonorris Ocon obviously

↳ User1 More importantly who won

↳ User3 As if Y/n would ever let a man beat her

Liked by Y/N13

↳ User8 She did in the race today

↳ User5 You did NOT, thats FOUL

Estebanocon I'm not accepting this slander, I beat her

↳ Y/N13 LIES

maxverstappen1 Congrats on P2, offended you didn't come out partying with us

↳ Y/N13 But merlin...

↳ User15 She's so real for choosing to watch her fave show instead of going out partying

PorscheF1 p1 here we come! 🏆🔥

↳ User21 why do all admins love the fire emoji?

↳ PorscheF1 🔥

↳ mclaren 🔥

↳ alpinef1team 🔥

landonorris You watched merlin WITHOUT ME???

↳ Y/N13 sucks to suck ig

↳ landonorris :(

User6 Her celebrating her podium with him instead of the rest of the grid 😚

↳ User10 It's so cute

↳ User22 I dont get it, are they dating

↳ landonorris not yet

↳ User5 He ships it harder than us i swear

User23 Soft launch?

↳ User24 They're BEST FRIENDS, this is not a soft launch 😭

Y/N13

Liked by Estebanocon, landonorris and others

Y/N13 Happy birthday Estie bestie, 15 in a caravan turned to 25 in an f1 car so quick 🖤

View all comments...

Estebanocon I hate you

↳ Y/N13 you love meeee

↳ landnorris Just kiss already pls

Liked by Estebanocon

↳ User5 Ayo?

User17 The media team did NOT see this one looool

User5 Bestie, the last pic I-

User23 I love it when me and my bestfriend cuddle all platonic style, jokingly flirt and have date nights... girl who you fooling?

User18 He's so baby girl

User15 They're in love

↳ User24 You're delusional (I believe you)

Y/N13

Liked by PorscheF1, charles_leclerc and others

Y/N13 Winner winner chicken dinner, what more can I say?

View all comments...

User5 How about explaining that kiss!!??!?!

PorscheF1 Could not be prouder.

User25 Girl, WHAT does that mean?

landonorris Next step, first ever joint championship 😎

↳ Y/N13 in your dreams buddy

↳ landonorris i dont deserve this

Estebanocon We only know how to win

charles_leclerc Best person to share a podium with

↳ maxverstappen1 What am i?

↳ charles_leclerc a pain

F1gossip

Liked by User5 and others

F1gossip Passionate displays from Y/n after her first Grand prix win, rushing off the podium to kiss childhood friend Esteban Ocon. Does this reveal a secret side to their relationship? Or was it a heat of the moment decision?

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User5 WE WON

User24 The pining is overrrr

User22 Y/n and Esteban finally getting together WAS on my 2021 bingo card!

↳ User26 Be honest, how many years has it been on there?

↳ User22 ....

Estebanocon

Liked by landonorris, Y/N13 and others

Estebanocon the spider to my man

View all comments...

Y/N13 you think you're smooth

↳ Estebanocon the smoothest

Y/N13 finally get to say i love youuuuuuu (in a non platonic way!!)

↳ Estebanocon I'll help you reach any apple you want

↳ User20 everyday i wake up knowing ill never have this

User6 I have to know, @ landonorris how much of this was you?

↳ landonorris at least 60%

↳ User14 Only 60?

↳ landonorris the pining was crazy

Y/N13

Liked by alex_albon, Estebanocon and others

Y/N13 finally got a clue

Estebanocon only took 20 years

#esteban ocon #esteban ocon x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 x reader #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #estie bestie #f1 smau #🏁 - matts f1 works

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asumofwords · 1 year ago

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash - EPILOGUE

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of grief, war, blood, loss.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Note: Whelp... Here we are.... This is it. This is the end. The end of Smoke, Fire and Ash. We are ending with this Epilogue in a five year time jump. And oh boy.... I can't believe it. I really hope that you enjoy how I finish this era lmao, with over 370k words.... someone needs to take my computer away from me. Again, I can't even begin to express my love and gratitude to you all, I just hope that you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it! <3 So as always.... ENJOY!

EPILOGUE : His Song of Ice and Fire

Time jump: 5 years into the future.

There was a chill that had come early to Kings Landing that season, all those years ago. A chill that had swept across the stones of the Keep, cool air creeping into your bones through your gown.

But now, as you stood where you had many moons ago, there was no crisp breeze that sent goosebumps rising on your arms, nor was there a bite to it that came as a subtle and precursory warning for what was to come.

The courtyard of the Godswood was warmed by streams of glowing sunlight that blanketed over the cobblestones and grass.

A soft breeze rolled through as you walked forward towards the tree, having missed being in its presence over the years passed, mostly spent on Dragonstone.

It had been five years since your mother was seated upon the Iron Throne. Five years since you had been named her successor. Five years since Lords, Ladies and Heads of Houses pledged themselves to you and the Queen.

Five years since the death of Aegon and all those responsible for the usurpation.

Since you commanded dracarys and watched as Alicent was devoured by flames. Since Larys laid on the flagstones, blood seeping from his stomach.

Five years since your father had gone to Storms End and slayed Borros Baratheon for his play in it.

Five years since Baela and Rhaena flew to Oldtown and rounded up all the Hightower's who had shown support for Otto and his kin.

And five years since his death.

Five years ago, in these very walls of the Red Keep, you had plunged a dagger into your husbands neck. Your uncles neck. Your childhood companion. The man you had loved.

And not one day that had gone by did you not think of it. Did you not dream of it. Did you not see him in the corners of your eyes, or in the shadows of your chambers on Dragonstone.

Did you not see the blood that stained your hands when you would wake, or witness with bouts of anxiety.

In your hand, the old and worn cover of your favourite book, ‘Ten Thousand Ships'. A novel in which you had read under these very branches of the Godswood. On the grass your mother had sat with you, or your brothers, or your uncles and aunt.

You watched as a small head of silver raced ahead of you, shoulder length hair billowing behind him, with two tidy braids holding the sides behind his head.

“Careful, Lucerys.” You called out gently, watching as your son climbed atop the roots and settled right into your favourite spot. His black and red robes crinkling as he leant back against the root of the Weirwood tree.

The smile on your face stretched widely as you moved to sit beside him, the small boy crawling into your lap as you brushed his hair back behind his ears. Little hands reached out to play with the necklace at your neck.

Aemond’s sapphire.

Ever since Lucerys was born, he had always longed to touch or hold it, violet eyes always finding it with ease against your neck, fingers outstretched to play with it or caress it. He tapped it up and down upon his finger as he looked at it with content.

There was so much of Aemond in him, it was hard for all not to see. It was especially true with his eyes. Eyes that you had loved since you were a child, reflected on your own sons face.

His were, much like Aemond's, a way to read him almost immediately, showing so much emotion and character in them as he thought, or played, or argued. Long silver lashes blinked up at you, and you could not help the tug of your heart as you bent your head to kiss his forehead.

The young boy scrunched his nose at you in mock disgust before grabbing the book from your hand to hold it open in his lap, finding the page that you had been up to not just the day before.

The bridge of his nose was dusted with light freckles, and there was such a boyish charm to his rosy cheeks, whenever he smiled his teeth would show, bar the one he had recently just lost.

Little Lucerys was as Aemond had been as a young boy. Inquisitive, soft spoken, kind and daring. He had a longing for knowledge, and sought it out whenever he could in Dragonstone's library or by picking your brain with a continuous stream of questions and consciousness.

But then there was so much of you in him too. His nose, his sure fire temper when things did not go his way, and his utter refusal to back down, even when it brought him to tears.

You read to your son beneath the tree as you reminisced on your days before. On how you had sought solace beneath the branches many times. How your mother had read to you here. How your brothers and Helaena would sometimes join you or play. And how Aemond would sit behind the trunk and listen to you read aloud, your voice carrying enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to let him know that you knew he was there.

And as you read, you felt his presence, there on the other side of the Godswood, where he would sit as a boy, listening as you read to his son. Watching as he always did. There as he always was.

Always and forever more, would the ghost of Aemond haunt you.

You read louder, just so you could be confident that Aemond could hear, just as you had when you were young, even though you knew he was not truly there. But it felt right. It felt the way it should have been. What could have been.

Familiar.

That is where your mother found you, nestled where she used to, reading a book she had once read to you to your son, and loud as though you wished for your voice to carry to some unknown spectator.

You felt the eyes of the Queen and lifted your head, pausing your reading if only for a moment, and Lucerys, being as perceptive as he was, looked up and spotted his Grandmother, leaping from your lap all elbows and knees and ran towards her.

The Queen opened her arms widely as she chuckled, bending down slightly to catch the young boy who launched himself into her arms, crown unmoving from the top of her head.

“Grandmother Nyra!” He had cried as she lifted him into the air, sitting him atop her hip as you dusted your skirts down and made your way over.

“It feels right to see you there. I can remember how eager you used to be.” She smiled, turning her head to look at the boy in her arms, “Did you know your mother had me read to her there too?”

The boy nodded his head, silver hair bouncing atop his shoulders, “Uh huh. And father too!”

Rhaenyra’s smile softened as she looked at the boy and back to you, “She did. Your father loved her reading.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you leaned in to kiss your mothers cheeks, son still in her arms as he played with the crown at her head.

“Are you ready for this evenings feast?” Rhaenyra asked, swaying the boy gently as she pressed another kiss to the top of his head, once, twice, three times, exaggerating the noise as she sucked air through her pursed lips.

“Of course,” You adjusted the necklace at your throat in nervous habit, “We flew all this way for this evening, didn’t we?”

“Vermithor is grumpy, Grandmother. But he lets me on his back!”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth and raised her brows, “Does he? Why, you must be the youngest rider ever!”

Lucerys beamed.

“Muña has been taking me to see Vhagar! She flies with us sometimes.” Mother.

The smile on Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, if only for a moment, before she regained her composure.

“Does she now? Vhagar must know that you’re your fathers son.”

Little Luc nodded his head, “I’m going to claim her. Muña said I shouldn’t because she is too old and grumpy and dangerous, but I know father wants me too.”

You cleared your throat, “That’s enough of that. Grandsire will have a new clutch soon, and you will have your own egg.”

“But I-“

“-Hush, my sweet.”

Turning back to you, Queen Rhaenyra lowered the boy back on to the ground, letting him run circles around the courtyard as you spoke, “Is he still having dreams?”

You bit your lip anxiously, before nodding, “He knows things he shouldn’t. He is much like Helaena in that respect.”

Your mother gave you a reassuring smile, “A gift from the Gods no doubt. A most precious one.”

You nodded in agreement, but in some ways you didn’t agree at all.

Was it really a gift if it aided in driving Helaena to madness?

Rhaenyra held one of your hands, brushing her thumb up and over your knuckles soothingly. You didn’t dare look down, knowing that they would be bloodied, “There will be allies from all the realm tonight. I cannot believe little Rhaegar is to have his first name day already.”

Rhaegar was a small boy of silver hair and tanned skin, one violet eye, and one brown. The third son of Jacaerys and Baela, with yet another on the way. Baela had told you in secret that she wished for a girl this time around, but had been surprised when the small boy had been born.

None were more surprised however, than when he had opened his eyes to peer up at your brother, besotted by his son already, staring down at the violet and brown eyes that looked back up at him.

Aelor, the eldest, was but a few moons older than your Lucerys, and the two got on more fiercely than even you and Aemond possessed. It was a beautiful bond the two boys had, full of love and loyalty.

The middle child of Jacaerys and Baela was a sweet and quiet boy named Rhaelor. He had the most beautiful of curls like his mother, who braided it closely to his scalp with clips of gold and silver dangling from each.

"I cannot believe it either.” You agreed, casting a quick glance at your son, “They grow so quickly.”

Rhaenyra took your other hand in hers and squeezed them, “You grew the fastest of all. You shot up far before your brothers. I feel like I blinked and then there you were, a woman grown.”

Chuckling, you squeezed her hand back, “Will Rhaena be joining us this evening?”

Rhaenyra turned to lead you away from the Godswood, Lucerys running up beside you to hold your other hand, “Rhaena sent word that she senses the babe to be with us any day now. It is too far to travel from the Vale to Kings Landing in her condition, but has told us we must all be ready to come see the babe once it is born.”

Rhaena, upon the death of Lucerys, had refused to wed for years. She had stayed loyal and adamant that she would not be betrothed to another, but then she had met Ser Corwyn Corbray, a knight of House Corbray one evening at a feast.

They had immediately connected, an older man with flowing black hair and deep brown eyes that almost looked black. Corwyn was a kind man, if not fierce and skilled as a swordsman, wielding an ancestral longsword of Valyrian steel named Lady Forlorn.

“A shame that I will not see my half-sister again, but I’m delighted to hear the babe should be born any day now. We shall be having many name day celebrations close together.” You smiled.

As you left the cobblestones of the courtyard, you turned your head back to gaze upon the ruby red leaves of the tree. They shimmered in the light of the sun and rustled softly with the breeze.

And there, sat beneath its branches, was Aemond.

His head was leant back against its trunk as he watched you, sapphire missing from the empty socket of his lost eye.

He had not left you.

He did not speak as Helaena and Lucerys had. Not in full sentences anyway. Not anything but the familiar name of endearment that he had called you.

Zaldrītsos.

It was whispered to you in the dead of night, or in the darkest of rooms when your hair would stand on end. Or at times, whispered to you when you were with Lucerys.

It was never malicious.

Or at least, thats what you liked to tell yourself. Though it never felt like he was there with bad intentions. It felt neutral. And you liked to tell yourself that he was there to watch and keep you safe. To keep you company. That a piece of your mind had made him up so that he could live a life with you, and watch your son grow.

There would always be a part of Aemond with you no matter where you went. Whether in your son, or in your visions, or upon your neck and scarred skin.

Your heart ached at the thought.

Rhaenyra walked you back to your chambers, entering as your four maids bowed and began to get preparations in order to ready you for the feast. The chamber doors opened as they left, held open as the tall and built body of your father entered.

“Grandsire!” Lucerys screeched, and you winced as the sound sent fear racing down you spine.

Your heart jolted, the echoes of screaming in your ears as you plastered a smile on your face, eyes twitching, watching as Daemon lifted him high into the air, throwing him up once and catching him to hold him tight against his chest.

Loud noises sometimes did that to you. Threw you back to your time in the Keep before your parents had arrived. Sparking fear into your very core, to the point where sometimes you could not breathe, as though your brain stopped functioning and you were gasping for air, clawing at your throat.

In those moments, Aemond would whisper to you.

It had been especially hard when Lucerys was first born. His cries would wake you and send you into a fit panic, racing to grab the dagger beside your bed as you would check the chamber for danger, wide eyed.

It took several months to learn to live with it, with his presence there, and you would be lying if you didn't say that looking down at Lucerys in his crib as a babe made you feel a guilt that you could not fight away with common sense. A melancholy that ate away at you viciously.

You had fallen into a state of depression, and in your confusion you had sent a letter to your mother and father via raven asking for star fruit. Your mind was so confused, so lost. You barely slept, or ate, and were in a perpetual state of fear.

Daemon came at once, and ended up spending almost an entire year on Dragonstone with you to help, before he finally convinced you to come back to Kings Landing with him so that your mother could help too.

It was months of screaming through the night, months of support, months of pacing your chambers, wondering if it was all worth it. Wondering if it was worth living, worth staying another day in such Hell.

The same thoughts had replayed in your mind over and over.

My son will hate me for what I have done.

I took his father from him.

He will never love me.

He will resent me for my sins.

The thought of climbing out the window as Helaena had done became an almost daily occurrence. And it was hard. Hard to not give in to it.

But you couldn't do it. Cowardice be damned, you could not leave you son alone. You would not abandon him. You would not do it.

So after months of the turmoil that chipped away at you day by day, you told them the truth of it, the whole truth of it, and by that time, after voicing such things aloud, little by little, you felt a bit more of yourself.

Lucerys had had his second name day when you were ready to go back to Dragonstone.

“Se skorkydoso iksis ñuha byka Dārilaros?” And how is my little Prince? Daemon grinned, leaning down to press a kiss against your cheek as your son wriggled in his arms.

“Merbugon!” Hungry!

Daemon plastered mock shock upon his face, something that he would do often to you as a child, "Arlī? Yn ao sepār iprattan.” Again? But you just ate.

“Kesan ipradagon ao!” I’ll eat you! Lucerys growled, fake biting at his Grandsire’s arm.

The young boys High Valyrian was good, but nowhere near perfect.

Daemon and Rhaenyra spent ample time teaching him, as did his uncles Jacaerys and Joffrey when you'd come to visit, or them you. His other uncles, Little Viserys and Aegon the Younger were not too many years older, similar to the age gap you and your uncles had had. They often played with him and Aelor.

Daemon dropped the boy onto the floor, messing his hair with a rough hand before pushing him away to go play with his toys, Saria and Aella sitting with him on the floor. Your fathers lavender eyes landed on you and he smirked.

“Tala.” Daughter, He greeted you, voice almost playful, “Do you look forward to tonights feast?” He pried, mischief twinkling in his eyes.

“I look forward to spending time with all of you, of course.”

“Kostilus kessa ao ūndegon iā arlie valzȳrys.” Perhaps will you see a new husband, He smirked.

Rolling your eyes, you sighed, “Kepa.” Father, “Kostilus, daor bisa arlī." Please, not this again.

It was a conversation that had begun to come up more often than not. You knew the reasoning behind it. You were heir. And you would be expected to wed again, and soon. But all the Lords in Kings Landing you had met had not once sparked any sort of interest for you. And Rhaenyra had vowed to let you marry whom you wanted, when you wanted.

She had kept true to her word thus far.

Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up at her husband as she looked at him in exacerbation, “Henujagon zirȳla sagon.” Leave her be.

Daemon held his palms up in surrender, looking over you before he brushed your cheek with his knuckle quickly, “Ao jurnegon gevie hae va moriot. Hae aōha muña.” You look beautiful as always. Like your mother.

You smirked, “Don’t try and get in my good graces now.”

Rhaenyra grabbed Daemons hand, “We shall leave you to get ready, and see you at the feast.”

You watched as they left your chambers, Rhaenyra whispering to Daemon in your mother tongue.

You were readied by your maids, the two who had been in service for you for many years, and the two who had been your saving grace in the Keep for all those long and trying months. The four sworn to you, and almost never leaving your sight.

They dressed you in a style you were more familiar with, a style you had worn prior to the war. Tight bodice with dripping cleavage, short sleeves and dragons embroidered all over. Your hair was left in waves down your back, with braids nestled amongst them. Against your neck, the same necklace as you wore everyday.

Lucerys joined the feast for a time, eating with the other young children, Maelor and little Jaehaera included, before they were taken back to their chambers by maids.

The ale flowed heavily in the Hall, and all wore smiles on their faces, the frowns and wrinkles caused by the tension of war having been smoothed from their skin.

You sat beside your mother, Jacaerys and Baela to your other side.

Baela was glowing, stomach round with the new child and cheeks rosy from smiling. Jacaerys cheeks were rosy from ale, but parenthood suited him all the same. He had matured, that much was obvious, but his love and devotion to his family and wife had only gotten stronger.

“Little Aelor is growing so quickly.” You smiled, bringing your wine to your lips to sip as you felt nothing but joy to be where you were. To be where you always should had been. The room aglow with your mothers supporters and love. All around you joyous and bright.

“Little Aelor,” Baela leant towards you, “Is a little shit. Not once did I ever behave such a way. He bit Rhaelor this morning because he wouldn’t play with him.”

Jacaerys chuckled and Baela elbowed him in the arm.

“It's all Jacaerys, I’m afraid. He used to bite me too.” You grinned.

“I did not! Not once did I bite you.”

"You did too. I have scars to prove it. Even ask the Septa, she's the one who tore you from me like a rabid dog.”

Jacaerys turned to his wife for support, who only bit her lip to try and hide the smile that broke on her cheeks, “My sister condemns me with these lies. Do you hear her?”

Baela smirked, sipping her wine, “I believe her. You were terribly wild. I seem to recall you have bitten me on more than one occasion.”

Jacaerys blushed, tongue in cheek as he looked at his wife.

You made a teasing face of disgust, "Incorrigible, the both of you."

All three of you watched on as Lords and Ladies danced in the middle of the Hall, loud music bouncing off of the walls by the band that played in the corner, and all laughed and clapped with joy as they watched.

“It is good to be home.” Jacaerys grinned, watching the celebrations, “Driftmark, though close, feels miles away.”

“You’re both always welcome to visit me and Lucerys at Dragonstone again, perhaps a longer stay? I am sure he would love to have you and the boys more often.”

Jacaerys nodded, “We will come promptly then. If the heir beckons, we shall come.” He teased.

“You have been summoned then." You put on your most pious voice you could manage, bursting into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

As your eyes looked into the sea of people, a familiar face came into view.

Jacaerys and Baela, also noticing, turned to face you.

“You know,” Jacaerys began, leaning towards you, “He only comes to these things for you.” He whispered, watching the way a soft blush creeped on your cheeks.

“He comes for you, brother. You are friends after all.” You breathed, feeling your heart race in your throat as the man got closer.

“Kessa, yn ziry umbagon syt ao.” Yes, but he stays for you, Baela snickered.

“You are both as bad as each other.” You griped, finishing the rest of your wine quickly, hoping to distract yourself by pouring another.

As you reached for the goblet, the tall figure of Cregan Stark stood before you at the table, donned in brown and black leather robes, his long dark hair tied back away from his face, and stubble casting a shadow across his defined cheeks and chin.

His stormy grey eyes bored into yours, and the soft and yet polite smile of Cregan Stark greeted you.

“My Lady.” He bowed his head politely, “Jacaerys. Lady Baela.”

“Cregan.” They nodded.

Jacaerys and Baela turned their heads away, conversing with themselves in an attempt to give you mock privacy.

Though you knew they were listening.

“Cregan Stark. You have journeyed far for such an occasion.” You gazed up at him, watching as his eyes flicked downwards and then back to you.

“Of course, My Lady. It is not every day my good friend’s son has his first name day.”

“You could not have missed it, I would have never forgiven you.” Jacaerys chimed in, cheeky smirk on his lips.

Cregan chuckled, deep and heartily, “You’d burn me alive if I did not come. I think those were your words that you sent via raven.”

“Good memory, Stark.”

You smiled, loving the banter the two men had, “But to travel all the way from the North, it must be a tiresome journey, is it not?”

Cregan’s broad chest expanded as he pulled his shoulders back, hands held behind him, “Aye, a tiresome journey if on the backs of horses, and not dragons. Though I am gladdened to know I shall be well rested before my return. His Grace has offered for me to stay at the Red Keep for the month.”

You turned your head towards your father, who’s eyes were already on you, smirk on his face. Your gaze told him you would have a word with him later.

A stern word.

Turning back to Cregan you gave him a smile, "That is wonderful news that you will be here with us in Kings Landing for longer than expected. I had not imagined you to be here at all.”

“Apologies if my arrival has offended you, My lady.” Cregan jested, and you felt a blush creep across your chest.

“Please, Cregan, enough with the formalities. You may call me Y/n. I think we are well acquainted enough by now.”

Cregan smiled, showing a line of white teeth, “Y/n.” He tested the name on his tongue, as though it was the first time he had spoken it.

He stood for what felt like an eternity as you looked at him, neither of you sure of how to continue this conversation.

Jacaerys, being the meddlesome man that he was, decided that his false conversation about the weather with his wife had ended with perfect timing, looking up at his old friend with a shit eating grin.

“My sister here has been approached by many men this evening, all who call her the Beauty of the Realm. Do you find my sister to be beautiful?” He smirked.

Cregan blanched, but answered almost immediately after, “Aye. It would only be a fool who could not see it.”

You blushed, drinking half of your wine in one gulp.

“Then will you continue to do her the dishonour of not asking her to dance?” Jacaerys blinked at his friend from atop the rim of his cup, hiding his grin behind the silver.

Cregan looked as though he was ready to chastise the Prince, perhaps even hit him, but instead turned to you, bowing his head, “Might I ask for a dance, Your Grace?”

You looked at the tall man before you, dark hair that curled lightly in waves, with eyes as stormy as winter.

“If only you call me by my name, Lord Cregan.” You pushed from your seat, turning to give your brother and half-sister a furious glare that the Stark could not see as you turned away from the table, moving towards Cregan who waited diligently for you, hand held out, palm up.

Cregan was much taller than Aemond had been, broader, and when your hand slid into his, you felt your chest come alight. A rush that you had not felt in a long, long time. A sense of butterflies that fluttered about behind your ribs like a makeshift cage.

Cregan led you down to the sea of people, feeling the eyes of your family upon your back. When finally amongst the crowd you turned to face each other, dancing with the rest as your hands intermittently connected.

“I must apologise, Your Grace-”

“-Y/n.” You corrected him.

“Y/n.” He smiled, “It is not often that I dance in the North. I fear I may be a terrible partner.”

“You are yet to step on my toes. I think you are doing perfectly well, if not a little clunky.” You smirked at the tall man, watching as he looked away bashfully.

“There is still time for that I suppose.”

Each brush of his hands atop your body caused warmth to spread through you, tiny little tendrils winding their way up your flesh wherever his skin would make contact with yours. Your hands, arms, shoulders, waist. It was almost overwhelming, and the only time you had ever felt it before, was many years ago.

Five years ago, to be exact.

“Ao jurnegon gevie.” You look beautiful.

Your legs got tangled with themselves as you came to a halt, looking up at the grey eyed man who looked down at you wistfully.

“What did you say?” You breathed, uncertain if you had heard him right, or if it was your mind playing tricks upon you.

“I said you looked beautiful.” Cregan’s eyes roamed your face, brows beginning to furrow, “I apologise, Your-“

“-No.” You shook your head, “Ao ȳdragon Valyrio Eglie?” You speak High Valyrian?

A warm chuckle erupted from his chest, “No, My Lady. Just that and some other small things. Your brother has been a great teacher thus far.”

You tilted your head, trying to get your feet to unstick from the floor, blurs of people moving around you, but in that moment it felt as though they had all disappeared, and you were left alone with the man before you.

“He is a good teacher because I have taught him.”

“Then perhaps I must ask of you to teach me instead.” Cregan gazed at you hopefully.

You hummed, “Do you have need to learn it? I did not think the North had any speakers of my mother tongue.”

Cregan opened his arm towards the side, weaving you through the crowd to the edge of the table, grasping a goblet of ale and procuring a goblet of wine for yourself.

You sipped on the wine, eyed widening.

Dornish wine.

Of all the wine on the table from this realm, to the Redwyne's vineyards, from Essos, to Dorne. Cregan had given you the one wine you liked the most.

How did he...

“We do not." He replied, "The North has no need for tongues of fire, our breath is ice.”

“Indeed. I am not too fond of the cold, I am afraid.” You teased.

Cregan’s large hand moved to swipe at his chin with a thumb, stumble rubbing beneath it in thought as he looked at you, “And have you been to the North? It is far more than just ice. Winterfell has a garden that may rival the one in the Red Keep.”

The spiced Dornish wine was sharp on your tongue, “So I have heard. I have not had the Gods graces to witness it for myself. I have however, been gifted a Winter Rose.”

Dark brows pulled together as the Stark looked at you in confusion. Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, the earthy smell of oakmoss, ginger and pine surrounding you.

Oakmoss, ginger, pine.

Not at all, smoke, leather, and sandalwood.

It was earthy, warm despite his origins, and gentle. Like a breath of fresh air. Like a scent of safety and calm.

“Winter Roses do not grow in Kings Landing. How were you gifted one?”

You swallowed, looking away momentarily.

The energy around you shifted.

“My husband- late husband, had a knack for gifting me rare things in atonement for his temper.” The words came out sharp, crinkled on the edges, and tasted of iron.

Cregan nodded solemnly, “I am sorry for your loss.”

You blinked.

Not once, had a man or woman or any person who you had spoken to over the past five years, ever said they were sorry for Aemond. Not once had anyone offered condolences, except the silent stares of your family. In fact, most times, people congratulated you for your bravery, your strength, your ability to drive that dagger into his throat.

People congratulated you for killing the man you loved.

But not him.

Not Cregan.

And it intrigued you.

You finished the last of your wine, “I have not had the chance to thank you for supporting my mother after all these years.” You began, taking a glance to look up at her, as she gazed lovingly at your father in small conversation.

“Thank me not. A Stark never forgets their oath, and we made one to your mother.”

A smile wound its way on your lips, “And how cold does it get in the North, Lord Stark? How does one not freeze in the walls of Winterfell?”

Another warm chuckle floated from his chest, “There is much to be frozen in the North, but Winterfell was built atop hot springs. Brandon the Builder built it amongst giants. The hot water flows through the walls to keep us warm.”

“I thought I had read as much in a book once.” You smirked, feeling warm from the wine, “But I had never imagined such a thing to be true. Giants?” A cheeky laugh fell through your lips.

Cregan smirked down at you, goblet close to his mouth. It wasn’t a smirk that set you ablaze, nor did it create anger or contempt or suspicion. It wasn't a smirk to provoke you. Instead, it made warmth spread steadily through you, like the hot springs in Winterfell.

“Aye,” He laughed, “What is hard to believe about giants? Your blood rides upon dragons, do you not?”

“I suppose you are right. I do ride upon a dragon, a large one to be sure. I wonder if it would marvel at the size of your giants.”

“We shall never know. Perhaps you might ride upon the great beasts back to Winterfell?”

Your heart began to beat quickly in your chest, fingers tapping on the side of your cup, “My great beast would swallow you whole for calling him such a thing.” Jest on the tip of your tongue.

“It would be an honour to be devoured by a dragon.” Cregan shamelessly flirted.

Devoured.

I want to devour you, zaldrītsos.

You swallowed thickly, “And what would Lady Stark think of three dragons coming to Winterfell? My son has not seen snow or ice, I have little question if he would enjoy it.”

Cregan placed his ale upon the table, “There is no Lady Stark, unless you are referring to my Lady Mother. Winterfell would welcome you and your son with open arms, and furs to warm you.”

You felt heat in your cheeks, “Why would I need furs if Winterfell is as perfectly insulated by hot springs, as you say it is?”

Cregan Stark pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek as you gazed up at him, quick witted response ready to be fired back instantly.

“For all its warmth, there can be a biting chill that occasionally drifts through the cracks. Or if you are to be outside, say in the Godswood, you would need furs.”

“You have a Godswood?” Interest peaked.

“Aye. The Old Gods have not been replaced by the New in the North.”

“Good, I should hope so. The New Gods are an abomination in the eyes of the Old.” You paused, watching as grey eyes flitted down to your lips, if only for a moment, “And what of Dragonstone. Have the Kings of the North ventured as far?”

Cregan huffed a laugh through his nose, “No, I can say we have not.”

“Then perhaps you should see the great Dragonstone Keep. Its walls are the last of Old Valyrian stonemasonry. Fire and magic created it. Dragons live in the Dragonmont, and I am sure they would welcome the Wolf of Winterfell with open arms, and there would be no need for furs to warm you.”

“The Dragonmont sounds like the perfect place to be eaten by the dragons that live there. I may ask to be pardoned from venturing inside, a bite from a dragon would surely be the end of me.” Cregan’s eyebrows were raised, goblet to his lips again, smile peeking over the top.

There was something about this man. Something that drew you to him. Something that made you feel safe, wanted, unafraid. Like an invisible string was pulling you to him from the centre of your chest, the need to be closer to him, the want to be closer to him amplifying with each second spent in his presence.

In all your five years past, you had not wished to be in the presence of any man again, said for acquaintances and family.

But Cregan?

It was different.

It was the same pull you had felt in the throne room when he had sworn himself to you.

And that was why the next words that left your lips were playful, light, alluring. You wanted to draw him in. You wanted to taste him. You wanted to get to know the man who had helped to change the tide. The man who had stayed loyal to his oath. And a man who had travelled across the realm, just to kneel before you and swear his House to you, despite him not needing to do so.

“I will only bite if you ask me nicely.” You purred.

A blush crept across the mans face, and you felt your heart soar.

He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, his eyes half lidded, “I will come to Dragonstone when you beckon. But I fear a wolfs bite may rival that of a dragons.”

Grinning you tilted your head, looking up to the table, to find all eyes on you both again, a large smirk on Jacaerys’ lips.

“I do not like to make commands, but I shall beckon you. If,” Your hand came to graze his arm gently, sliding down, before your finger traced along his that held the goblet of ale, “You show me these hot springs in Winterfell, and that you have furs for me and my son to be kept warm. I make no illusion to thinking there would be furs enough for Vermithor.”

Cregan’s finger twitched beneath yours as you dropped your hand back to your sides, sliding them together behind your back.

He bowed his head, “Of course, Your Grace. But there may not need to be a use of furs to keep you warm. Your blood is of fire, and I have a strange inclination that you would wish to be warmed in another manner.” Your cheeks grew hot, warmth sliding down to settle in your gut.

Cregan wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, “I will await your invitation, Princess.”

You smirked, “And I, yours. Though, you are to be here until the next turn of the moon. I am sure we will see each other more often than not in these walls.”

“I should hope that I would have the privilege of your company whenever you would wish for mine.”

“That you will, and that I do.”

With a nod of your head, you turned, walking back up to your table, spring in your step, and heart pounding against your ribs. You could feel the warmth of Cregan’s gaze on your back with each step you took to the table. Jacaerys, Daemon and Baela all watching you with knowing eyes as you moved to sit back down once again, cheeks ablaze.

You ignored them all, reaching to grasp your goblet and sipping the wine as your eyes instinctually found the pair of icy grey ones that watched you from across the room. He lifted his goblet to his own mouth, mimicking your action as you sipped in tandem.

The sound of laughter and chattering surrounded you, and it was hard to not get yourself lost in the excitement of it all.

How things had changed.

Jaehaera and Maelor, Helaena’s children, had been taken in by your mother immediately, and at first, had been terrified, and quiet, and reserved. But now they had now grown into beautiful, soft and sweet children who doted on their nephews with care and familial excitement.

Jaehaera was so much her mother, and often was woken in the night by terrors of her twin being slain before her eyes. But as time went on, the nightmares lessoned with age, but her visions grew stronger.

There was no denying that the little girl had the same gift as her mother, the same brilliance, the same intuition. And your Lucerys and Jaehaera often understood each other on level that others didn’t, an almost instant connection sparking between the two, and you watched as Jaehaera doted on your son with fierce devotion and loyalty.

Maelor, was very much like Aegon.

Loud, boisterous, terribly cheeky at times, but kind. Something that he was allowed to grow into with the nurturing of your family, the nurturing of your mother. Something that he would continue to be. Maelor was a whisper of what could have been for Aegon, if he had not been raised with the vile whisperings of the Hightower’s in his ear since birth.

He had the same round face as his father, the same round face that Alicent had. But there was no sadness in his lavender eyes, no hollowness that settled behind them. And for that, you were most thankful.

They both especially got along with Lucerys, and that gave you a greater joy like no other, and often stayed with the two of you on Dragonstone.

If you were to say that you had gotten used to being surrounded by so many people, you would be lying. But there was no doubt in your mind, that as the years went by, you would eventually find yourself again, or at least the fragments of her that had survived.

You had changed.

But so had they.

And there were some things that would never change.

Some things that would always stick.

And the visions of your brother, your aunt, and your uncle, would remain forever more.

Or at least, you hoped they would.

As a reminder.

As a punishment for your deeds.

As a comfort.

Whilst the Lords and Ladies in the court danced, and drank, and sang, and cheered, three familiar faces watched from within the crowd, unmoving, unblinking as they were.

Observing, watching, with two smiling softly.

The third face however, had not smiled in years, and would never smile again. He watched you, from across the room, hidden behind dancing bodies, long silver hair cascading down his back, an eye of violet, and a shadowed socket peering up at you.

He never left.

He was always there.

Watching.

Waiting.

Your hand came to play with the sapphire that sat heavily against your chest.

“What did you and Cregan speak about?” Jacaerys inquired, leaning towards you, breaking you from your stare at a man you missed most terribly.

“Hm?” You turned your head blinking at your brother.

“Cregan, what did he say?”

Baela leant an elbow on the table as she watched, a hand rubbing her swollen stomach in soft, gentle circles, soothing the babe inside.

“Merely asked how I have been, how I have been faring. Pleasantries is all.”

Jacaerys’ brown eyes danced with delight, “Pleasantries? Spoke of pleasures did you? You know, I wouldn’t let him speak to you if he was not a good man. He is a Stark. Dutiful, full of honour, kind, and a skilled swordsman.”

“And I have a dragon. Swordsmanship does little against fire.”

Baela snickered, “And why would he be near dragon flame? Have you promised him a ride upon Vermithor?”

A blush settled across your cheeks, “He wouldn’t.” You argued, feeling exacerbated by their prying, “I was just saying, swordsmanship does not warrant a marriage.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Jacaerys smirked, and you felt your mouth go dry.

You gripped your goblet and tossed the rest of its contents greedily down your throat, shivering at the heat that settled in your bones, most of which not caused by the alcohol, but instead the memory of his warmth, eyes, and touch.

Sighing, you looked at the pair beside you, “You have been all but pushing us together for the past five years.”

Jacaerys snorted, “I have not. But there is no denying the pull you two have to each other. You’re allowed to be happy, sister.”

And Jacaerys was right.

There was a pull.

And no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, brush it off of you like water, close eye and look the other way, it was there, and it pulled at you.

“I am happy.” You argued, but it felt wrong. False.

Jacaerys had his chin on his fist as he gazed at you, curled brown hair looking a mess as many a hand had brushed through it. His cheeks were rosy, and pink lips plump from smiling or biting at them to keep his mouth shut. It was clear that the ale had gotten to him, but Jacaerys was never one to lie to you, especially about someone he considered a good friend.

And Cregan was his closest companion.

“It’s a perfect match,” He began, and you groaned loudly, rolling your eyes, “You being hot headed-“

“-I am not hot headed-“

“-And him being cool and patient. Blood of the North and Valyria. Perzys se Suvion.”

Fire and Ice.

A strum of recognition tickled in the back of your mind as Jacaerys continued.

“Opposites attract, even you out, and all the other nonsense some love sick fool would tell you. You would be good together, Y/n. He would calm you, and you would warm him.” Jacaerys teased.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with Cregan, brother.” You teased back, watching as Jacaerys narrowed his eyes, “All this talk of opposites being perfect for each other, why do you not take him as your second wife? I am sure Baela would not mind sharing.”

Baela smirked, rubbing her stomach, “I wouldn’t mind a break. And Cregan looks good in-“

“-Keligon bona.” Stop that, Jacaerys chastised his wife, turning his attention back to you, “Think on it. He would be good for you.”

“I don’t need a man to make me whole or 'be good for me'. I will be Queen one day, and a husband will do naught but hold me back.”

“You will have to marry again someday, you know this as well as I do. And he would help you forward, if only you let him.”

You huffed, looking back out at the sea of people again, eyes immediately falling on him.

He was talking to a Lord, who’s gold and yellow robes shimmered in the light of the chambers. But as though he felt your gaze upon him, Cregan turned his head, and his eyes immediately met yours.

Instinct.

That pull.

“He invited me and Lucerys to Winterfell.” You told the two of them, seeing Jacaerys and Baela give each other excited looks in your periphery, as a soft smile found its way on Cregan’s as he looked at you, your own stretching your cheeks.

“Will you go?” Jacaerys’ voice hopeful.

As you watched Cregan, his gaze still on you, man beside him still talking, not having noticed his companions attention had been taken away, you felt the pull again. A sharp tug in your chest, the string having wrapped itself around a rib thrice, just below where your heart would sit.

It tugged again, and your hands curled into fists in your lap, desperate to keep yourself seated as you looked at him. Desperate to fight the urge that made you wish to go to him, stand by him, be close to him.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you watched him, your brother and half-sister staring at you from your periphery as you feigned thought.

But you knew your answer already.

You knew it before he had even asked, before Cregan had even spoken to you.

Instinct.

“Yes.”

Hen ñuha ānogar māzigon Kivio Dārilaros, se zȳhon kessa sagon Vāedar Suvio Perzo.

From my blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of Ice and Fire.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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sundrop-writes · 1 year ago

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Your First Kiss With Gar Logan

Gar Logan x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary:

While the Titans are living in Gotham, things are spiralling out of control. You take a moment to comfort Gar and help him with an unexpected injury, and the two of you find those inevitable feelings coming to the surface.

Gar Logan x Gender Neutral Reader. Friends to Lovers. Fluff. Set during Season 3, Episode 4.

Word Count: 2,700

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is general fluff; set during the episode where Kory accidentally burns Gar due to her visions/waking nightmares; descriptions of Gar having a burn wound on his arm; descriptions of first aid and wound care; the reader attends to the wound because they have first aid experience; the reader used to be a ward of Doctor Caulder (not blood related to him); mention of the reader being an orphan (as everyone in the presence of DC comics lore is); the reader is gender neutral (the main pronouns used are you/yours and there are no gendered aspects to the character); mentions of Gar's past trauma; extreme mutual pining; slight angst with a fluffy ending; I believe that's it.

A/N: This is part of something I am calling the 'first kiss' series - a series that depicts that a first kiss would be like with each of the Titans characters. For context, I am not necessarily writing this as a situation where the reader has never been kissed before and this is their first ever kiss - I am writing this as a situation where this is what your first kiss in the relationship would be like. The kiss that sparks that shift from friendship into romance. (In some of the other scenarios, I might spice it up and do enemies into lovers lmao.) I just think this is gonna be fun because most of the fics I write are based around smut, where kissing is not really the focus, so I wanted to change the pace of what I'm writing and make that big dramatic kissing moment - like you get in romcoms. I hope to do one of these fics for each of the characters, and some requested Dick, so that's probably the one that I'll do next. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

...

A sound of pain caught your attention.

You had been walking down one of the many winding hallways of Wayne Manor, and any thoughts about what you had previously been doing left your mind the moment you heard it. You wondered what was wrong and who was hurting.

The family had been through enough in the past few days. Nobody in the household needed any more pain. Certainly not from your perspective.

A wince - a gasp. Breath hissing through teeth. Distinctly, it was the sound of someone recoiling in pain.

You followed the sound closely and traced it to an open door. There was a streak of light coming from one of the many large, expensive bathrooms that the Manor had. Through that gap, you saw a flash of green - a green shirt, green hair. It took you only a moment to figure out who it was.

“Dammit.” Gar swore.

He was struggling with something. Your insides immediately flooded with concern knowing this. Whatever it was, you would try your best to help him. He was your best friend, after all, and you would never abandon him during a time of need. If the problem was minuscule or catastrophic, you would be there to help him with it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, reaching out to push the bathroom door open further.

You likely already knew the answer, but you couldn’t help the instinctive question as it escaped your mouth.

As the door drifted open at your touch, Gar’s eyes snapped over to you.

He was standing at the sink with one of the long sleeves of his shirt rolled up. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the center of his forearm - you winced yourself when you saw a very nasty burn there. He had a first aid kit open beside the sink with bits of it strewn across the counter, and he was dabbling a piece of cotton on the burn.

So that had been the source of his painful noises.

“I - I’m fine.” Gar quickly lied.

He reached out with his uninjured arm in a poor attempt to close the door on you. You sighed, pushing back against him. In a very Gar fashion, he didn’t fight against you as you pushed your way into the bathroom and closed the door completely behind you, sealing both of you into the privacy of the space.

He knew that you were definitely more stubborn than he was, and it would just be easier to let you help him than to fight against your stubborn will. It was something he had learned a long time ago. The position of being your friend came with forceful caring. It was one of the things that he loved most about you.

“Come on, Gar.” You sighed, your voice ripe with gentle pity. “You should know that you don’t have to lie to me. What happened?”

Gar wanted to explain that he hadn’t told you a lie, that he was fine, but that died off in his throat. Again - you were stubborn. That would have turned into an entire argument.

You gently took his wrist in hand, lifting his arm slightly to inspect the burn closer.

He knew that you had some medical experience. From what he had seen, you were really skilled, and quite intelligent in the field of medicine, even though you hadn’t done any formal study to become a doctor.

You had worked with Doctor Caulder for years, had been his assistant since you were a young child. He had taken you on as a ward when you were orphaned, and very early on, he started teaching you ‘his craft’. It’s how you and Gar had met. You had been there, helping to take care of him and overseeing him after Caulder had injected him with the serum. Your face was one of the first kind faces he knew during the fever induced delirium, having the serum pumping through his veins and painfully rearranging his DNA from the inside out.

You were one of the only people who wasn’t afraid of the Tiger because of it. Even after the horrors that Cadmus had put him through - you were never afraid of him. You always saw him as the scared, shivering boy from the hospital bed. Someone who just needed your help, a hand to hold. And you had always been there, holding your hand out to him since then. Through the good and the bad, through the times when he had been scared and uncertain.

Of course, it was only natural that he had developed certain… feelings for you.

And of course, he was always terrified to voice those feelings. He was terrified to lose you. As a friend, as the strong person he could lean on.

Even now, as you once again took his hand and nursed him back to health - he felt his heart fluttering in his chest, and he was terrified to lose you as a friend because of it.

Gar tried to distract himself from those dangerous feelings by answering your question.

“Well, what happened was…” He began, but then quickly trailed off. “I was in the kitchen, and Kory came in. But she - she wasn’t in her right mind, her eyes were all weird again, and..”

The more words he said, the worse it sounded. He had a large burn on his arm and Kory was well known for her fiery powers. It didn’t take much brain power to put it together.

You looked up at him with deep concern dancing in your eyes, and he scrambled to find the right words. He knew that any way he explained it, it wouldn’t sound good. He rushed to make an excuse for his friend. Someone you both loved that he had far more sympathy for in this situation.

“Kory - see - she - Kory’s been having a really hard time lately.” Gar tripped over his own words to explain it. “It - it was an accident.”

“She accidentally gave you a second degree burn?” You posed, feeding the words back to Gar in the hopes that it would make him realize just how ridiculous it sounded.

Your tone was clearly scolding, an underlying anger in your voice directed at Kory for hurting your best friend.

Gar sighed. He knew it was likely a rhetorical question, but he still was struggling for an answer. He didn’t come up with one before you spoke again.

“Take this off.” You told him, motioning toward his shirt. “I’ll bandage this up for you.”

Gar did as you said, wincing again when the sleeve of his shirt grazed against the fresh wound. He dropped it to the bathroom floor without much thought. You tried not to let your eyes linger on his bare torso - a gorgeous sight - as you moved to grab a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit. You had noticed that bits of cloth from his shirt had been singed onto the wound. That needed to be taken care of first.

“I’m not mad.” Gar said suddenly. “I’m not mad at Kory.”

That didn’t surprise you. He was never the type of person to hold grudges. You had only seen him get angry a handful of times. You had only seen him truly hold rage in his heart when Doctor Caulder had attempted to hold Rachel against her will.

“Why not?” You asked.

You moved him where you wanted him, and he was easily pliant to you, trusting your experience. You trapped his hand between the side of your body and your own arm so that he wouldn’t move or squirm, pinning him there. You held the elbow of his injured arm in the palm of your hand to hopefully keep him in place. You grabbed the tweezers with your other hand and then got to work.

“I’m worr-”

He let out a sharp gasp when you plucked off the first piece of singed cloth. You felt him flinch against your hold as you tossed the piece of cloth into the sink. But he didn’t protest. He knew whatever you were doing was something that you deemed necessary. You were helping him, and he wouldn’t fight you on that.

“I’m worried about Kory.” Gar finished his statement firmly.

“You’re worried about Kory?” You raised your brows at him, your eyes lingering on his face for a moment before you went back to work.

Gar often worried about everyone else.

He had been worrying himself to death about Jason, trying to ‘save’ someone that likely couldn’t be saved since he had magically come back from the dead. He was worried about Dick taking on the pressures of Batman now that Bruce was suddenly absent. He had been worried about Dawn and Hank’s arguing, knowing that Hank had come to Gotham just to win her back. You knew that Gar was worried about everyone, hoping that the pieces of the family would just fall into place and everyone would be happy again. (When they had last been happy, you weren’t quite sure.)

You were likely the only person who worried about Gar in return.

“Who’s worried about you?” You mumbled quietly.

You plucked out another piece of the burnt cloth, and Gar bit his lip to keep from crying out with pain.

“There’s nothing going on with me.” He told you, shooting you one of his glowing smiles. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to worry about me.”

You knew that even if he didn’t take this injury into account, this was a lie.

The toll of being such an empathetic person was never one that he voiced. The pure pressure of everyone else’s emotions piling onto him, the worry of what was going to happen to his friends. That, on top of his own troubles - nightmares of his time at Cadmus still haunting him, feeling inadequate because he couldn’t use his powers to the fullest extent, missing two of his dear friends with the absences of Jason and Rachel.

You knew that Gar wasn’t ‘fine’. You knew that he had a lot troubling him. It was just easier for him to smile and pretend everything was okay. Because that made him feel okay. It helped him carry on.

And a lot of the time, his sunshiney smile was the entire reason you got out of bed at all.

However, rather than telling him this, you drove home your point in an entirely different way.

“Ironic.” You huffed out, picking out the last piece of the cloth that had stuck to the edge of the wound.

Gar hissed in pain.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Gar finally folded.

Right now, he did need someone worrying about him. That much he could admit.

You reached over and grabbed an anti-bacterial cream from the first aid kit.

You were glad that you would be there to change the bandage and monitor the healing of the wound, because it was likely a lot worse - a lot more painful than he was letting on. You were worried about what kind of mental state Kory had been in that caused her to attack him, even if it had been an accident. You had seen her ‘sleep walking’, or whatever you would call it. You wondered what caused it. You wondered if it was the general stress that all the Titans were under right now. But Gar’s wellbeing was your primary concern.

“You know you can come to me for stuff like this, right?” You told him, your voice edging on scolding as you applied the cream with a q-tip and he gritted his teeth through the pain once again. “Don’t let all that child slave labor that Caulder put me through go to waste.”

Gar let out a chuckle at this - a dry, sarcastic sound. It was a tone that told you that while he did find your commentary amusing, he still resented your former shared ‘mentor’ for all the things he had put both of you through.

“You know I can handle myself.” Gar told you, still slightly resistant to your caring. “Someone needs to be strong.”

It was a dangerous double meaning. He thought that he had to be the singular strong pillar of the household. He thought that he had to be the one person in the family who didn’t fold to his emotions and let any cracks show through.

“Let them handle themselves once in a while.” You told him pointedly as you began to wrap a bandage around his forearm. “You don’t need to be some brick wall for everyone to lean on.”

“But-” Gar said quietly.

“But nothing.” You cut him off.

When you dared to look up at his face, you saw those wide puppy eyes staring back at you. His beautiful brown pupils were shining with guilt. He didn’t need to voice it for you to know that he felt like it was his responsibility to take care of everyone else. They often didn’t take care of themselves properly. If he didn’t at least try, then who else would?

“I know this might be a newsflash for you, especially because you have that golden, shining hero heart in your chest…” You explained, reaching up and running one of your fingers across the skin of his muscled pec, motioning toward that beautiful heart inside in his chest.

With him not wearing a shirt, the skin to skin contact was oddly intimate, causing tingles to radiate out from that point that you knew he could feel too. You became temporarily distracted from your words, and forced yourself to clear your throat and remember what you were saying.

“But you can’t save everyone.” You continued. You distracted yourself from the tension in the air by tying the bandage onto itself to secure it around his arm. “Sometimes they do need to save themselves.”

Gar let out a quiet huff. Internally, he had finally folded to the fact that you were right.

“I hate it when you’re right.” He said quietly.

“You must hate me a lot.” You replied, laughter dancing in your words as you cleverly turned the sentence around on him.

Gar’s face broke into an easy, natural smile at this. You were too clever.

He felt that inevitable warmth swell up inside of him again. The affectionate fondness for you that he always felt bubbling just under the surface.

When he looked up and locked eyes with you once again, sitting in the quiet moment - a rare moment of peace stolen away from the seemingly never-ending chaos that being a part of the Titans family was - he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t hold back his feelings for you anymore.

You felt the magnetism swell in the air, and when Gar reached out, gently gripping the side of your neck, right underneath your ear - you let yourself be taken by it. It had been coming for years, and you easily let yourself succumb to it. You let your eyes fall closed and you drifted into him like a boat drifting at sea, falling into the current that he always provided for you.

The kiss was inevitable, and somehow - perfect.

He was gentle, not forcing his way into your space or presuming anything of you, but falling into the natural rhythm of the attraction as you pressed your mouth against his. His lips were a sweet, soft sanctuary - so much better than you had dreamed of. The touch was so beautifully tender that you felt tingles radiating through you, a high you had never experienced before. You let out a delighted sigh as the kiss pulled at the strings deep in your soul.

After a moment, you pulled back slightly, your forehead gently pressed against his.

“Y/N,” Gar murmured your name quietly.

There were so many things he wanted to say to you.

To tell you that he loved you - as more than a friend. That he always had. To tell you that he was thankful for you, that you were the stitching that held together the very fabric of his life.

But then-

“Gar!” Kory’s voice came shouting down the hallway. “Gar, look, I’m sorry! Where are you? Please, can you just let me apologize?”

Of course. More family chaos. Not a moment alone. Well, no more than one moment.

“You should find a shirt.” You told Gar, giving him a playful grin and tapping him lightly on his bare shoulder.

Gar sighed, and nodded. And hesitantly, he broke away from you in order to go and do that.

Eventually, he would tell you those things. He would find the right time, the right way to put it all into words. But for now, even if it was unspoken, you knew.

...

If you enjoyed this fic, check out my DC Titans Masterlist for more of my other fics!! And please consider reblogging and commenting on this fic to tell me what you liked about it.

#sundrop writes #gender neutral reader #gar logan x reader #garfield logan x reader #gar logan #garfield logan #titans #dc titans #dc titans fanfiction #titans x reader #titans hbo

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thedeliverygod · 30 days ago

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@lovefulls sorry this is a thousand years late and tbh this is only 1 arc after the anime ends so it's just like a teaser... I also kinda put a brief summary of some other events from the rest of the manga at the end

ultimately I suggest you read the manga because even trying to slim down details as much as possible I ended up writing over 2 pages in microsoft word for just this one lmao

So the first thing that happens after the anime really is what we call the ‘hospital’ arc. Through meeting a few characters while Yato is doing a seemingly normal job getting rid of ayakashi we find out the details of Mayu’s human life (aka Tomone as Yato calls her). As Hiyori puts the connections together she begins to ask “why don’t you tell her--" which is when Tenjin’s guidepost Tsuyu harshly interrupts her and pulls her to the side saying she needs to back off or else risk revealing the “god’s greatest secret”.

Hiyori doesn’t understand but drops the subject, though she continues wondering what a “god’s greatest secret” could be. On a hot summer day she goes looking for Yato at Kofuku’s house and finds him snoozing next to a fan. She sits next to him and drifts into sleep as well. From there she finds herself in his memories (it’s not really explained how—but a lot of us guess it’s something to do with her “tail” aka the cord to her soul being wrapped around Yato as she sleeps)

She sees a young Yato playing with Hiiro (Nora) and killing people as a game in order to gain praise from his father. One day he stumbles upon a woman who asks if he’s a god and asks for his help as she’s covered in blight. Yato was taught by his father to not interact with anyone other than himself and Nora so he doesn’t speak but he shoves her into a spring where the blight is removed. She asks for his name and to avoid speaking, he writes it in the dirt. This is how “Yato” came from Yaboku, as the woman reads it wrong. However she calls him “Yato-sama” which he immediately loves. She begs him to name her but he does not.

Yato asks his father “are there shinki without names?” to which father explains that those are called spirits and essentially says they’re just food for the ayakashi. He asks why Yato why he asks this and he lies and says “no reason”. Later her runs into the woman again and he eventually gives in to naming her as his shinki. As he names her, memories of her life flash before him. While the newly named Sakura is very happy about her transformation into a short sword, Yato is freaking out. When he named Hiiro, he never saw anything like this (explained later). He throws Sakura’s weapon form to the bottom of the spring and runs away.

Yato eventually goes back to Sakura and apologizes. Over time, Sakura teaches him about the human world and good from bad. After bonding, Yato decides he wants to show Sakura how he “plays”. After using her to kill a human, she is distraught. She returns to Tenjin’s shrine (who used to be her master) and speaks with Tsuyu who talks her through things. Yato apologizes by giving her flowers.

Father can tell Yato is not doing well after the killing incident (Sakura is effecting him much like Yukine when he first named him in the season 1 of the anime). He blames this on Nora and says she must be being a bad girl. Yato apologies and says it’s not Nora’s fault and that they will go out and play together (aka kill people) to appease his father though he now realizes it’s ‘bad’.

Eventually Nora runs into Yato and Sakura at the spring while getting rid of blight. Nora brings up that Yato should tell her the truth about her past life as a human and that father said it was okay. Despite a strong feeling inside to tell him not to, Yato says Sakura’s human name “Tamanone.”

By saying her human name, the seal on Sakura (aka her given name) is broken and she immediately remembers her human life and how she died. Overwhelmed with negative emotions, she turns into an ayakashi and begins to attack Yato. Yato is given no choice but to use Hiiro (who is equally shocked by this transformation) and kills Sakura.

From these memories, Hiyori learns that a “god’s greatest secret” is their shinki’s memories of their human life and their original name.

When she crosses paths with Fujisaki (aka Yato’s father) at school, she tells him to leave Yato alone. That he’s “done enough for you” and that he is cruel for how he drags Yato along and what he did to Sakura. Father is a bit taken back and comments “it was like you were there yourself”. From there, he threatens her and says that she’ll regret ever meeting Yato. Hiyori responds to “bring it on.” Though when she is left alone, she breaks down which Yato stumbles upon.

To protect Hiyori, Yato and Yukine follow her around school. Realizing that father is busy with school, he goes to father’s apartment by himself [his father took him there in a previous chapter and bragged about kissing Hiyori at Capypa land] while Yukine stays at school to look for the locution brush (aka the brush from Yomi from Izanami that can summon ayakashi). Yato falls into multiple booby traps set by father during this time. He later gets a call from Hiyori asking him to hurry to her parent’s hospital, as she went there after school and patients are acting odd.

Yato teleports to the hospital and finds out the patients are being controlled by masked ayakashi. He does his best to try to fend off the ayakashi on his own but eventually decides he needs to fight his father to get rid of them all and begins battling him on the roof. As Yukine and Nora are battling each other, we see a small chip/crack appear in the kanji for Yukine’s name. Yato is extremely worried and asked if Yukine is okay and he acts normal to Yato’s relief and father and Nora’s are confused.

Meanwhile, Hiyori is doing her best to deal with the patients in her human body. She eventually drops her body and goes into her half-ayakashi form. As she does this, her mother says something to the effect of “you’re a good girl you don’t have to do this” (remember it’s mentioned that Hiyori’s mom is sensitive to spirits in the first season). While Hiyori is confused, her mom is struck by an angry patient. Hiyori watches in horror as her mom begins to bleed profusely/her body is collapsed on the ground.

Father escapes from Yato & Yukine and they reunite with Hiyori, to find her also acting weird. Overwhelmed over the emotions about not protecting her mom and also the shame that is being brought to the hospital over the patients going crazy and everyone blaming her dad, she is beginning to turn into a full ayakashi.

Yato and Yukine defend themselves as best as possible but when Yukine ends up hurting Hiyori, he blights Yato at the same time for feeling guilty about hurting her. Meanwhile, Yato’s father is using ayakashi to give him the message “Hiyori wants to be with you—shouldn’t you grant her wish?” meaning killing her and turning her into a shinki. Yato has an internal struggle of what Hiyori wants versus what is best for her. He eventually tackles her to the ground and hugs her tightly, saying that he can’t grant her wish and that she needs to grow old and gray because there are a lot of people waiting for her on the near shore. Yato’s message sinking in, Hiyori reverts to her normal half-ayakashi form and returns to her body.

While all that is happening, Bishamon appears at the hospital and begins to fight off ayakashi. While she is distracted, Father uses Nora to discreetly touch one of Bishamon’s shinki. Nora’s power essentially triggers a god’s greatest secret to happen immediately without the shinki having to hear their name/things from their human life. Father calls this “liberation”. Yato knows this and that is why when he feels Yukine’s name chip/crack that is why he was so concerned.

Tsuguha (the shinki that is Bishamon’s gray jacket/miniskirt outfit) immediately begins acting weird. Bishamon realizes what’s happening and isolates her from the rest of the shinki. Eventually, Tsuguha remembers her death on her own and turns into an ayakashi. Kazuma rushes in and kills her to save Bishamon.

Desperate to find an answer as to why his fellow shinki turned into an ayakashi, he goes to Yukine for answers regarding the sorcerer. I believe it was in a previous chapter Yukine while training admitted to Kazuma that the sorcerer was Yato’s father and that he was Yato’s lifeline (aka if his father died, Yato would disappear). Kazuma uses a spell to force Yukine to talk, asking where the sorcerer is. Yukine blurts out “Hiyori’s school” before he takes back control and breaks Kazuma’s spell. Still, Kazuma gets enough info to be able to track down Yato’s father aka Fujisaki. Yukine declares Kazuma an enemy to him and Yato from this point.

A new arc begins shortly after this and is basically a giant fight with a lot of gods from heaven aka takamagahara and things just continue to devolve from there lol we also slowly learn more and more about Yukine's human life and how he died. And of course, Yato's father is the big bad at the end of the story.

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spiderking-of-queens · 2 years ago

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Chapter One: Welcome to Hawkins

Summary: It’s your senior year at Hawkins High in November 1984, and you can’t help but think about all of the missed opportunities you’ve had to get to know Eddie Munson over the years. (6.5k words)

Author Note: This is mainly a Fem!reader x Eddie Munson fanfic that will have many parts, but (spoiler alert!) this one’s also for those of us that can’t choose between Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington... The series will also include the reader’s relationships to some of the other characters in-depth (Max Mayfield features heavily at the end of this one. The reader has a Dustin/Steve-esque friendship with her). I’ll be following the timeline of Stranger Things canon as closely as possible, starting with season 2 and going beyond season 4. I cannot stress this enough, this is going to be a literal novel. Like, 200 pages at least that I have already written. (Really proud of this, not gonna lie. I put my heart and soul into it. Literally did nothing but write this series for the past two months and I don’t care that no one is gonna read it lmao.)

Warnings: Mentions of abuse and racism from Billy (this is a Billy hate fic sorry not sorry, he is the worst). The reader has quite a few specific attributes mentioned about her life, but none really about her appearance. She’s an outcast and socially awkward and has controlling parents. Mild bullying. Reader used to be friends with Tommy and Carol when they were kids (YUCK).

Masterlist

November 2nd, 1984

Eddie Munson was difficult not to notice.

The first time you saw him was your first day of your freshman year in 1981. You were sitting alone in the cafeteria listening to music on your Walkman when a blur of motion captured your attention out of the corner of your eye. It was Eddie, going on a first of many tirades you would witness, putting on a show. Most of the people in the room didn’t seem to notice or care, but you couldn’t stop staring.

Who did this kid think he was? Why didn’t he care what people thought of him? What was he even speaking so passionately about?

You lowered your headphones to listen.

“There is no way that The Empire Strikes Back is better than A New Hope. No. Way.”

He was standing up, slamming his fists on the table as he argued with his friends. You agreed with him, but you didn’t understand why this was something to get so riled up about.

You listened to him and his friends go back and forth as you sipped your milk through a straw. Then his eyes shifted over towards you and the milk almost came out of your nose as you choked and scrambled to pretend that you hadn’t been eavesdropping. You set your drink down and looked out the window, but you couldn’t help turning your gaze back to him to see if you had successfully fooled him. You hadn’t. His eyes were still on you, and a smirk appeared on his face. Then he winked and you could feel your face begin to burn. Without thinking, you put your headphones back on, gathered up your things, and got up to leave.

The last thing you wanted to do on your first day of high school was draw attention to yourself. Middle school had been miserable, and you were determined to make it through the next four years unscathed. Whoever this kid was, he seemed kinda like trouble, and trouble was not something you needed more of.

Although you tried your best not to, you kept your eye on him for the rest of the school year. He was entertaining to watch, and something about him intrigued you. He seemed to be the complete opposite of you. He didn’t give a shit what anybody thought of him and you admired him for it, no matter how ridiculously he acted.

You learned his name when he was in one of your classes during your sophomore year. It turned out that he was a grade above you, but had failed most of his classes. The more you noticed him, the more evident the reasons he was failing became. He was disruptive. He didn’t even try to pay attention. Sometimes, he even took a nap in the back of the room.

One day, he sat beside you as he sketched in his notebook. He was focusing so hard, a pen in his mouth as he was shading. Sketching was something you enjoyed, too, and for some reason seeing that you had this in common gave you butterflies. You tried to nonchalantly stretch your neck to get a better look, and discovered that he was actually spelling something out in big, sharp letters: CORRODED COFFIN. You raised an eyebrow, curious about what it could mean. Then you snapped out of it when he shuffled some papers around to cover it up. You looked at him before you could stop yourself, and he was staring right back at you with a bashful look on his face.

“Just brainstorming,” He explained with a shrug. “Band stuff.”

You gave him a weak smile, feeling ashamed for being so nosy, and returned your eyes to the front of the classroom again. If you weren’t so shy and embarrassed, you probably would have said something. You would have apologized for snooping, or told him what a great band name you thought that was. But instead you slumped back into your seat and pretended to listen to your teacher.

Later that year after you turned sixteen, you got a job at Melvald’s General Store. During one of your first shifts, you were sketching absentmindedly in your notebook when the store quieted down a little. The familiar sound of the bell over the door chimed away and you barely gave it any thought, but still looked up and said your usual greeting. You did a double take when you saw Eddie standing at the front of the store, his hand shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. He was with someone you didn’t recognize, someone older. You had overheard once that his parents weren’t in the picture anymore. You wondered if he was his uncle. The man smiled and said hello to you as he picked up a basket, and Eddie stared back at you.

You tried not to watch them as they collected their groceries, busying yourself with your doodles, but you couldn’t help looking up every now and then. You prayed that from their perspective, it just seemed like you were doing your job and keeping an eye on all the customers.

“Hold this, please” you heard his uncle say as he pushed the basket into Eddie’s arms. You looked up and made eye contact with him as he nearly fumbled it and gave you a sheepish smile. You smiled back, stifling a giggle, and quickly went back to drawing. Had he been watching you, too?

When they came over to check out, you went over your usual ‘did you find everything okay?’ speech and rang them up. His uncle asked you for a pack of Camel cigarettes, and Eddie perked up at this.

“Make it two,” he chimed in with a smirk, and you both raised an eyebrow at him.

“In your dreams, kid,” his uncle scoffed, then turned back to you. “Just the one, please.”

Eddie scowled at him and looked at you for help. You shrugged and smirked back. He wouldn’t get any sympathy from you. You were on his uncle’s side. Smoking was not a hobby you were keen on, even if the idea of him smoking a cigarette sort of gave you butterflies.

After they left, you felt equal parts relieved and empty. You went back to drawing and figured that would be the end of the day’s excitement, but a few minutes later, the bell rang again more frantically and Eddie was standing in front of you before you even had a chance to register it.

“One pack of Camels, please,” he muttered, clearly out of breath.

You stared at him, bewildered, and didn’t move.

“Please hurry,” he urged, frustrated by your hesitation. “My uncle is next door at the pharmacy and I may have lied and said you miscounted our change. Sorry about that, by the way.”

You raised an eyebrow and turned to grab another pack of cigarettes, then slid it across the counter towards him as he eyed the door nervously. He studied your lack of an expression as you waited for him to fish change out of his jacket pockets.

“You disapprove?” He asked.

“Just not a big fan of lung cancer,” You teased. He wasn’t expecting that response, and grinned at your repartee as he handed over his money.

“Okay, sure. But, how cool would they make me look, though?”

It was like he could read your thoughts. You didn’t reply to this, but he could probably guess your answer by the red flush that was painted on your cheeks. He put the pack of cigarettes in his pocket and patted it, then gave you a smirk.

“Can I trust you to keep this our little secret?”

“Sure, Eddie,” You snorted. “You can trust me.”

He seemed pleasantly surprised that you knew his name. Maybe even flustered. He was peeking up at you through his mop of hair shyly.

“Thanks. I owe you one. See you around.”

He turned to leave and took one last look at you before disappearing through the door. You watched him reunite with his uncle, who was grinning at him and reached up to mess with his hair. Eddie wrinkled his nose and pushed him away so he could fix it. You smiled to yourself as you wondered what he was teasing him about.

This interaction was enough to keep you hooked for another year.

The first time you realized your feelings for Eddie were more intense than you initially realized was during your junior year.

When you came back from summer break and saw him again in the cafeteria, you began to notice things about his appearance that you hadn’t before. He had let his hair grow longer, and you thought you saw the dark outlines of new tattoos on his arms. You had the sudden urge to go over and study them. You wanted to run your fingers over them, to know why he got them and what they meant to him. Your face burned red with shame at these thoughts. There was no way you could let yourself fall for him. You learned early on in your life that nothing good could ever come from those kinds of feelings. Only shame and heartache.

Later that year, he was pinning a flyer to the bulletin board near your locker. You recognized the name printed on it. It was the same big, bold letters he had sketched into his notebook a year prior: Corroded Coffin. You smiled a little as you realized that he had the courage to make his dreams a reality. Even though you had no right, you couldn’t help but feel slightly proud of him for it. He caught you looking once again, and smiled back at you.

You let your eyes linger on his face before you turned back to your locker to pull out a textbook. This time, he didn’t let it slide. He leaned against the wall, facing you, and crossed his arms.

“You should come, if you want to,” He said.

“Wh-what?” You asked in shock, nearly fumbling your books.

He nodded towards the flyer.

“To see my band. We’re not very good, but it could be fun.”

You stared back at him, your brain screaming at you to say something, but the words didn’t come. You were too busy noticing how big and dark brown his eyes were for the first time.

He shook his head as if he felt stupid for offering, but handed you a flyer anyways.

“Here. Just in case. You can totally tear it up and throw it out if you want. Just do me a favor and wait until I turn my back?”

He chuckled at himself. You still didn’t know what to say.

Did you want to go? Absolutely, yes. Would you go? No. Never.

First of all, the idea of showing up at The Hideout by yourself made your stomach churn. What would you even do alone at a bar? Secondly - and most importantly - your parents would never let you go in a million years and you were too bad at hiding things from them to sneak out. It was an impossible dream, but you didn’t want him to know it.

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish as you gawped at him. Eventually, he gave up on waiting for you to say something and gave a little wave before he strode away. You watched him go, hating yourself for missing yet another opportunity to get to know him.

When another year ended without you gathering up the courage to speak to Eddie, you thought that you had missed your chance for good. He was due to graduate, and Hawkins would probably be in his rearview mirror the second after he walked across the stage. He was too good for this town, and you knew it. You were devastated. But you were pleasantly surprised when you saw his familiar mop of curls at his usual table in the cafeteria on your first day of your senior year in 1984. You silently thanked god for his academic failings. You felt a little guilty for being so happy about it, but couldn’t help yourself.

After Halloween, you were at your locker getting your books when you saw Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins approaching you. Your breath caught in your throat. Any time they locked eyes on you, you knew a painful interaction was about to ensue. No matter how hard you tried to keep your head down, they still managed to find you.

Once upon a time, the three of you had been friends. Your parents ran in the same circle and you had spent many weekends at each others’ houses. But in middle school, they realized that your meekness and occasional awkwardness was a major flaw and began to tear you down for it, just because they knew they could. That’s when you decided that having friends probably wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Hey, Y/N… Didn’t see you at Tina’s party. Were you too busy handing out candy with your mommy and daddy?” Carol sneered.

You pretended not to notice or care that they were speaking to you as you slammed your locker shut. They knew that your parents had always been controlling and overbearing, that you spent more time with them than anyone else whether you liked it or not, and enjoyed using this against you.

“Nah. Pretty sure she just wasn’t invited,” Tommy added.

“What makes you think I would have wanted to go anyways?” You snapped. Your eyes widened. Defending yourself was out of character for you.

“So you admit you weren’t invited? Ouch,” He said with a laugh.

You rolled your eyes and tried to push past them, but they weren’t ready to give up.

“It’s too bad. I heard Steve was saving a dance for you,” Carol said, cocking her head to the side as she feigned sympathy for you.

You wanted to ask them how they would even know this since you heard that Steve had finally come to his senses and dropped them last year after he began dating Nancy Wheeler, but thought better of it.

This was their second favorite bit of material to use against you. While you and Carol were still friends, you shared who the two of you had crushes on at a sleepover. She admitted that she had a crush on Tommy, and lucky for her, it worked out. But you had a crush on Steve Harrington. He was part of your friend group, too, and at the time she had nothing but kind things to say about it. But soon it turned into a cruel joke. It had been a long time since you had feelings for Steve, but for some reason the idea of the two of you together was so hilarious to them that they just couldn’t let it go. It didn’t matter if it was true anymore or not. You were still ashamed about it, and they knew it. You were just glad Steve wouldn’t be around to hear about it anymore.

“Aren’t we a little too old for this, guys?” You asked. It was a genuine, pleading question.

“That’s rich coming from you, Virgin Mary,” Carol scoffed.

Your complete lack of romantic experience was always her most reliable comeback. Tommy laughed and wrapped an arm around her proudly.

“Aren’t you the one who likes to hang out with little kids? That’s pretty weird, even for you.”

He was talking about Will Byers and Max Mayfield.

Ever since you had gotten a job at Melvald’s, Joyce Byers had been a confidant for you, and you did her the occasional favor of watching Will when she and Jonathan were both busy. After everything that had happened with his disappearance and the bizarre faking of his death, there was no question why she had trouble leaving him on his own. You were more than happy to help out. Besides, he was a sweet kid, and you had more in common with him than most people your age. You were a lot like him when you were his age. He was quiet and an outcast like you, and you had an unspoken understanding between the two of you. Mostly, you enjoyed sharing your drawings with each other.

Max, on the other hand, was new to town, and her brother, Billy, had recruited you to be her caretaker earlier that week. He had quickly taken stock of the social hierarchies of the school and made nice with Tommy and Carol, and consequently learned that you were an easy target. He also found out all about your desire to distance yourself from your parents, and knew that you had been trying to save up a little nest egg for when you graduated. Your parents had no idea that you weren’t planning to go to college, that your biggest dream was to leave town and try to make it as an artist. College meant four more years of misery and a degree that you didn’t want or need. Sure, your parents would pay for it, but only if you majored in something that they would approve of. Only if they could still control you. You couldn’t have that.

So, yeah, you agreed to look after Max for some extra cash, and you actually had a decent time hanging out with her. She was everything you wished you could have been at her age. Strong, confident, witty. She was cool. You were five years older than her, and still somehow completely intimidated by her. But she seemed to enjoy your company, too. She even let you borrow a couple of her comic books.

It didn’t take you long to recognize that familiar game of control in Max and Billy’s relationship, but at a much more sinister level. You couldn’t let him abuse Max the way he did. You decided not to accept Billy’s money, and made it a personal mission to be around for Max whenever she might need you. It was the very least you could do for her. The day before, Billy abandoned her after school and you offered her a ride home and let her know that you would be more than happy to be her chauffeur anytime. You didn’t want to make more trouble for her, but you also couldn’t stand the idea of her having to rely on Billy like that. You knew she could handle him. She had been handling him most of her life. But you wanted her to know that she didn’t have to be alone in it anymore.

You saw a lot of yourself in Max, but the most distinct difference was her bravery and ferocity. You were planning to run away from your problems, but she had been facing hers head-on her entire life. Somehow, she was able to take all of the shit she had been given in her life and used it to harden herself instead of letting it break her. It was devastating to recognize, but admirable all the same. If it were you in her shoes, you were certain that you would have crumbled.

You blinked at Tommy, unsure how to respond. Then you realized you wouldn’t have to when a voice spoke up behind you.

“Hey, needle-dick!”

You turned around to see none other than Eddie Munson, his arms crossed and a shit-eating smirk on his face. Your mouth hung open at the sight of him.

“You talking to me, freak?” Tommy scoffed back at him.

“Yeah. Don’t see anybody else that fits that description in this general vicinity. Do you? Do you, Carol? You would know.”

Carol rolled her eyes and Tommy removed his arm from her shoulders to lurch forward towards Eddie. He was less than an inch from his face, but Eddie looked completely unfazed by it. Amused, even.

“You better watch your fucking mouth, Munson. You looking to get your ass kicked or something?”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t see why you would waste your energy trying to tear down some sweet, unsuspecting girl when you’ve got this treasure trove of good material standing right in front of you. I’m actually kind of offended that you overlooked me.”

Tommy chortled at this, equal parts amused and aggravated by this response. He was pissed that he wasn’t able to scare Eddie the way he could other people, but was enjoying the challenge.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” He sneered, and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket to slam him up against the row of lockers.

You yelped in horror, but Eddie remained inhumanly cool. He bursted out laughing as Tommy tried to stare him down.

“You’re cute,” Eddie mocked him and made a kissy face at him, which immediately made Tommy draw his fist back in preparation to hit him. You jolted forward and pleaded for him to stop at the exact same moment that Principal Higgins appeared from behind the growing audience of students.

“Boys! Break it up, now!”

Tommy immediately released his grip from Eddie’s jacket and took a step away from him. The only thing he was afraid of was authority. Eddie, on the other hand, only rolled his eyes in response.

“Munson, how many times have we had this conversation? Why do you insist on seeking out trouble?”

“Guess I just can’t help myself,” He said with a shrug.

“My office. Now,” Principal Higgins responded with a disappointed shake of his head, pointing towards his office door.

Eddie didn’t try to argue with this even though it was complete bullshit. He just slung his bag over his shoulder and gave you a proud smirk before he walked away from you. Tommy and Carol glared at you as they linked arms and headed in the opposite direction. The crowd began to disperse, but you were still standing in front of your locker in shock, staring into space.

Did that really just happen?

You had been observing Eddie long enough to know that he also struggled with the occasional cruel comments from classmates. It was another one of the reasons you felt a ridiculous connection to him. The fact that he would willingly throw himself into the line of fire for you was something you certainly did not take lightly. It meant the world to you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to speak to him, for real this time.

Did you really have anything to lose? Soon, high school would be over. You had spent the past three years hiding from everyone, trying to get by without making a sound. Without doing much of anything besides sitting in your room alone. The very least you could do was open your mouth to let Eddie know how much his act of kindness meant to you.

At the end of the day, you paced back in forth by Eddie’s van in the parking lot as you waited for him. You bit your nails and went over the speech you prepared for him in your head. Then you heard a familiar laugh approaching you and snapped your head up towards the sound. It was Eddie walking with some of his friends.

His eyes locked on yours as he said goodbye to them, then he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and stuck one between his lips as he approached you.

You smiled as warmly as you could at him even though you felt like throwing up.

“Hi,” You said meekly.

He grinned at this, showing all of his teeth as he lit the cigarette between them.

“Hi,” He repeated. “Y/N, right?”

You nodded as you watched him take a drag and turn his head away from you to let the smoke billow out of his mouth. He didn’t take his eyes off of you for even a second.

“Did you need something?” He asked.

This kind of question would have normally shut you down, but he said it with so much kindness in his tone that it soothed you instead.

“I… I wanted to thank you. For what you did earlier today. You really didn’t have to do that for me.”

He shrugged and kicked a broken bit of pavement with the toe of his sneaker.

“I just don’t like when someone goes out of their way to be an asshole to people who don’t deserve it.”

Your cheeks flushed. How did he know that you didn’t deserve it? You had barely uttered more than a single sentence to him. For all he knew, you could be an asshole, too.

“Well, it really meant a lot to me. So, thank you.”

“It’s no big deal. You could have handled him yourself. I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Did… did you get in a lot of trouble?”

“No more than usual,” He chuckled, but this admission made you wince.

“I’m so sorry. It’s not fair that you took all of the heat for it.”

“Really, it’s okay. Don’t feel bad. I’m used to it. Besides, I owed you. Remember?”

He flicked his cigarette then held it up to help jog your memory. You had almost forgotten about your exchange at the general store nearly two years ago. You were stunned that he even remembered.

He returned the cigarette to his lips as you searched your brain for something more to say to him. You were coming up empty.

“Okay. Well, thank you again. I’ll let you go,” You sighed and wrapped your arms around yourself as you began to walk away.

“Wait,” He called to you and put a hand on your shoulder to stop you. Your eyes widened at his touch and he pulled it away quickly. He exhaled loudly and threw his cigarette to the ground to stomp it out, then rubbed his lower lip with his thumb as he tried to choose his words carefully.

“Look, I know this is probably a long shot, but I have this thing tonight. We call ourselves The Hellfire Club. We play, uh… D&D. You ever heard of it?” He squinted like it was painful to admit this to you, and awaited your response.

“Sure. The kid I watch sometimes, Will Byers, plays it with his friends. He explained it a little to me. Sounds kind of fun.”

He let out a breath so deep that you could see it in his chest. He was fully expecting you to make fun of him, and was relieved when you didn’t.

“Awesome. Great. Well, we’re always looking for new members. So, if you wanted to come hang out tonight, that would be cool. I mean, it’s fine if you can’t. I know it’s last minute.”

“I’d love to,” You replied so quickly that it surprised yourself as well as him.

“Okay. Cool. We meet in the drama prop room - super fancy, I know. We usually start at eight.”

“Sounds good. Thank you for the invite.”

Your pulse was buzzing loudly in your ears as your heart raced, but you were trying to stay as visibly calm and collected as humanly possible. He was looking straight at you now, eyeing you up and down unabashedly, and you wanted to melt into the pavement.

“See you there,” He said with a grin and turned on his heel to get into his van. You waved at him lamely and watched him drive away as your stomach churned with instant regret. You hadn’t really thought through the consequences of agreeing to go.

What if the other members of the club wouldn’t want you there? What if you couldn’t figure out how to play and everyone got annoyed with you? What would you tell your parents you were doing instead?

When you brought D&D up to your mother one night after you had hung out with Will, she was horrified. She knew you had a penchant for fairy tales and make believe, especially as a kid, and was constantly worried that if she let you delve into those fantasies that you would lose your ability to function in the real world. Maybe she was right, but her incessant pushing for you to choose practical goals and hobbies didn’t stop you from falling into your daydreams. If anything, it probably pushed you towards them more as an escape.

All you would have to do is tell your mother that you would be at some sporting event. Was it basketball season? No. It was football season. You would tell her you would be at a football game. She would buy that, right?

You let out a deep breath as you continued to reassure yourself that everything would be okay.

Eddie Munson had asked you, specifically, to come hang out with him on a Friday night after all of these years. Maybe it wasn’t too late to get to know him, after all.

Surely, that was cause for celebration.

Later that evening, just before dinnertime, you got a phone call from Max. As soon as she started speaking, you could tell that something was wrong.

“Max? What happened?” You asked her, panicked. You could hear her breathing getting shallower as she was trying to fight back tears.

“Can you just come get me? Please?”

You agreed right away and told your parents that you were going to the football game like you had planned, but that you were leaving a little earlier so you could find good seats and have time to get concessions. You were impressed by how easily you could lie in a crisis. They bought it and handed you the keys to their car.

Why they would believe that you of all people would go to a football game by yourself, you would never know. Maybe because they were hoping that you were finally fitting in with your peers the way they wished you would. Whatever it was, you were grateful for the miracle.

As soon as you pulled up to Max’s house, she was already swinging open her front door and marching towards your car.

“Are you okay?” You asked as you watched her get in and buckle her seatbelt.

“Just drive,” She muttered.

“Where do you want me to-”

“Doesn’t matter. Just anywhere but here.”

You didn’t push any further. You just put the car in reverse and backed out of her driveway, heading nowhere in particular.

Since you hadn’t eaten dinner, you eventually decided to pull into McDonald’s and get the two of you a couple of Big Macs and fries to share. Max must have been hungry, too, because she didn’t object to this. You pulled into a parking spot and reached into the bag to hand one of them to her. She took it and immediately started eating.

You watched her for a moment and then decided to try to talk to her again.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are we just going to eat here in silence until I take you home again? Because if so, that’s fine, but I would still like to know.”

She finished her last bite and crumpled up the wrapper in her fist.

“It’s just school. It sucks. And Billy’s a total asshole,” She mumbled as she chewed.

“Right. I’m sorry. Did something specific happen though? You sounded pretty upset on the phone.”

She swallowed and averted her eyes from you.

“He said something really awful to me. About my friend, Lucas.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me to stay away from him. He said, ‘Max, there are certain types of people you stay away from, and that kid is one of them.’”

You were stunned. You were aware that Billy was a piece of shit, but you didn’t know that he was also a racist piece of shit. You knew who Lucas Sinclair was, and he was one of the sweetest, kindest kids you had ever met. There was no other reason why Billy would make Max stay away from him. Your stomach churned.

“Jesus Christ,” Was all you could bring yourself to say.

“He threatened me, too. Grabbed my wrist really hard. It just freaked me out, I guess.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. You had never hated somebody more than you hated Billy Hargrove.

“Of course it did. I’m so sorry, Max. Maybe I could talk to your mom? Let her know how bad it really is?”

“My mom knows how he is. How he treats me. She doesn’t give a shit. His asshole dad is the exact same. She just lets him push her around, and Billy, too.”

You shook your head.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do at all, please let me know.”

“You can pass me the fries.”

You smiled and happily handed them over. You felt so powerless. If you could have kicked Billy’s ass, you would have gladly driven over to her house and did it right then and there. But you hoped that giving her a safe space to vent was helpful, too. It was all you could really offer her. Well, that, and comfort food.

“What about school? What happened there? Maybe I could help you with that.”

“I don’t think so. It’s just these boys I’ve been hanging out with. They treat me like shit. One second they want me in their party and the next they’re keeping secrets from me.”

“Their ‘party?’” You asked with an eyebrow raised. “Are you talking about Will Byers and his friends?”

“Yeah. Will, Lucas, Mike, and Dustin. They keep talking about this girl El and all of this mysterious shit that happened to Will. But they won’t actually let me in on any of it.”

“El? Who’s El?”

“I don’t know. But they had a meeting at school today and Mike wouldn’t even let me join. Dustin found this weird slug-thing and ever since they’ve been acting so weird. I’m so over it.”

Okay… So maybe you couldn’t help her with her school problems, either. All of that sounded pretty complicated and odd to you, but you did have a little bit of insight on what happened to Will. Not the whole story, obviously, but bits and pieces you had picked up from Joyce and Jonathan.

“Well, do you know anything about what happened to Will?” You asked.

“Yeah, kind of. Lucas told me he went missing and they thought he was dead. That some other kid drowned at the quarry and the police thought it was Will. He told me not to ask Will about it, though, because he’s having a hard time dealing with it.”

That last part was true. Will had pretty much stopped talking to you whenever you went over to watch him. The light he had inside of him seemed to have gone out. He didn’t want to share his drawings with you or talk about D&D or his friends. All he wanted to do was sit alone in his room. But you supposed this was an expected response after going through something so traumatic. You sighed.

“Maybe they’re all just trying to help him out and keep his business private. I know it’s not fun being on the outside, believe me, but sometimes people just need their space to deal with things. I’m sure they do want to be your friend, they just don’t know how much to tell you yet.”

“How much to tell me? So you think there’s more we don’t know?”

You blew a puff of air out of your lips. You hadn’t intended to peak her interest more. You had heard some pretty bizarre things from Joyce at the store and in her home, but you weren’t sure you should give any of that information out.

“I don’t know, Max. Maybe. It was a pretty wild ordeal. Lots of stuff about it didn’t make sense. I mean, I’ve never even heard about whoever this El person is before now.”

“What didn’t make sense?”

“Max, I really don’t think this is any of our business…”

“Come on. If you know something, you have to tell me. You said you wanted to help me. This is how you can help me.”

You rubbed your eyes and took a deep breath, full of regret for opening your mouth. But she was looking at you with puppy-dog eyes, silently begging to be let in on whatever secrets you knew, desperate for any scrap you could give her. At least this would serve as a distraction from her problems at home, right? How much could it really hurt?

“Okay, okay, fine. All I know is that the other kid that supposedly drowned was… completely made up somehow. There’s a laboratory on the edge of town, government-owned, that had something to do with it. They’re covering something up.”

Her mouth fell open in awe. She was clearly excited by this new bit of information, but it had always disturbed you since the moment you overheard Joyce talking to Chief Hopper about it. Max opened her mouth to pepper you with questions, but you put your hand up and tried your best to beat her to it.

“I don’t know why they did it, and I don’t want to know, okay? You’ll have to figure that out yourself if you’re really that interested. But do NOT, bring it up to Will, alright? Or Mike either, for that matter. They don’t need to worry about it right now. Promise me?”

She pressed her lips shut and nodded in agreement.

“Okay. I promise.”

You snatched a fry from her and chewed it as you stared out the windshield and she processed this new information. Then she looked at you out of the corner of her eyes.

“Wait, you’re not messing with me, are you?”

You thought about lying and telling her that it was actually a prank to spare her, but decided against it. She would probably find out the truth eventually, anyways, if she really was friends with the boys.

“No. I wish I was, but no.”

“Shit,” She muttered, shaking her head with a giant smile on her face. Her grin looked out of place next to your weary scowl.

“Yeah. ‘Shit’ is right. Welcome to Hawkins.”

After a couple of hours, you dropped Max back off at her house. You stayed parked on the street for a while to make sure she was safe, then pulled away when the house remained quiet.

It wasn’t until you were on your way home that you let yourself remember your plans to join The Hellfire Club that night. There was no question in your mind that agreeing to be there for Max was the correct choice, but a pit of anxiety and devastation grew in your stomach nonetheless. Hopefully, you would be able to gather the courage to explain the situation to Eddie on Monday and he would understand, but you couldn’t ignore the gnawing feeling that you had blown your final chance with him. To be continued...

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i-just-like-goats · 2 years ago

Note

dakjdklaklsa so this is my first time requestion for something, and i don't completely know if you're reqs are even open (if its not, just ignore this ha;ldkfldke-) but is it alright if i could request for some dabi headcannons, maybe treating his battle wounds??? idk man, i need to re-watch mha, im stuck in mid-season 3....( off topic but i notice that you write angst more- TEACH ME YOUR WAYS)

Ooh hello! They were open when you sent this in and they are still open lol. Oh lol dw I've only got one episode left of season 5 and I still haven't gotten around to watching it lmao. I do write a lot of angst, it's fun lol. Ahahaha I just draw inspiration from other fics and stuff I've watched. It takes practice but you get the hang of it until you find your own style lol. Thanks for the request and hope you enjoy!

Dabi x Reader no pronouns specified

Summary: in the ask

Warnings: mentions of injuries

WC: 0.2k

Main Masterlist

I see Dabi as a kind of tsundere

He at first refuses your help because he's sTrOng and can handle a few wounds

He can't

Cue him struggling to reach the wounds on his back

You give him that look that says I told you so

He sighs and caves in

Perhaps he does need your help

You start to dab saline soaked gauze onto his cuts

Dabi winces a lot because it is quite literally salt in the wound

You're very gentle and despite the pain, he finds himself slowly relaxing in your touch

He's embarrassed but he thanks you under his breath

You raise an eyebrow and ask him to repeat himself, causing him to huff and repeat his words of gratitude more slowly and loudly

"Thank you for taking care of me"

"Wasn't so hard to say now, was it?"

He grumbles to himself annoyed that you can get him to show his manners

"Only you"

You smile at him then continue to dress the wounds on his back as well as the ones on his arms in spite of his protests saying that he can do those himself

You just shush him and continue anyway

Dabi is a villain and he knows it, he knows he's less than human considering all of the crimes he's committed

He's injured people beyond repair while he comes out with only a few wounds that need some care

But with you, during simple loving moments like these were you show you care for him, he feels the most human

Around you, his tough exterior dissipates and it scares him

But your presence is enough to calm him down and ease his worries

Overall, you are met with slight resistance whenever you try to care for him, but with enough coaxing, he's proved himself to be wrapped entirely around your finger <3

#dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x female reader #dabi x gn reader #dabi x gender neutral reader #mha x y/n #mha x reader #dabi headcanons #mha headcanons #mha x you #mha x gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #bnha headcannons #touya todoroki x you #touya x reader #touya x y/n #touya headcanons

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userholland · 2 years ago

Text

getaway town | (three) t. holland

genre: summer love, strangers to lovers, domestic/fluff, mutual pining, light smut

pairing: actor!tom holland x female!reader

series summary: tom needs time away from the city and a break from acting so, he travels to a nice lake house in upstate new york for the rest of the summer (without having his cover blown). he finds the peace and quiet refreshing, along with his trips to the local market where he’s met with a beautiful smile from the girl behind the register.

warnings: not many in this one, but mostly reader having back and forth doubts about tom. sigh.

word count: 2.8k

songs inspired: i wish you would by taylor swift

a/n: i think i'll be adding a part five and six to this series and that will be it! it's just a short series and it is nothing but fluff (with no plot?) but i enjoy writing it and not having to think of too many complicated and detailed ideas compared to my other high word count fics. think of it as my actual rom-com movie when im usually a person who writes plain angst and hurt lmao

series masterlist | main masterlist | wips

On the walk over to Tom’s house, you contemplated about saying anything about this newly known fame (to you). As you touched your lips, there was a tingle trailing up your spine. The kiss was memorable and sweet, very short, matching the gentleman he was. But, once you uncovered his identity, all you could think was: “I kissed a popular actor. Even worse, a popular actor who was in the heat of every media outlet.”

You ran your hands down your face. This was something out of the movies so, thinking of a clear solution didn’t seem foreseen. If you confront him, you called him a liar. If you ignore it, then how would you be able to contain your feelings when he was more than a stranger. He would go back to a life of cameras with glitz and glamor– a world you couldn’t see yourself melting into comfortably.

Sighing, you figured you would let the day go on and see if there was a right time or if he trusted you enough not to tell. But, you were faint on both of those endings.

Just as you walked down his driveway, Tessa sped out when Tom opened the front door. You kneeled down, smiling as you rubbed behind her ears and received her licks.

“Hey, Tess.” You cooed as she jumped, even letting out a small bark.

When you lifted your head, Tom walked out and as badly as you wanted to confront him on his writer job cover-up, he was shirtless and his sweatpants sat low on his hips.

You nervously chuckled, “Morning, neighbor.”

“Good morning.” He grinned, squinting his left eye from the sunlight coming through the trees, “Come in, the tea is ready.”

Tessa guided your way into the house and walking in, you’d notice that you had never been in this house before, let alone who was renting it out too. A few families stayed here during the holiday seasons, occasionally peering at them through the large window into the livingroom. But, now it was like a temptation knowing that a cute guy like Tom was just a glimpse away.

“So, how’s the lake treating you after your first night?” You asked, sitting at the kitchen table.

Tom sighed as he brought the hot mug to you, “Great. Best I’ve slept in a while with the peace and quiet.”

“As compared to what?” You hinted.

You stirred your tea a bit, but Tom paused before saying, “Well, I’m doing work in the city. The loud cars and random noises. I can barely get through a night without waking up in some sort of panic.” He trailed.

Tom looked out to the morning view of the lake, feeling sublime and calm at how still the water. He had already pictured morning walks with Tessa and going down to your store in the afternoon, maybe getting lunch together then picking you up at the end of the day. He wasn’t sure if it was vacation fever, but he was able to think clearly for more than just an hour between takes on a set.

“Sounds like this place is just for you, huh?” You teased, bringing the cup to your lips.

He chuckled again, “You’re not wrong. I didn’t realize how overworked I was, I guess.”

As Tom sipped his tea, your smile faded a bit at his twisted lie. You bit the inside of your cheek and you knew it felt wrong to try to slip out his truth, but how could you get to know someone that wasn’t telling you about himself.

“Is there anything you want to do? We can take a trip down the lake and find somewhere to picnic for dinner? I have to work at the store, of course, but I’m sure you wouldn’t mind accompanying me.” You jeered, tapping your fingers against your warm cup.

Tom nodded, “You do have good ramen brands.”

“Well, I try my best.”

The two of you giggled at your silliness, Tom’s face even heating up, but could easily blame the hot tea. There was an unspoken tension in the room, but it was for different reasons. For Tom, he wondered if you were purposefully being flirty with him and wondering where it could go. For you, there was still a mystery behind the cute face across from you and why he was keeping himself a secret.

After finishing tea, you tell Tom you’re going to get changed back at your place, but he offered to pick you up in a few minutes. He went back upstairs, changing into a breathable polo with nice slacks and spritizing some cologne on his jaw and neck. He wanted to put in some effort, liking this new lifestyle he was taking on before his phone vibrated on the counter.

One message was from Harrison, but it was a few hours ago. But, the second was from Tate and Tom already knew he was going to roll his eyes.

“Babe, call me soon. We need to talk.”

Nothing else, but that and Tom didn’t want to start this day off on the wrong foot. Although his breakup with Tate was (over the top) publicized, he still meant what he said in those candid pictures and videos taken. He didn’t even know why she called him ‘babe’ when it was more than clear they were over and done with for months now.

As he was about to text her something, a new text came in from you: Ready when you are! (with a cutesy, old smile face to end).

He practically waltzed his way down the stairs until he got to his car. Tessa jumped in the backseat seat and the two of them were off to your house, the maroon one with fairy lights from across the lake

“Do you like her, Tess?” Tom playfully asked.

Tessa just panted, but he chuckled as he rubbed the top of her head, “Me too. Me too.”

Tom was elated about his time so far, but he thought back to Tate’s text message. It didn’t bother him before, but the timing was, no doubt, coincidental and the worst. He bit his inner cheek with his eyebrows furrowed, and tried to wrap his brain around the small amount of possibilities. It was impossible for her not to know about his recent hiatus, but was her intention to use him.

He clenched his jaw, not wanting to think about her dramatic antics. As soon as he pulled into your small driveway, you walked out of the front door in a nice, summer dress above the knee but your name tag still by your chest. Tom hid his smile as you got in, and you took a second look at him.

“What?” You look down at your dress, “Do I have something on me?”

He shyly nodded, “Nothing at all. Sorry.”

You took the given complement just by his soft gaze and he backed up before driving to the store. Tom had a band on his radio that he enjoyed, turning it up and you moved your head a bit to the rhythm.

The silence of conversation was comfortable between you, knowing that you didn’t need to talk all the time. Mostly, you listened to the music, but also wondered if you should confront him that night after your ride down the lake. You didn’t want it to be dramatic, his life was enough like that, but it was better to get it out now.

Once you arrived at the store, Tom watched as you opened it and locked the doors in place. You walked around, turning on the fans in each corner of the store then going behind the register. Tom helped by opening the back doors, and he walked onto the small dock to look out on the lake once more. He couldn't help how much he loved the view and the faint salty breeze– then there was a hint of citrus (specifically oranges).

Tom walked back to you, seeing you cut up some fruits on a small cutting boards and a small box of baggies next to the register. He smiled, “Snacks for the kiddos?”

“Yep, like clockwork. We get the fruit delivered every week so, it’s nice and fresh. Here, try some.” You said, giving him an orange slice.

As Tom slowly ate it, the sweetness hit his tongue then an aftertaste of the tang. Oddly perfect combination, but still satisfying. You watched him take another with that twinkle in his big brown eyes. More beautiful up close, if you might add.

“When do they get here?” He asked, then chewed the rest of his slice.

You glanced at the clock, “Fifteen, thirty minutes. Sometimes, they sneak attack on me.” You giggled as you put the fruit into bags.

“Well, they can’t be that sneaky.” Tom reassured with his hands on his hips, looking around the store.

Before he could speak another cocky word, two arms wrapped on each leg, weighing down his stance as he attempted to move. Glancing down appeared two boys, possibly twins, with the same eyes and hair with huge smiles.

“Gotcha!” They both spoke as the group of kids walked in laughing as well.

Tom’s shocked face turned into a smile, chuckling along with everyone with his rosy cheeks and nose on display.

“Impressive.” Tom trailed to the two boys, patting both of their heads before they ran to the counter for their snacks. Tessa was almost at their height as she walked next to them, trying to sniff them.

You waved your hand over, “Okay, here are your snacks, guys!”

They all collect their bags, hands patiently waiting before grabbing and heading out toward the lake from the back exit. The two of you walked over, admiring the frantic kids trying to push their canoes and kayaks into the water from the shallow, shell shore. Tessa ran alongside them until they went off, letting out cute barks as they waved goodbye to her.

“Last one to Creek rock is gonna get tipped over!”

“Hey, no fair! That’s always me!”

“C’mon guys, let’s race!”

"They’re a treat.” You giggled, crossing your arms.

A quick sigh left your lips, and Tom turned his head to look at you, “Are they gone all day?”

“No, no. They just get out on the water for a bit before lunch. They help me sometimes, but today, I luckily have taller helper.” You teased.

“You forgot handsome too.”

You rolled your eyes, “Get in here and help me restock, Tourist.”

Tom flashed a cheeky smile then walked in behind toward the backroom with stacked boxes. Throughout the first hours of opening shop, Tom helped count the inventory while you helped some regular customers who strolled in at their usual times. He heard how helpful and sweet you were, mostly small talk with the older folks of the town, but you remembered each one of them. You asked how their families were doing, pets if they only had them, even mentioning goods they had asked if they could have specially delivered. You were on it.

As lunch rolled around, Tom stepped out on the back deck to watch the kids on the shore while you were inside making some sandwiches. Tom pulled out his phone, sitting on the stool by the corner of the deck and found Harrison’s contact.

You watched Tom outside, his eyebrows pushed together as he looked at his phone. It wasn’t easy not to ponder about who he could be talking to. Maybe some guy with a movie deal, some bombshell actress, just someone important with a lot of money. A switch went off in your brain to mind your business, trying not to care, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt that he lied in the first place. You almost nicked your finger with your knife out of anger.

“Hey mate, how’ve you been?” Harrison answered.

“Good, good. You?”

“Oh, no need to ask. I just landed in Paris for a fashion show. But, nothing compared to the middle of nowhere.” He jeered to his best-friend.

Tom chuckled, “I’m actually doing better than I thought I was. I truly thought I was going to get bored after one day and end up leaving without opening a bag but… it’s been nice and peaceful. The people here are great too… There’s this girl I met who’s been more than kind.” Tom trailed as he scratched his nail against the wood of the railing.

“A girl, huh?” Harrison smirked, “What’s her name?”

“Y/N. She lives across the lake and we met at this small shop she works at. I’m there right now.” Tom continued.

His blonde friend smiled, “No way… are you really already falling for some small town girl, mate?”

“It’s not like that-”

“Does she know who you are?”

That was the question wasn’t it.

“Erm, no. No, actually. At least I lied about it.”

Harrison paused, “Wait. She didn’t know who you were? Do they not have internet there or something?” He asked, incredibly perplexed.

Tom hummed, “You’d think, but no. They do and she just… I don’t know. She’s not looking up drama, I guess. But, I don’t mind that she doesn’t know. It’s just a coincidence though, right?”

“I’d make sure she’s not some reporter or something. What if she just followed you up there or knew?”

“Okay, I don’t think she’s that devious, but… maybe, I’ll tell her. She’s a nice girl. It seems like she can keep a secret and won’t freak out or anything.” Tom suggested, looking out at the lake.

Suddenly, Tom heard, “There’s a kayak under the dock over there!” from one of the kids shouting by the shore.

Tom squinted his eyes, seeing the bright purple kayak across the way and lodged between two short beams.

“What was that?” Harrison asked.

“I gotta go, I’ll call you back.” Tom quickly said before hanging up.

As Tom got up, you were already by the kids as they pointed toward the kayak. You always told them to not venture that way so, you asked the oldest kid to accompany you to save it.

“Hey, Tom. If anyone comes in, just be by the register, okay?” You shouted.

“So does that mean I’m in charge?” He smiled, crossing his arms.

Some of the kids humored him with their small laughs.

You hummed, “Just go.”

Tom winked at you before walking back in, some of the kids giving you sly looks at his charming attitude toward you.

“New boyfriend?” One of the boys asked.

“Let’s go out there, now.” You chuckled, a bit heated in your face.

Frida, another resident of your small community, walked in and knew where she was going and what she was looking for. As she collected her items in her arms, Tom turned his head back and forth to see if you had miraculously come back. Sadly, he felt that he would have to take over even though you didn’t ask him to, but he didn’t want you losing some business.

As Frida walked to the counter, she seemed confused as Tom noticed her furrow eyebrows and he assumed she was looking for you.

Tom was a bit distressed but, nevertheless, he was here to help without any favor in return.

“Here, I can ring you up.” He said as he walked around the counter.

Tessa sat by his leg, glaring up at him as she watched her owner carefully scan the items from the customer’s bag. He surprised himself at how quick it was, but once he packed the two grocery bags, he entered the total number.

“That’ll be twenty-seven dollars even.” Tom flashed his cute smile.

The older woman, her eyes a bright blue, gave a grin back, “I’ve never seen you around here. Y/N is very particular about this store since her parents moved.” She said as she pulled out her money from her hand-made, thread wallet.

“Think of me as her backup. Last minute hire, if you will.” He replied.

She was amused by his humor, “Is she around?”

“We had a lost canoe incident so, she’s out there getting it.” Tom nodded his head toward the lake.

Frida squinted her eyes, “You look oddly familiar. What’s your name?”

Tom gulped, “Tom…”

She smiled with revelation, “Are you the new boyfriend? She’s spoken about one once.”

He blushed, “Um, no, ma’am. Just a neighbor.”

Boyfriend? She has a boyfriend?, He thought.

“Shoot. Well, nice to meet you, Tom. Tell Y/N I said hello.” She sweetly grinned, grabbing her bags.

Tom watched her leave then turned back, seeing you retrieved the lost kayak. All the kids share a cheer before you walk back in through the side door. You quickly washed your hands in the side bathroom, walking back out and Tom quickly turned away.

“Hey, anyone come in?” You asked.

Tom nodded, “Yeah, this one woman. She was nice. She uh- mentioned you had a boyfriend?”

You froze, but there was an explanation.

“That’s not… true.” You trailed.

“So, you do?”

“I don’t. Okay?”

Tom shrugged, “Well, I think you don’t sound confident in your answer.”

“Well, I’m not sure how it’s fair of you to pry when you didn’t even tell me who you really are.” You retorted.

#tom holland #tom holland series #tom holland x you #tom holland x female!reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb

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aclosetfan · 2 years ago

Note

Because this fandom needs more Blossom/Princess: "I saw that. You just checked out my ass". Thanks! 💚💖💙

It’s funny, every time I do a prompt game there’s always a few people who gravitate towards the same prompts, and they’re usually the ones you absolutely KNOW buttercup would HATE. Anyway, I combined these two together! I hope no one minds! It’s more princess x blossom, but you don’t see the pairing very often, and I needed the boys more for the gag 😉 (i did all three pairing btws)

This is actually the first time I’ve written Brickercup! I haven’t found their voice yet as a couple, but I feel like these two together would probably be too powerful lmao. I need more practice with them! Anyway this one was really fun to write!! thanks for the prompt!

Summary: Blossom keeps her crush on a former villain discrete until things start to fall apart at her sisters track meet, and she’s caught checking out her ass.

a/n: For those who don’t know, the term “heat” is akin to “race” where track and field is concerned, at least, that’s the most simplified explanation tbh!

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

"I dunno. I don't regret not adding him to my roster. His postseason last year was horrible. I thought I had it all figured out, though, right?" Buttercup droned on, "But then, boom, all the sudden, he's hot! He's scoring like no other! And like, I know I'll be fine, but now I look like the guy with the foot in his mouth, you know what I'm saying?"

Blossom hummed noncommittally. She couldn't even say she was half listening to her sister; she was wholly preoccupied. Only a few meager feet away was Princess, who had spread out her things to stretch for her next heat of the day.

"Blossom? Hey!" A hand waved in front of her face, bringing her attention back into focus.

She looked up at her sister, "Huh? What?"

"You're not listening to a thing I'm saying, are you?" Buttercup huffed.

"I am," Blossom argued back, shaking her head.

"What was I talking about then?" Buttercup deadpanned, placing her hands on her hips and quirking an eyebrow.

"Your fantasy… sports stuff," Blossom tried, blowing her hair off her forehead, "oh come on, BC, you know I don't care."

"Would it kill you to at least pretend," Buttercup sniffed, bending over to do toe touches, "I listen to your nerd stuff!"

Blossom rolled her eyes, "name one time you've actually listened to my nerd stuff."

"Yesterday!"

"Oh!" Blossom mocked in surprise, "And what exactly was that conversation about?"

A prolonged pause gave Blossom the chance to sneak another peak at Princess. It was hot out today on the track, and Princess had put her fiery curls up in a high ponytail. Sweat matted the frizz framing her face, but the rest of Princess's curls cascaded down her back and bounced about with every new stretch she attempted, and it was mesmerizing to watch. In fact, it was almost enough to distract Blossom from Princess's shorts that were seemingly painted onto her body.

"Ah, shut up!" Buttercup eventually waved her off, standing back up before lowering into a knee bend, "I'm in the midst of a crisis here, and you've been distracted this whole time! Like, hello? Earth to Blossom, aren't you supposed to be keeping me company? What are you even looking—"

"A crisis?" She snorted before Buttercup could turn around to search, "A bit of a stretch, don't'cha think?"

That snapped Buttercup's attention back to her, and she evenly met her sister's incredulous stare.

"A stretch!" Buttercup cried, "Now I know you're not listening to me! Like I know I'll be fine—" she seemed to be repeating this more for her own sake than Blossom's, "—but if I'm not, then my whole season's shot!"

"Really? This is the penny league, right?" Blossom asked, attention already straying, but Buttercup paid her no mind as she again started to mindlessly word vomit, switching to yet another leg stretch.

Vaguely, Blossom wondered when the Super-Division ("super" as in superpowered) would begin and Buttercup—her convenient cover-up—would be called to the start line. Blossom wouldn't mind sitting here a bit longer, keeping Buttercup company and Princess in her line of vision. It was incredibly embarrassing to admit out loud, but Blossom didn't come to Buttercup's track meets for Buttercup alone. In fact, before discovering that Princess was often at these events, Blossom had never bothered to show up.

She loved her sister; that was quite obvious, but her idea of "good time" wasn't sacrificing a Saturday to watch a bunch of kids run around in circles under a sun hot enough to make the rubber track steam. The only reason she had initially shown up to one of these track meets was to deliver the water jug Buttercup had forgotten at home because the Professor had been out of town and, therefore, unable to attend and do it himself.

At the time, she had been unaware that the all-girl private prep school Princess went to was in attendance for these meets. She was also unaware that Princess was on the track team. How such details just seemingly slipped Buttercup's mind astounded Blossom. However, Buttercup's opinion of Princess wasn't much higher than her opinion of the Amoeba Boys, so she supposed she had no right to be surprised. Still, the former villain's presence had given her some pause for concern, and she had lingered at the meet, scrutinizing her former enemy.

Buttercup had shrugged off her concerns at the end of the meet. Apparently, Buttercup and Princess still bickered like no other, but it had become such a normal thing that her sister hardly considered it worth talking about.

"Besides, Bloss," Buttercup had pointed out, "it's kind of like the boys, right? She did her time—" then her sister laughed, "—and she ripped Butch a new one a few meets back, so I'd say she's, well, not cool, but eh, more bearable? I like her best yelling at Butch, let's just keep it at that."

Blossom had conceded to Buttercup's points, they had been fair, but that didn't stop her from showing up to the next track meet as a precaution. And the next one, and the one after that, until somewhere along the line, Blossom could no longer deny that her attendance had become less of a "red alert: former enemy in the area!" and more a "red alert: she's wearing the tight pink track shorts again!"

It was a stupid crush. A very embarrassing one, in fact. But it was there, and no one knew, so what harm would it cause, indulging in it every once in a while? To everyone else, it seemed she was only there to keep her father company and support her sister, and Blossom planned on keeping it that way.

Even Princess hardly batted an eye at her. At most, she and Princess exchanged the occasional curt nod, symbolizing what Blossom hoped was a mutual respect for what their relationship once was and what it meant now.

Now, Blossom relaxed back on the bleachers, turning around briefly to wave at the Professor, who lingered by the concession stand, trying his hardest to impress some PTA mom he had been eyeing. If Blossom had not been artificially created, she would have thought the two of them were cut from the same cloth based on their dismal flirting skills alone.

Despite herself, she smiled at the thought as her eyes landed back on Princess. She took her time tracing the shape of her, gaze falling to her bottom. It was just as thrilling seeing her wearing those pink shorts as it had been the first time around. Blossom didn't think Princess wore them for her, but pink was her lucky color, and she couldn't help but overanalyze it.

Internally, she cringed at her own behavior, remembering the little girl she had once fought with almost daily. That is until Morbucks Inc. fell into bankruptcy, and Princess's family could no longer afford to entertain her every whimsy without sacrificing the family mega yacht. Princess had been a brat in the past, and Blossom knew that hadn't changed, but there had been a time, right before it had all ended, where Princess's bratty teasing and witty and intelligent remarks had sent something hot down her spine. Unfortunately, Blossom didn't think that had probably changed either.

Most people envisioned her ending up with some fairytale prince charming, but Blossom just seemed to like bratty princesses more. And the very idea of getting the opportunity to find new creative ways to shut Princess up was enough to make her cheeks burn. Regardless, she sat on the sidelines and did nothing, too embarrassed to cross the imaginary line she and Princess had created when their fighting had stopped. The sidelines were safe, though. Blossom was too pragmatic to rock the boat, so she forced herself to be content with the situation and watch the other girl from afar with an unhealthy dose of hormonal pining and, perversely, lust.

And again, it wasn't like anyone knew! So, she let Buttercup talk as she stared at Princess's toned body, paid particular attention to her squatting and stretching, and cheered a little too much when she won her races. Buttercup's track meets were a thousand times more interesting now, and Princess's fantastic ass definitely didn't hurt Blossom's opinion.

Blossom was staring at Princess's bottom when the unthinkable happened—Princess glanced back. At first, Blossom didn't register what was happening until Princess's double take, and that was when she froze like a deer caught in the headlines. Then, dread seeped in, and she hoped beyond hope that it had been a fluke, that Princes herself—the girl she had been obsessing about; the girl she put on make-up and a well-fitting bra for to attend her sister's track meets—hadn't noticed her so brazenly checking her out.

Princess's face was mottled with blotchy red spots obscuring the pretty line of freckles that ran across her nose as the look in her eyes morphed from surprise to pure disgust.

"I saw that!" She screeched, her voice cutting across the small distance. She pointed at Blossom, and her heart fell to her feet as Princess sneered, "You just checked out my ass!"

Blossom choked on her tongue, squeaking out something that was supposed to be an apology but was really just a panicked sound. She could feel every inch of her skin burning from the tips of her ears to her toes. If the world could have opened up and swallowed her whole right then and there, she would have been eternally grateful.

"What's going on? Who's she yelling at?" Buttercup whispered, standing up from another round of toe-touches and looking around, but Blossom ignored her, frozen with mortification until the sound of abrupt laughter made her jump.

"Ha!" A voice behind her on the bleachers barked, "Apparently, you didn't see shit, Prinny!"

Blossom took a tentative peak over her shoulders with wide eyes, blinking up at Butch Jojo. She had forgotten he had bounded up the bleachers not too long ago to gab with Brick as he waited for the Super-Division to be called. Why Brick came to these events, Blossom had never bothered to ask. Still, they often sat together when their respective sibling wasn't around to keep them company. However, Blossom had begun to notice how Brick gravitated toward her even when Buttercup was present.

"I saw you!" Princess sputtered, "I could feel it! You were just gawking! I literally made eye contact with you!"

"No, seriously," Buttercup looked between Princess and Butch, "what did I miss?"

Blossom still couldn't answer her as a wave of euphoric relief crashed over her like a tidal wave. She had to stop herself from falling over from the feeling, and placed a steadying hand on the bleachers to do so. Princess was blaming Butch. It was like a miracle.

Butch laughed again, wrinkling his nose as he began stomping back down the stairs, "Don't fucking flatter yourself, Princess. I wasn't checking your ass out—" He hopped off the bleachers and shot a cheeky smile at Buttercup as he made his way towards the track coaches, "—I was checking out Butter's. Nice form, by the way. Maybe next time we can help each other stretch out."

Buttercup blinked, seemingly taken back by the events unfolding around her, until something clicked into place, and she realized that stretching ass-up to the bleachers hadn't been the most brilliant move. Blossom, sympathetically, watched her sister's face bloom with color.

"No," Her sister mainly said to herself, shaking her head like she was trying to convince herself what was happening wasn't happening, "no, no."

"Oh, don't worry, Butters, I'll return the favor. I mean, you're always behind me anyway—" he gestured to the track, "—might as well enjoy the view, right?"

"Mm-mm," Buttercup shook her head again, pressing her mouth into a thin line, "nope."

"It was you then, wasn't it!" Princess yelled again, pointing right at her. Her panic flared back up until she was (again) saved by someone behind her.

"I was also checking out Buttercup's ass," Brick drawled, standing up and making his way down the bleachers. He was more subdued than his brother. There was no obnoxious laughter or on-the-nose flirting, but Brick's eyes slowly traveled up Buttercup's form before he fixed her sister with a sly wink. Buttercup's eyes widened into saucer plates, and the flush on her face rushed down her neck as a small mortified squeak left her mouth. Her reaction pulled a lazy grin across Brick's face.

Blossom couldn't save Buttercup. Actually, she didn't want to. The more flustered Buttercup became, the easier it was for Blossom to breathe. Every second that ticked by was another second her secret stayed safe, secure, and her own, and she didn't want to change that by drawing attention to herself. She sent a silent vow to Buttercup that she'd repay her in another way.

"U-um," Buttercup sputtered, and Brick raised an amused eyebrow, urging her on. Thankfully for Buttercup, that was when the Super-Division was called, and her sister shot off without so much as a goodbye.

"Argh!" Princess huffed, stomping away, "well, whoever you are—" She yelled up at the sky, "—stop staring at my ass!"

Blossom sagged with relief, the tension wholly dissipating from her body. She was safe, in the clear, okay to continue—

Someone swatted her ponytail, and the seat next to her was taken. She looked to her left and found herself face to face with Brick, his grin no longer charmingly lazy but curling into something wicked.

"I saw that," He leered, and her head filled with hundreds of red, blaring alarms as the blood left her face completely. "You checked out her ass."

"Shit," She hissed.

"Shit," He repeated with a chuckle, nodding slowly because Brick Jojo had dirt on her, and they both knew it.

#ppg prompt requests #ask games #princess x blossom #blossom x princess #butchercup #ppg greens #brickercup #who wins BC's heart??#idk prolly Boomer at this pnt #anyway brick blackmails bloss and shenanigans ensue #ive got 2 more prompt requests so feel free to send more!#sorry if this one is too plain i realized i havent wrote anything with action in it in a while

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sometimesbeforeitgetsbetter · 3 years ago

Text

Off the Record | Stiles Stilinski

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader

Summary: High school in Beacon Hills, as told through the eyes of one inquisitive journalist who has a knack at getting on Stiles Stilinski's nerves.

Warnings: idk there's like a couple curse words lmao. also, spoilers? if you haven't finished teen wolf I guess??

Word count: 8,227

A/N: hi hi this is my first fic I'm posting on Tumblr (not to say that this is my first fic ever...anyway)! before you start, I just wanna say that there's a couple things that might be off from the show but please just ignore them. like I think it's bs Lydia brings Stiles back and not Scott in 6b so I righted that wrong. but I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think of it! thanks for reading!!

All my life I’ve wondered why people didn’t question what happens in Beacon Hills.

It’s no secret that our town is unusual, but when odd things seemed to happen, people would just turn a blind eye and go about their business.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. I was inquisitive by nature, and my mom never knew how to answer my questions.

Why do we have so many animal attacks?

What happened to the people that disappeared in the Preserve?

Why did his eyes glow like that?

That last question almost caused my mom to get me a therapist – which probably would’ve helped me regardless – but she just continued to answer with her usual responses.

They just feel threatened by us, dear.

They’re in a better place now.

I’m sure it was nothing – you probably just saw some reflection in his eyes.

But no matter what she told me, I wasn’t satisfied. I knew there was something bigger going on, something my mom couldn’t explain, but I wasn’t sure what. As I got older, however, I realized that if I kept voicing my concerns, I’d be seen as the local crazy person – which, at the time, was the title reserved for my neighbor, Donna Romano, who always went to Town Hall meetings to complain about how some supernatural creatures were traumatizing her dogs every time she took them out at night to urinate.

Out of fear of sounding like Donna, I kept my suspicions to myself. I observed the strange actions of those around me and kept note of the bizarre events that happened in town. I found that it was something I was good at – observing. Always watching, but never voicing my opinions. Eventually, it got the best of me because I grew really quiet at school. But I didn’t mind. I liked being a wallflower.

One day in the fifth grade I saw my mom reading the Beacon Chronicle and I had an epiphany – journalists investigate weird, inexplicable events, so I should be a journalist. Reading the news became my favorite pastime, and by sixth grade I decided I would join the high school newspaper, The Daily Beacon, when I became a freshman. I figured maybe it would give me an outlet to investigate the odd occurrences in the town without looking like a lunatic.

But in sixth grade, I noticed that some of the odd things had stopped happening. There were less animal attacks and disappearances from the Preserve. Some people had even left town, including the last of the Hales, whose house had burned down that same year.

I didn’t give up hope though. I kept my head down and waited for things to get weird again. In the meantime, I wrote for enjoyment. In eighth grade I started shadowing a girl named Anna that was a part of the Daily Beacon, and I started writing articles – album reviews, movie reviews, school news.

Everything was going smoothly until my sophomore year of high school. Suddenly the weird things were happening, and I was sure that there was one person that was at the epicenter of it all – Scott McCall.

“...Angela, you’re covering the new faculty; Thomas, you’ve got the new Vegan Support Group club some juniors just created; and y/n, you’re covering lacrosse try-outs,” said Andrew, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Beacon.

I groaned slightly. “Andrew, couldn’t I write something a little bit more...my style? Like what about the one freshman class that boycotted their summer reading and is facing suspension?”

He gave me a slight look. “y/n, you know how important this lacrosse piece is. You know what that sport means to the school. You should be glad I’m giving you this opportunity,” he scolded. “Besides, Marlene is covering that class and is already interviewing their teacher.”

I nodded slowly and tried to refrain from rolling my eyes. I knew that Andrew meant well – he had been like an older brother to me ever since my freshman year – and he was right about the importance of lacrosse. I stayed quiet until he dismissed us, then mentally prepared myself to spend my afternoon watching some jocks exude machismo on a field.

When my last class was over, I walked over to the lacrosse field and found myself a spot on the top of the bleachers. It gave me an excellent vantage point – until a couple girls sat down right in front of me. The redhead I recognized to be Lydia Martin, the school’s resident popular girl. We’d been in class together all our lives, but I couldn’t remember a time she ever talked to me. I’m sure she didn’t even know I existed, just like the majority of the other people in our grade. The other girl, however, I didn’t recognize. I found out her name was Allison by overhearing their conversation. She was new and must have just moved to Beacon Hills.

The shrill sound of Coach’s whistle knocked me out of my thoughts. Tryouts started, and I watched as Scott McCall, a boy from my grade, was nearly knocked out by a lacrosse ball to the face. I winced but wrote down the event in the notebook I had out for documentation.

The next ball that went Scott’s way didn’t hit his face though. He managed to catch it in his goalie net. I couldn’t help but be a bit surprised – like Lydia, I’d known of Scott my whole life though he probably didn’t know me at all. But that meant I knew he was an asthmatic that wasn’t particularly skilled at sports.

“He’s actually pretty good,” I mumbled to myself as Scott continued to catch every ball that came his way.

I didn’t realize how loud I must’ve said it though because at my remark Allison turned around. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, obviously surprised. “Do you know him?”

I shook my head and quickly turned my attention to my notebook to write down the surprising turn of events. “Are you writing about this for the school newspaper?” I looked back up at Allison’s question. She was paying attention to me?

“Um, yeah, I am. I’d rather not write about sports, but here I am,” I joked lightly.

She let out a beautiful laugh at my statement. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Allison, and you are…?”

“y/n,” I answered. “Nice to meet you, Allison.” Suddenly the crowd roared, and I remembered why I was there. Allison, too, smiled and turned her attention back to the game. Lydia hadn’t said a word, but she was focused on watching Scott absolutely demolish Jackson Highmore, who, in my opinion, needed to be knocked down a few pegs anyway.

The more I watched Scott though, I got this weird feeling. He was good – too good. I tried to ignore my feelings and just focus on writing notes for the ridiculous lacrosse piece, which would include the headline: “Sophomore Scott McCall shines at lacrosse tryouts and becomes team co-captain.” But deep down I knew there was something up with him.

A few days later, I was sitting behind Stiles Stilinski, Scott’s best friend, in English class. Even though I’d had nearly all of my classes with him, we never talked. It originally was because I had a minor crush on him and was afraid I’d pass out if I spoke to him, but eventually it just morphed into me not speaking to many people and being convinced he didn’t know of my existence anyway.

But this one day, I was committed to speaking with him. I had to know what was going on, and if there was one person that knew anything about Scott’s new-found lacrosse talent, it was Stiles.

“Hey, Stiles,” I spoke up from behind him.

The brunette turned around, slightly confused but with that soft smile on his face. “Oh, hey, y/n. What’s up?”

I swear my heart stopped beating for a second. He knew my name? He knew who I was? I shook myself out of my thoughts before I went down the rabbit hole of the implications of him knowing me.

“Oh, nothing much. I’m just writing a piece about lacrosse tryouts for the school newspaper and I was just wondering if you had anything to say about it,” I explained.

He tilted his head slightly and shifted in his seat to more fully face me. “Um, yeah sure. I think it’s going to be a great season, especially since we’ve gotten some new leadership. My boy Scott’s co-captain now, so those Devenford Prep guys won’t know what hit them!”

“Speaking of Scott, when did he get so good at lacrosse? Would you say it’s natural talent?” I pressed a bit, hoping he’d say something that would give me a hint as to what was going on.

Stiles’ eyes squinted a little, and his head tilted slightly again. He seemed to be at a loss for words, which was unusual for the fast-talking, sarcastic boy, but he quickly recovered. “It’s definitely...natural...talent. He’s been working extra hard recently to hone his talent and skills so he could bring his A-game to this year’s tryouts.” When he finished speaking, he looked pleased with himself, and I could tell he had let out a small sigh of relief.

What are you hiding?

Though I didn’t know it yet, at that moment my rivalry with Stiles Stilinski began. He and Scott were hiding something, and I was going to find out what it was.

“You’re telling me that a girl is in a coma after the school winter formal and you don’t want me to write a story about it?”

Andrew leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. “It’s not that I don’t want you to write it. I just think it’s a tense time right now. The administration is receiving a lot of flack right now because of the winter formal fiasco, and Ms. Blanchard told me that we may want to avoid stirring the pot right now,” he explained. “That is not to say that we abandon our journalistic integrity and commitment to informing the student body, but we just may want to be sensitive to our environment right now.”

I trusted Ms. Blanchard, the faculty sponsor of the Daily Beacon, but not reporting on Lydia’s comatose state felt wrong. She was well-known at school, and students deserved to know the facts of her situation and how it had happened.Well, maybe I was lying to myself by saying that the real reason I wanted to pursue the story wasn’t the fact that something inexplicable had happened at the dance and I had to figure out what it was.

Andrew could sense my disappointment. “Look, maybe for now you can start collecting information and sources, and I’ll talk to Ms. Blanchard. Maybe she can advise us on how best to proceed.”

I threw my arms around Andrew in a quick hug. “Yes, thank you! I promise I’ll be sensitive when asking sources. I know how difficult this must be for the people close to her.”

“I know you will,” he said, chuckling lightly.

With a smile plastered on my face – perhaps a little inappropriately considering the topic I was excited to cover – I left the small newspaper office in search of my first source: Stiles Stilinski. He had been Lydia’s date to the dance, so surely he must know what happened to her, right? “No, I don’t know what happened,” Stiles angrily responded when I cornered him at his locker. “We were separated for a bit because she went looking for someone. When I went looking for her I–” he stopped suddenly, as if choosing his words carefully. He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he spoke.

“The next thing I know, she was at the hospital in a coma. They told me Jackson had found her out on the field when I went to check on her at the hospital,” he explained.

Something wasn’t adding up. “Ok, but where were you the rest of that time? You didn’t go looking for her when you didn’t see her for a while? What about when she had already been checked into the hospital?”

“What is this – an investigation?” Stiles shouted as he slammed his locker shut. I took a step back, eyes wide at the sudden display of aggression. Maybe I pushed too hard, I thought. Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I….I didn’t mean it like that. There’s just a lot going on, and my dad has been up my ass about those details too. To be honest, I can’t tell you where I was. The time just flew by and all of a sudden I’d realized I hadn’t seen Lydia for a couple hours. I wish I had been there for her, but there’s nothing I can do for her now other than check up on her.”

Running a hand over his buzzed head, he shot me a forced smile and said “good luck with your article” before walking away.

I was at a loss for words, trying to put the pieces together in my head. Surely he couldn’t have had a part in Lydia’s injury? There’s no way. But his defensiveness was off-putting–

“Hey, y/n!” I was snapped out of my thoughts by Allison approaching me from behind. “What were you talking to Stiles about?”

“Huh? Oh, um, I was just asking him about…” I remembered that the funeral for Allison’s aunt was happening and didn’t want to mention the additional stress of her best friend being comatose, so I opted for a white lie. “Biology homework. I wasn’t really paying attention in class today.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were friends,” she said as she leant against the lockers.

I shook my head violently. “We’re not.” I’d grown too close to Allison for her to not pick up on my feelings though.

“You say that now, but–”

“I have to get to class. See you at lunch, Ally!”

Other things that year were weird, but none warranted any further investigation via newspaper article. Sure, I was wondering about Erica Reyes’ sudden transformation into the ultimate baddie, the mysterious deaths of a mechanic and Isaac Lahey’s dad, numerous paralyzations at the Jungle, and a death of someone at a secret rave, but Andrew thought it would be best for the Chronicle and Ledger to cover those bigger events. In fact, the only other unnatural event that happened that I had to cover for the newspaper was Stiles’ unbelievable winning streak at the lacrosse championship. I would have quoted him after the game, but I really didn’t want to speak to him and anyway, he had disappeared for a bit right after the team won.

I could tell that things were happening, but it was all hidden from public view. I even noticed Allison’s behavior fluctuating. The arrival of her grandfather shook things up, and while he gave me a bad feeling, I couldn’t exactly figure out why. Lydia was more troubled than usual after coming back from the hospital even though she tried to act normally. Jackson was going through something and was more angry and aggressive than usual, but I wasn’t close enough to him to ask him if he was okay.

Over the summer, I spent a surprising amount of time with Lydia. Allison spent her summer in France, but she asked me to keep an eye on Lydia to make sure she was okay, especially since Jackson had moved to London during the summer break. I was surprised how much I enjoyed spending time with the redhead, and we hung out when I wasn’t working at my internship at The Beacon Chronicle, which my mom had convinced me to apply for after she noticed how irritated I was that I couldn’t pursue some of the stories I wanted.

By the time Allison came back before the start of school, it felt like Lydia and I had been best friends for the longest time.

“So, Allison, have you talked to Scott at all this summer?” I asked when I was sitting in the backseat of Lydia’s car, Allison in the passenger seat.

She shook her head. “No, I think I still need some time. He...hides things from me and I don’t know if I can trust him.”

I nodded my head, understanding the feeling. I still couldn’t place my finger on what had happened between them or what Scott was involved in. Though I comforted her when I found out they broke up, I didn’t really know why they’d done it.

“What about you, y/n? Have you talked to Stiles at all?” Allison asked, looking back at me in the backseat.

“Why the hell would I talk to Stiles?” I questioned, confused.

She and Lydia shared a small look that I couldn’t decipher before she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, but you guys are more similar than you may think. I don’t know why you guys act like you don’t like each other though.”

The car rolled to a stop at the stop light, and all of a sudden I noticed a familiar baby blue jeep approach next to us. “Speak of the devil,” I mumbled. Lydia and Allison didn’t notice Stiles staring and waving at first, but when they did the car was filled with awkward tension.

The next events were a blur: Lydia running the red light, both cars stopping in the middle of the road, and a deer running straight towards us, nearing killing me in the gap between the front seats. We were shaken, and the boys ran towards us when they saw what happened.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked Lydia, but he kept looking at me. I nodded slightly and he turned his full attention back to Lydia.

“What was wrong with it?” Allison asked as Scott got closer to the deer.

“It was scared,” he explained. “No, terrified.”

Things got progressively weirder after that. On the first day of school, I interviewed our new English teacher, Ms. Blake. She was nice enough, but it was unfortunate that her class was the one that a whole flock of birds decided to burst through the classroom windows. By the time the police arrived, I was already drafting up a story in my brain: Why are the animals acting weird in Beacon Hills?

I had overheard Stiles talking to Scott about the deer’s weird behavior and the number of deer-related incidents in California, so I swallowed my pride so that I could talk to him and maybe get some stats and information on the whole situation.

I walked up to him when he was sitting alone, texting on his phone. “Hey, Stiles.” “y/n? What’s wrong?” He had genuine concern written on his face.

“I overheard you and Scott talking about deer-related incidents earlier,” I noticed how he tensed up at my statement, “and I was wondering if you could help me with a piece I’m writing? It seems like you know all the stats, so maybe...you could write it with me?” It pained me to finish that sentence, but I figured it might be easier to figure out what was going on if he was helping – especially if he already had inside information.

I think for the first time in his life, the talkative boy was speechless. “I understand if you don’t want to or you’re busy–” I said quickly, trying to give him a way out.

“Yeah, sure.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t caught off guard by his response. “W-what?”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help you out with your article, y/n. Collaborate with you, if you will. We can work on it at my house tomorrow afternoon if you want.”

Nodding and agreeing with the plan, I left the chaotic English classroom.

The next afternoon, I felt like I was walking into the lion’s den. Going to Stiles’ house felt foreign, but what was even stranger was seeing him in casual clothes in a comfortable environment.

He answered the door wearing some sweats and a t-shirt, looking more comfortable and confident than I’d ever seen him. “Hey, y/n. Come on in,” he greeted.

I thanked him awkwardly, and we walked to his dining room table to get set up. “Sorry, I need to go grab my notes from my room. Be back in a sec,” Stiles said before leaving me alone in his dining room.

After a moment of silence, Sheriff Stilinski walked in wearing his uniform. “Oh, y/n! What are you doing here?” He had seen me a couple weeks ago in the police station when I was requesting documents for a story for the Chronicle. Though journalists and cops don’t often have a jovial relationship, he said that he liked me because of my commitment to the truth and respectful nature.

“Hey, Sheriff. I’m writing a piece about the animals acting weird, you know, with the deer accident and bird incident, and Stiles said he’d help me since he has a bunch of statistics on deer related car accidents.”

“Stiles is helping you? Well, I’ll be damned.” When he saw the confusion on my face, he rushed to explain himself. “No, not like that. It’s just, you’re all organized and focused, and Stiles is….Stiles.”

I was laughing heartily when the boy himself walked back into the room. “What’s going on, Daddy-o?”

“Nothing, son. Just catching up with y/n here. I’ve got to get to work, but you’re welcome anytime, y/n.” He said before patting Stiles on the shoulder and heading off to work.

Stiles looked over at me oddly when he placed his notes on the table and sat next to me. “Since when are you all buddy-buddy with my dad?”

Shrugging, I said, “Ever since we started grabbing beer every Thursday night while you’re at lacrosse practice.” His jaw dropped slightly, and I laughed again. “No, idiot. We’ve just interacted a lot because of my internship. Now, can we get started on the article?”

After the article was published, my next assignment was writing about the track meet a couple weeks later. I found out Allison and Lydia were riding together to the meet, so I tagged along.

Both girls were extremely tense the whole ride, seemingly concerned about something going on in the bus. We were only a few cars behind the bus full of track runners (and lacrosse players who were forced to attend the meet), but the stand-still traffic was a force to be reckoned with.

“Do you think we’re too close?” Allison asked.

“Honey, if you were any closer I think you’d mount the bus,” Lydia said sarcastically. She got a call from Stiles and looked over at Allison. “Hey, Stiles,” she dragged out the ‘hey,’ tension obvious in her voice.

She listened to what he was saying, something clearly wrong. “What do you mean he’s not–” she stopped when she remembered I was in the car, “healing?” She finished the question quietly, probably hoping I wouldn’t hear.

Healing? Is he injured?

“Yeah, ok, just find a way to get Coach to stop. We’ll meet you there.” She hung up and told Allison to pull off at the next stop.

When we got to the rest stop, I could see everyone hurrying to get off the bus. Allison parked the car, and we quickly went to the bathroom where I saw Scott nearly passed out on the floor. “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Yeah, y/n. He’s fine. At least, he will be,” Stiles responded. He positioned his body in front of me a little bit as if he was trying to block my view of Scott.

I gently pushed him aside so I could see and was shocked to see black blood coming from the injured boy. “What the hell is going on? Why is his blood black?” I ran forward to get closer, kneeling next to Allison.

“It’s nothing. We just need to stitch him up and he’ll be fine.”

“Stiles, don’t fucking lie to me. I can see that he’s obviously not fine.”

“He’s right,” Allison said quietly. “We need to stitch him up. I need something to stitch him together with.” She looked around before remembering something in her bag.

I shook my head. “We need to tell Coach. Take him to a hospital or something.”

“No!” All three of them yelled at me.

It was quiet for a moment, all of us deciding where to go from here. “Just…” Stiles started, “please go and make sure the bus doesn’t leave without us. We’ll handle this.” I got up and slowly made my way to the door.

As I reached for the door, a hand grabbed my wrist. “y/n,” Stiles said, “it’ll make sense someday. Just trust us for now. Trust me,” he pleaded quietly out of earshot of the girls and Scott.

“I do,” I replied quietly, not meeting his eyes, before pulling my hand from his grasp and leaving the bathroom.

That night, we all had to stay at the Motel Glen Capri because of the postponed meet. I didn’t like its energy, and neither did Lydia. “A lot can happen in one night,” she said.

Though it was supposed to be two to a room, I convinced Coach to let me room with Allison and Lydia. Admittedly, Coach didn’t need much convincing because I was saving the school money by doing so. Once we got our room key, we went up to our room on the second floor.

“I’m going to go get a snack from the machine,” I told Lydia once Allison was in the shower.

She nodded. “Sounds good. I’m going to the lobby. There must be something we can do about these towels that reek of nicotine.”

Grabbing a couple one’s from my wallet, I made my way down the hall to the vending machine where I ran into Boyd and Stiles. As I approached, I could hear Stiles trying to talk to an unresponsive Boyd, who subsequently punched a hole through the glass of the machine, grab his snack that the machine refused to give him, and walk away.

“What the hell was that?” I asked Stiles as I walked up next to him.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest.” He reached into the machine to grab his snack and tossed one to me as well.

When I got back to my room, a shaken Allison and Lydia were hurriedly talking about something. “Oh, y/n! You’re back. You won’t believe what just happened…” Allison started

She recounted the story of Scott’s bizarre behavior in the bathroom, and Lydia filled me in on the counter that they have at the front desk. “Can you imagine having a counter for the number of suicides that take place in your hotel? Crazy,” Lydia said. Taking her phone out, she sent a quick text to Stiles telling him that we all needed to talk.

We met him in the hallway a couple minutes later. “What was the text for?” Stiles asked when he saw our little gathering.

“There’s something going on with all the…” she looked over at me before continuing, “guys. You know, Scott, Boyd, Isaac, probably Ethan too.” I tried to connect the dots between all of them, but I didn’t really know what they all had in common. Scott and Isaac were both on the lacrosse team, but from what I could tell they didn’t have a particular fondness for each other or Ethan.

“I think someone’s going to die tonight,” Lydia said decisively.

“Why do you think that?” I asked, but it seemed like I was the only one questioning her line of reason.

She shook her head slowly. “I just...have a feeling.” After a moment of silence, she told us about hearing something from the room next to ours through the vent, so we decided to investigate it. Room 217 seemed empty and locked, but all of a sudden we heard the sound of a saw from behind the door.

Stiles busted the door open, and we opened it to find Ethan turning the saw on himself. “Ethan, stop!” I yelled as we ran into the room. Stiles started wrestling him for the saw, but luckily Lydia saw where it was plugged into the wall and unplugged it.

The next thing that happened was completely unexpected to me. Ethan grew fangs and claws, his eyes blazing red. What the fu–

Allison and Lydia rushed forward, wrestling his claws away from his torso where he had been planning on slashing himself. In the struggle he fell on the space heater, which apparently brought him out of whatever state he was in. He ran out of the room soon after. When we tried to question him about what he was doing, he couldn’t answer us. He had been out of control, and it made Allison realize we were forgetting someone.

“Where’s Scott?” She asked suddenly. When no one could answer, we all decided to split up – I’d go with Allison to look for Scott while Stiles and Lydia went to find Boyd and Isaac.

Scott wasn’t in his room. Allison and I ran all over the motel, looking in every crevice. At last, we decided to check the school bus, and that’s where we saw him. Standing drenched in gasoline, a flare lit up in his hand.

“Scott…” I approached quietly, careful to not make any sudden movements.

It was then that Stiles and Lydia joined us. I watched as Stiles walked into the gasoline, my breath catching in my throat as he nearly sacrificed himself. Scott was talking, but I didn’t really understand what it meant. He said that his life was better before the bite.

Stiles eventually talked Scott down, but the flare rolled into the gasoline. Luckily, Lydia was able to make sure we had all gotten out of the way. I’d ended up next to Stiles on the ground, and though we made eye contact, no words were spoken.

We spent the night in the bus because none of us could bear the thought of spending another second in that cursed place. Coach woke us up in the morning, definitely thinking the worst about what we may have gotten ourselves into, but whatever he was thinking wouldn’t possibly compare to reality. What was reality? I couldn’t have really told you at that point. I didn’t understand what we’d just lived through.

Before the other students started loading onto the bus, Stiles slid into the empty space next to me. “y/n, you know that all of this,” he made a grand gesture to Scott and the others as well as the motel, “is off the record. You can’t tell anyone about this. About what happened.” I held eye contact with him for a moment before nodding. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. To be honest, I don’t even really know what I would tell people, but I wouldn’t.” He nodded, a sad smile on his face as he looked down and fidgeted with his hands. “But Stiles,” I said as he looked back up at me. “Please help me understand it all. You can trust me, I promise, I just want to understand. I want to help.”

With a deep sigh, Stiles nodded once more. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

When Stiles said he’d fill me in on everything, I didn’t realize he meant everything. I couldn’t believe how oblivious I had been to everything that had happened in the past year. Sure, I knew something weird was going on, but how was I supposed to know it was supernatural?

Finding out that my little corner of the world, little old Beacon Hills, California, had werewolves (and a kanima, pack of alphas, and whatever the hell a Darach was) was a lot to process. It was unbelievable, but Stiles helped me believe it.

I could tell that he didn’t fully trust me though. There was something in the way he looked at me that told me he was wondering when I would be done with my source acquisition and I’d write the next big exposé: Supernatural Beacon Hills: How Werewolves Have Been Hiding In Plain Sight. I didn’t know how to assure him that I was on their side and wouldn’t expose their secrets.

As the year progressed, things simultaneously made more sense and less sense. To defeat the Darach, we had to perform a sacrifice for the parents that had abducted, and Deaton – the veterinarian that had taken care of every family pet we’d ever had – told me I had to hold Stiles down during it. He said we had some sort of connection, but I guess that’s what mutual loathing does to people.

In the end, we won. We beat the Darach, the alpha of the alphas Deucalion left, and Scott became an alpha himself. But it was still just the beginning.

The sacrifice did something to Scott, Stiles, and Allison that we didn’t fully understand. Deaton said they left a door open, which only made it harder for Stiles to trust me because he could barely trust himself.

Knowing about the supernatural didn’t preclude my other responsibilities though. I still wrote for the Daily Beacon, much to Stiles’ displeasure, but I enjoyed it. So, on the first day of school I interviewed our newest faculty member – Mr. Yukimura. He and his family had just moved from New York, and his daughter Kira was in our grade. She was nice, but shy, so I invited her to have lunch with us.

Surprisingly, Kira jumped right into the conversation at lunch by mentioning bardo, the Buddhist concept of being in an in-between state.

After lunch, I caught up with Allison to walk to our next class. “Hey, Allison, could I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! What’s up?”

“Well, I don’t really know how to ask this but...I need help learning to defend myself, I guess? It’s just that I’m going to be helping you guys now, and I actually want to be helpful, so I want to protect myself so you guys don’t have to worry about me,” I admitted.

Allison smiled softly. “I’d love to help.” I returned her smile, suddenly giddy, yet nervous. “But, I think you should know that my...aim...has been off since the sacrifice.”

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Nonsense, I’m sure that you’re still the best shot in this school.” She shook her head. “It’s never been this bad.”

Touching her arm lightly, I gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out together.”

A few days later, I was surprised when I was paid a visit by both Scott and Stiles while I was sitting in the library. “To what do I owe this pleasure, boys?”

“We need your help.” I perked up at Scott’s statement. “We’re trying to solve the Tate case, you know, the one where Malia Tate disappeared all those years ago after that car accident, and we could use your help tracking her down.” He looked over at Stiles and nudged him with his elbow.

“And, you can write a piece about it. Not including all the details, if what we think happened is true, but you can still write something factual,” Stiles said, still displeased that I was writing for the newspaper.

To annoy Stiles, I acted like I was really thinking about it for a minute, but then laughed lightly. “Yeah, I’ll help you guys. Where do we start?”

Pull yourself together, y/n. You’re a journalist. You’re supposed to report on tragedy all the time. Be objective.

I took a deep breath and wrote the first line for what would be the cover story of the next Daily Beacon issue.

Junior Allison Argent, 17, died in an unfortunate carjacking incident last fall.

Before I could write any more, I got a phone call from Stiles.

Oh, thank god. “Stiles?”

“Do you want to come with us to Mexico?” He blurted out.

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my chest. “What? Mexico? Why? When–”

“Tomorrow.”

“Stiles, are you insane? Even if I wanted to, there’s no way my parents would ever let me go.”

“We’re all telling our parents we’re going camping, if that helps at all,” he said with what seemed like a hint of disappointment in his voice.

I was quiet for a minute, but my mind was already made up. “Why? And who exactly is going?”

“Scott, Lydia, Kira, Malia, and I have to visit some hunters and see what they know about Derek being missing.”

As soon as he mentioned Malia, my mouth started curling into a frown. It’s not that I disliked the werecoyote, it’s just that she and Stiles had been pretty full on since they hooked up at Eichen and started dating. I wasn’t jealous – though I’m sure Lydia would argue otherwise since she’s convinced I like him or something – just...weirded out by their relationship.

I sighed. “I want to help, but I really can’t tomorrow. School starts back up in a couple days, and I need to finish this elegy for Allison and come up with a bunch of assignments for the staff writers…” I trailed off, thinking about all that I had to do before the coming week.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Ms. Editor-in-chief over here has a life outside of us,” Stiles joked.

Andrew graduated at the end of last year and left his glittering empire to me, though suddenly I felt overwhelmed at the prospect of running a newspaper while being way too involved in the town’s supernatural endeavors. It didn’t bother me last semester, but after Allison…

“I’ll just see you guys when you get back, okay?” I told Stiles. He made an unintelligible noise of agreement. “And try not to let anyone get killed.” “Yes, mom,” Stiles said sarcastically. I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

When the pack got back, I was surprised by the events that had taken place. “What do you mean it’s a young version of Derek?”

A few days later, I had to cover the spring lacrosse tryouts. Though I wanted to assign it to someone else, I had to do it myself because everyone was busy with the assignments I had given them.

To my surprise, a new freshman, Liam Dunbar, showed everyone up at tryouts – even Scott. I took note of how he seemed almost athletically superior to everyone, and I wondered if he was supernatural.

“He’s human, I’m sure of it,” Scott said as he came up next to where I was sitting on the bleachers, scaring me out of my mind in the process.

“Jeez, Scott. A little warning next time would be nice. But how do you know?”

He shrugged. “I can just tell. He’s just a really great athlete.”

“He’s going to be a great pain in my ass, I can tell,” Stiles said, sidling up next to Scott.

I took note of their reactions, writing down Scott’s comment – about being a great athlete, not human – to consider while writing my piece.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re writing a story about him,” Stiles groaned.

“You know I have to write one about the tryouts, and he just happens to be the star player of today,” I told him. “Sorry, Scott.”

Scott waved me off, but Stiles was still upset about the situation. “No, don’t give him the ego boost! He’s already a little shit, and an article about him would make it worse.”

Taking a break from my note-taking, I looked over at the brown-haired boy. “Stiles, have you even talked to him?”

He looked at a loss for words. “N-not really...but I can see his arrogance from a mile away!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well then, if you’d excuse me, I’m going to write up a fantastic story about a talented up-and-coming lacrosse player.”

The article became the next issue’s front page, but I almost wished I hadn’t given him as much attention when Scott turned him into his beta.

The rest of the year didn’t go as planned either, but isn’t junior year supposed to be everyone’s worst year?

As much as I liked helping out with the supernatural problems Scott and the rest of the pack were having, it was hard knowing about what was going on and not being able to write about it, especially when all of the mysterious killings started up. We eventually found out about the deadpool, but I could write about a kill list of Beacon Hills’ resident supernaturals, could I?

At the end of the year, I finally had to make the trip to Mexico with the rest of the pack. “Stiles, I’m going. You can’t stop me!” I attempted to open the passenger door of the jeep when he reached out and shut it from behind me.

“No, it’s going to be dangerous. We don’t even really know what we’re facing,” he tried reasoning with me. “I can protect myself,” I said, thinking of the training that Allison had given me. “Besides, I can’t just sit by and wait for you guys to come back. I need to try helping Scott.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to back down, Stiles removed his hand from the side of the door and opened it for me. I nodded a quick thanks as I hopped into the vehicle.

I wasn’t expecting to fight Scott that day, but we all did in order to return him from his Berserker form. At the end of the fight, I had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing I couldn’t deal with.

As Derek drove away with Braedan, I could feel that things were changing. “I can’t write about any of this, can I?” I asked somewhat jokingly.

“Off the record,” Stiles replied from where he stood next to me.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank god, you remember me!” He said as he grabbed my hands. He’d been running down the hall frantically when I saw him.

I looked at him with concern on my face. “Yeah, of course I remember you? Why wouldn’t I–”

“y/n, it’s the Hunt. The Ghost Riders. I saw them, and now they’re coming for me.” He was breathing heavily, eyes sweeping the surroundings for signs of the Ghost Riders. His eyes locked on something to his left, but when I looked, I couldn’t see anything. “They’re here. We have to go,” he said, pulling me towards the parking lot. We got into his jeep, but he didn’t start the car. “Stiles, what are you doing?”

“It’s too late.” I could see the look of grief on his face. “No, don’t say that. It’s not–”

“It’s the truth,” he cut me off, turning to look at me. “Promise me you won’t forget.”

I shook my head. “I won’t. But Stiles, I can’t do this without you,” I could feel a tear escaping my eye and slipping down my cheek, my emotions getting the better of me.

Stiles reached forward and wiped the tear away before placing his hand on my cheek. “What do you mean? You’re one of the smartest, most inquisitive people I know. If I had to trust anyone to find a way to stop the Ghost Riders, it would be you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “Yeah right. Lydia will probably figure it out before me.”

He shook his head. “You can do it. I trust you.” I could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he turned to look at something through the window over his shoulder. “Can I tell you something? Off the record.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my mouth. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t hate you. I know it may seem like I’ve never trusted you or that I don’t care about you, but it’s actually the opposite. I...really really like you,” he admitted.

I was stunned. Stiles likes me? He was searching my face for any indication of feelings as I sat there silently.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles mumbled. “Ok, forget I said that. Well, you won’t need to forget when you forget me in a minute–”

I cut off his rambling by placing my lips on his. They were warm and familiar, as if they were made for mine. “I like you too,” I mumbled when I disconnected, my eyes still closed from the interaction.

But when I opened them, I was alone in the baby blue jeep.

All semester, I’d felt that something was missing, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Or who it was.

But after months of searching for it, we finally figured it out. Lydia had gone into a banshee trance to discover the word “Stiles,” and it brought back vague memories for me when I heard it. The feeling of soft flannel. A sarcastic laugh. Red string around my finger. A hefty wooden baseball bat.

The collection of memories made sense when we all finally got our memories back and remembered the person we were missing from our lives.

We traced the trail of clues to the sewers, where Scott tried to bring back Stiles because of their brotherly love for one another. I thought it would work, but the portal closed and Stiles hadn’t appeared. Come on, Stiles. Where are you?

We had to fight the Ghost Riders off, making sure they didn’t turn our beloved Beacon Hills into another ghost town. I’d run into the high school, looking for something to use as a weapon when I ran into someone in the hall. A tall, brown-haired figure wearing a flannel shirt. “Stiles?”

He turned, and smiles emerged on both of our faces. I broke into a run again, right into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re really here.” I mumbled, the sound muffled against his shirt.

“I knew you could do it,” he said.

I pulled back slightly and looked up at his face, suddenly nervous. “That night in the jeep...did you hear what I told you before you disappeared?”

A soft smile rested on his face. “Of course I did. It was the one thing that kept me going, especially when I was stuck with Peter.”

“Peter Hale? Why the hell were you with Peter Hale?”

Stiles shook his head. “We can go over that later. For now, there’s one thing I’ve been wanting to do.” I was a little confused, but I understood once he leaned in and connected our lips.

This is what I’d been missing, and I was never going to let it go again.

I watched from afar as Stiles gave his trusty baseball bat to Mason, who didn’t seem to appreciate the hunk of wood.

“Have you told him yet?” Lydia asked as she appeared next to me.

I shook my head. “We haven’t really had time to talk about that stuff. I think he doesn’t really want to think about it just yet and what that might mean for us.”

She nudged me with her elbow, silently telling me to go over there and talk to him. Rolling my eyes, I walked towards the familiar blue jeep and familiar mess of brown hair.

Liam and Mason had already walked away, and Scott and Stiles were standing and talking at the jeep’s trunk. “Hey, y/n. I’m just heading out, but I’ll see you guys later,�� Scott said as I came up and Stiles threw his arm around me.

We waved as Scott left, and Stiles pulled me closer. “Hey,” he said, looking down at me with an affectionate expression.

I pulled him over so we could sit in the open trunk. “We need to talk.” I could see the panic flare up in his eyes.

“Oh, um, okay? Is everything okay?”

Chuckling lightly, I nodded. “Yeah, we just haven’t talked about college at all,” I explained.

His head dropped. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want it to ruin what we have here, and I don’t even know what life will be like outside of Beacon Hills, and I feel like we just got together and now–”

“Stiles,” I cut him off. “I’m going to GW too.”

His eyes widened at my confession. “You...you’re going to GW?”

I nodded, a small smile on my lips. “I committed a while ago. I’m going to study journalism there.”

I watched as a smile spread across his face. Then, it was replaced by a quick smirk. “Oh great, you’re following me there, huh? I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m going to need someone to give me the inside scoop on the FBI’s antics.”

He looked pensive for a moment. “I think what you’re describing is illegal.”

“Not if it’s in the public’s interest. But maybe it just needs to be off the record,” I admitted. Stiles laughed. “Oh, it’s definitely going to be off the record.”

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski x reader #scott mccall #lydia martin #allison argent #hot take: scott should have brought back stiles in 6b not lydia #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski one shot #dylan obrien #isaac lahey #dylan o'brien

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darling-i-read-it · 3 years ago

Text

Barbera

4x03

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist (my season 4 version)

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: death, murder, detailed description of dead bodies, cannablism, ptsd

Author’s Note: I don’t know besties i just. . . . enjoy lmao

Summary: Miriam Lass talks to Jack about Hannibal’s escape. You have another person over for dinner.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

(not my gif)

Miriam never thought she would get back into the field. She figured she would never want to. It seemed stupid, going back to the exact place that made her unravel for so many years. It was a trigger, no matter how much she wanted it before.

She never thought she would find herself here, back in Jack Crawford's office. From the look on his face, he didn’t imagine he would find her here either.

“I really don’t think you should be in on this. You’re too close,” he said. He looked up at her, setting his pen down on the desk. She seemed smaller than she had all those years ago. They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger but Jack was wondering if what didn’t kill Miriam just made her more skittish.

“I could say the same thing about you.” Jack shook his head.

“Hannibal got the best of you once-”

“So he won’t do it again,” she argued. Her voice betrayed her. There was worry laced in it, worry that had only grown in the pit of her stomach since she learned Hannibal had gotten out. “I have to put him back where he belongs. I have to take the power back.” “Alana let you in to see him while he was incarcerated. That wasn’t enough power for you?” “That was ordered by my physiatrist. This I’m doing for me,” she explained.

“You’ve only been back in the field for a month. This is a high level case, even if you hadn’t been involved in it.” She shook her head, putting her hands flat on his desk. She stared down at him. His voice was still scratchy, like the neck wound had taken away his ability to speak with authority. Maybe that was what gave her the confidence to say what she wanted to say.

“Hannibal Lector does not leave loose ends. He’ll come back and kill you. He’ll kill Doctor Bloom, Margot Verger, me. And if he doesn’t, his pet Grahams will. I need to be involved in this to protect myself,” she explained evenly. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

Jack leaned back in his chair and let out a shaky sigh.

===

Dinner was a natural occurrence at the Lector household. It was an event, especially if there were guests over. Hannibal enjoyed putting on a show. Even if it was just the four of you, he tended to put on a suit, make sure the three of you had your finest clothes on.

He personally sought out dinner guests. For food, sure. But more importantly, for someone to witness his grandeur. He adored showing off.

Tonight was no different.

Maria Espisito had a glass of barbera wine, standing in front of one of the many paintings in the home. You stood on one side of her, Bedelia on the other side. Bedelia’s hair was perfectly curled. You had done it yourself. It was Hannibal who picked out the dark blue dress though. He had picked out your red one. It complimented the blood on your hands.

“Do you know the artist?” Maria questioned. You took a sip of your wine, shaking your head.

“Mateo picked them out. He’s the cook, the decorator,” you said simply, smiling.

“We’re decorations,” Bedelia said quietly. Maria raised an eyebrow, turning to her. “He picked us out.” Your smile thinned.

“He has good taste,” you stated.

Hannibal and Will were in the kitchen, finishing up dinner. Will helped plate. It was the only thing he was allowed to do.

“Can you go grab Y/N?” Hannibal asked. “She does a wonderful glaze.” Will nodded simply and walked into the other room where you were standing.

“Bella, a moment.” You turned over to him and gave a nod. You smiled once at Maria.

“Excuse me.”

You walked swiftly into the kitchen, leaving Bedelia alone with Maria. She was shaking. She looked over at Maria. She couldn’t remember if she had been able to send that letter. It had been the only thing on her mind for days. She remembers the feel of it under her fingers. Rough, delicate. Maria could help her.

“Maria-” Bedelia started, turning to her but was quickly cut off by Hannibal returning to the room.

“Dinner is served!” The three of you came in with the dishes, setting them at the table. Maria clapped gently, walking to the head of the table.

“This looks absolutely stunning,” she said, italian accent thick.

“Mangiamo,” Hannibal said, putting his hands together. The five of you sat down, Bedelia closest to Maria, beside Hannibal. You sat across from her, Will across from Hannibal. “Thank you for coming tonight Maria. It’s wonderful to have company.”

“I imagine you have plenty of that,” she mused. You breathed heavily through your nose. You made eye contact with Will. You had been having a tough time regardless, you didn’t need someone coming into your home making assumptions of your living situation no matter how unconventional it may be. Will swallowed the bite he was taking and put down his fork.

“What might that mean?” he asked, voice dry.

“Nothing harmful,” Maria assured. Will’s hand wrapped around the steak knife. Her eyes went down and she cut the dish, taking a bite of it.

“It can be odd but I assure you, it’s normal,” Hannibal said easily. You nodded gently. Maria’s eyes remained on Will’s hand that was gripping the steak knife rather hard. You hadn’t even noticed. Maria swallowed hard.

“I wonder,” she said, “what pills you are taking Sofia,” she mused. “You seem quite out of it. Are you alright?” Bedelia’s eyes went wide. She wasn’t touching the food. “You seem to have lost your appetite.”

“My husband's cooking isn’t my favorite,” she said weakly. Will raised his knife and went to throw it. It missed her by mere centimeters. She reached forward, grabbing Bedelia. You all stood up, taking a step back. She had a knife to Bedelia’s throat.

“What is this?” she hissed.

“Maria, this is dinner, nothing more,” Hannibal said. “I’m sorry Angello got a little rash. He’s had an awful couple of weeks.” Maria was shaking, unintentionally drawing blood from Bedelia’s neck.

“Please,” Bedelia whispered. “This is not my family.” But Maria was too scared to care.

“Let me go in peace,” she hissed. Hannibal had a knife in his hand now. You had stepped back to Will who had his hand on your chest to keep you to him. Hannibal raised the knife at lightning speed and threw it.

Thud.

There was a long silence. You were breathing heavily. Hannibal had not a hair displaced but his face was disheveled. Will couldn’t see past your shoulder. You took a step forward and looked down at Maria, a knife in between her eyes.

Bleeding out at her side was Bedelia Du Maurier. Her eyes were glossed over, parts of her neck tendons out in the open. Blood pooled around her head.

===

Freddie nodded, scribbling on her notepad.

“You said Bella? As in pretty?” she questioned.

“Yes. Her name was not Y/N when she was checked in,” the doctor explained. Freddie closed her notepad and gave the doctor a thin lipped smile.

“You’re sure you can’t tell me what happened to her? Like how she was crushed by water?”

“Ma’am I can’t.” She nodded.

“Worth a shot.”

Freddie had checked every single hospital around the house where Francis Dolarhydes body was found. She showed the pictures around every single one and finally got a hit. Took long enough. Now she had to find a Bella in Italy. That wasn’t going to be hard at all.

Her phone rang in her pocket as she walked down the hospital halls. She was the most radiant thing there, her bright red hair juxtaposed with the white walls. She put the phone to her ear.

“Freddie Lounds.”

“Freddie? This is Alana Bloom.” Freddie’s walk slowed to a stop, her chin raised in curiosity.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Alana was silent for a moment. They had never been friends. They had worked together really only once, when they were putting an article out to bait Dolarhyde.

“I understand you’re investigating where Hannibal’s gone.” “You understand correctly. Let me guess, you want to know what I’ve found. Well you can read about that tomorrow on tattlecrime.com.” Alana let out a sigh.

“I know you’re further than Jack is. I’m calling to ask you to keep me in the loop. I want to know the second Hannibal steps foot back in the states again.”

“What makes you think he will?”

“He can’t resist a good revenge story,” Alana said calmly.

“Who’s revenge do you think he’s going to enact?”

“Does it matter?”

===

Jack sat on the plane, scrolling through his iPad. He pursed his lips, shaking his head.

So far, all we know is that Dr Lecter and the rest of the murder throuple has snatched Bedelia Du Maurier, who was Hannibal’s former victim, bride and therapist. I think it’s about time someone other than the incompetant FBI finds out where they’ve run off to.

Freddie Lounds was ever the nuisance in his side. He just had to hope she wasn’t going anywhere near Florence.

“She’s impeding the investigation,” Jack muttered.

“From what I understand, she’s never not impeding an investigation,” Theadore said stiffly. He had Bedelia’s letter in his hands. Her handwriting was messier than usual. It had taken him a painstaking long time trying to find out what it said. But now that he knew, he was glad he had taken the plane ticket to Florence with Hannibal.

“You’re right.” Jack turned off his iPad and turned to Theadore. “Understand anything more?” Theodore shook his head.

“I’ve been reading it over and over again. All she says is that she’s in Florence, that Hannibal has her and she’s tired. In so many words.” Jack took the letter from him.

“Hannibal has me in Florence with his pets.” He squinted. “Please come before I am too tired to hold on,” he read. “She could have elaborated more.”

“I doubt she had much time,” Theadore said. “Do you think we’ll find her?”

“Someone will,” Jack said. “If we don’t find her, we’ll find one of them.”

===

You felt like your hand hadn’t stopped shaking for weeks. There was too much going on in your brain. You had to shake your entire body to let out the emotions that were harboring inside your chest. You stared at yourself in the mirror.

Slowly you reached up and took out your earrings. Will walked in behind you.

“You need to talk to me,” he stated.

“I don’t have to do anything.” You looked at his reflection in the mirror. He had his hands in his pockets, hair perfectly curled. You loved him. You loved being beside him. But that love wasn’t enough to overpower the rest of it. The rest of the emotions.

“You would have told me to talk to you,” he breathed.

“He’s here.”

“Who?”

“Jack Crawford,” you said. You turned around. “I saw it on tattlecrime. He and Bedelia’s cousin are in Florence.” You started to leave the room but Will raised his hand, grabbing your arm.

“Where are you going?”

“To finish what I started.”

“No.”

“You act like we aren’t already evil. What will one more thing do? One more death? Hannibal is going to cook Bedelia for dinner tomorrow. Next week she’ll be gone. Then he can cook Jack Crawford.” Will took a step back, shaking his head.

“I don’t think I know who you are anymore,” he whispered.

You walked out of the room. Hannibal was waiting for you in the dining room.

“You aren’t leaving,” he said. “Not yet.”

“If I eliminate the problem now, we can live in peace. Let me do this.” “I won’t. It isn’t you.”

“Who are you to say?”

“I am the person who made your monster,” Hannibal said evenly. “You won’t leave this home today.” You stared at each other. There seemed to be so many things going on in that room.

“Will you miss her?” you questioned.

“Yes. In my own way. Her death had no beauty.” “Jack’s will.”

You stomped past him into the kitchen. You weren’t leaving tonight. Will looked to Hannibal.

“She’s losing herself,” Will said.

“She lost herself long ago,” Hannibal said. “Though I agree. She could be reckless.”

“I miss her and she isn't even gone.” Hannibal put his hand on Will’s back.

“She’ll come back to us. In her own time, in her own way.”

“You say that like you aren’t planning a backup in case she loses her mind.”

===

Miriam sat at Jack’s desk like he was there. She looked at the cork board of suspects, the papers upon papers of information. She had been sifting through it for what felt like hours. He had left for Florence hours ago but left all of this information.

He had left this for her.

She had to go to Florence. She couldn’t tell him, she could barely tell the FBI. But if she could just get to Hannibal before him...that would be it. That would be enough.

4x04

Tag List: @russian-soft-bitch, @llperfectsymmetryll, @ericacactus, @vlightning95, @lov3vivian

#hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter

97 notes · View notes

shuahoonie · 4 years ago

Text

out of love [tom holland]

PAIRING: tom holland x female!reader

SUMMARY: being close friends with your ex is fine, right? even if your love for them was unparalleled among others. even if you were still in the process of moving on from them. even if you know they’re happy with someone else. even if you have no clue whether they loved you like you loved them.

WARNINGS: foul language, so much angst, it starts ok at first then goes downhill from there. i literally write things on the go so i don’t know if this will have fluff at some point

(if it does and i didn’t state it here, send me a cute photo of tom and a message of: ok wow she pulled thru 🤪; and if it doesn’t have fluff, send me a meme and a message of: miss girl i simply cannot today ✋😃)

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

A/N: hello! tonight, we are going to be sad!!! i know i usually like to write about all things fluff, but this?? this is just for me because i am having one of those episodes. i just need to feel something again aside from the stress of writing 3 academic papers per week lmao. i’m def not expecting people to like this type of vibe but yannoe. i apologize in advance.

this is inspired by that one episode from new girl (season 6 x ep 16)

gif credits: @thollandgifs

vanessa’s masterlist | taglist form | part two - pandemonium

“You know, you can still live with us right?” Your friend Maia commented as she placed the box, labelled “fine china that mom gave me but will i ever use them?”, on the kitchen island.

“I know,” You murmured dropping the heavy case of pots and pans on the floor. “But maybe living alone will be good for me.” You replied, forcing a smile. “Besides, I don’t want to int—“

“Hey, Y/N, where do you want this?” Harrison asked as he held out a box that’s labelled with “books that my grandpa passed on. HANDLE WITH CARE!”

“Oh, just set it down on the living room—“ before you could even finish, Harrison dropped the box on the floor as if it was nothing. “Harrison!” You hissed, as you quickly rushed to check on the box.

“Y/N, babe, they’re just books. Surely they can withstand any amount of pressure, yeah?” Haz tried to reassure you.

“Haz, those books are from my grandpa—which I’m sure he got from his grandpa.” You sighed. “They’re really old and fragile, so I just want them to be in a well enough condition to stand in my bookcase.”

“‘m sorry,” He murmured, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s just, why do you have to move out?” Harrison asked, frustrated at the whole thing.

“Like I told Maia, maybe having my own place will be good for me.” You replied calmly, as you neatly put the box filled with your grandpa’s books in the corner room—the initial place where you want to build your bookcase. “It’s been a while since I’ve lived on my own.”

“Yeah,” Harrison acknowledged “But there’s absolutely no reason for you to move out. You can’t possibly leave me with her!” He pointed at Maia who let out an audible gasp. Harrison was being dramatic of course.

“Haz—“ You were trying to fight off a laugh. “You two are my constants and if I became dependant on having you two at my convenience, it’s going to be a huge problem.”

“In my opinion, I don’t see it as a problem.” Maia pointed out childishly. You shook your head in disbelief. You had to move out because you miss having a place to yourself— a place where you can be at your complete worst and you don’t have to think about your friends worrying about you.

Besides, moving out means you don’t have to see Tom that often and that was a bonus in your book. It wasn’t a sour breakup per se, it’s just really difficult to feel happy for your ex when he practically showcases how different he is now with his girlfriend.

You prided yourself as a mature and well-rounded person who could be complete friends with her ex as if that’s normal. You could only keep the façade for so long.

Four months. It’s been four months since you and Tom broke up. You lived with Maia soon after the breakup and that enough was a blessing. Maia couldn’t bear to handle the fact that you would be alone at a time like this. Harrison usually crashes at Maia’s so he was bound to move in with you two. In fact, he was always there more often than you.

That was the point where you were convinced that Harrison liked Maia and that Maia liked Harrison.

Conveniently, you and Tom never ‘officially’ moved in together so you could avoid him freely at all costs.

Of course, that was eventually going to end soon. You and Tom were in the same friend group so you were bound to see each other, much to your dismay. You couldn’t exactly make Harrison and Maia pick friends because it’s not fair for anyone.

You were all friends before you and Tom decided to date. Maybe that’s why people say to never date a friend—especially if they’re near and dear.

You were coming back from work when you found people in the living room, and as if the universe really wanted to test you, it was the least likely people you’d expect to see.

“Y/N!” Maia’s voice was pure panic. “I didn’t know you’d be home this early.”

Your eyes quickly flickered between the two people standing across you before you diverted your attention to Maia. “Uh—yeah. There wasn’t really much to do in the office so I came home early.”

Maia turned to Harrison who was equally lost on how to handle the situation. I mean, who wouldn’t?! What were you supposed to do when your friend drops in unannounced with their new girlfriend and to makes the matters worse, your other friend—whom your friend dated before— decides to come home early?

You didn’t know how what kind of spirit took over your body that prompted you to extend your hand to the girl sitting beside your ex and say: “Hello, I’m Y/N.”

The girl looked surprised but shook your hand in return. “Nadine,” Nadine smiled slyly “I—um, I’m Tom’s girlfriend.”

Tom looked mildly uncomfortable but you chose to ignore it. You were becoming good at that—ignoring Tom.

You returned the smile at Nadine. You could feel the burning stares from your friends, mostly Maia. You cleared your throat and said, “I’ll just be in my room to finish the papers I need to send to my editor if you’ll excuse me.”

Before you left completely, you gave Nadine another smile and said, “It’s nice to meet you again, Nadine.”

You don’t remember how you got to your room but that was the least of your concern. You were just undeniably overwhelmed with what just happened that you didn’t even notice that there was a knock on your door.

When you opened the door, it was the last person you expected to see standing in your doorframe.

“Can we talk?” Tom asked in almost a whisper.

You gave him a half shrug and opened the door slightly wider for him.

“We’re okay, right?” He asked, looking at you in the eye.

At this point, you convinced yourself that you were numb. You never talked about the breakup. You never overtly said anything about what you felt. You felt empty. You convinced yourself that you were empty.

You stared back at Tom and without missing a beat, you replied “Of course. Why shouldn’t we?”

“Just admit that you two will miss me,” You teased, grabbing another box from Maia.

“Only if you admit that you’re moving out for an entirely different reason,” Maia whispered carefully as her eyes flickered towards Tom who was also helping with your move out.

You pressed your lips together and acted like he wasn’t even there. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said, you know, like a liar.

You weren’t a vocal person. The idea of talking about your feelings was really difficult for you so you try your best to avoid it. Actually, it’s worse than that. You’d go to extreme lengths to avoid confrontation.

Obviously, it wasn’t healthy. You would always distance yourself whenever you feel emotionally exhausted, and you really meant that distance. It wasn’t bad at first—maybe a day or two was all you needed before you felt comfortable enough to be around people again.

Then it became worse when you were in university. You were beyond unreachable. Aside from being emotionally exhausted, you were mentally drained too. You were always buried with papers and readings which was unavoidable but it took a huge toll on you. So whenever you get a chance to get a break, you completely shut off from people.

Your friends definitely noticed it and they tried their best to help.

Tom was among the people who definitely went out of their way to help you. He would always drop by at your dorm with food or coffee—he would literally just drop them off, most of the time. He would leave small notes that up to this day, you still kept and tucked away in a box.

Both Maia and Harrison followed Tom’s approach. They would all alternate on who’s dropping what and when. Some days, Maia would drop off a new skincare product she’s been using or a lovely box of macarons from your favourite patisserie.

On other days, Harrison would drop off some of his home-cooked meals or maybe a book he saw from a local bookstore—a book that reminded him of you.

Tom was very persistent though. He would sometimes wait out on the hall, just so he could see you and reassure himself (and your friends) that you were okay.

You found it taxing at first—you would often try your best to match the energy from your friends, which only left you exhausted at the end of the day. You wanted space and you clearly weren’t getting that from Tom. You did acknowledge that he only did it out of pure concern.

You often wondered why he did that, staying, but you didn’t ask him. You never did.

Maybe you were afraid that you’d come off as rude or that you’d seem ungrateful for dismissing someone when they’ve clearly taken the time off their day just to check on you.

However, every time you’d open that door, it always seemed that Tom would breathe a huge sigh of relief when you lock eyes. Even if it was just for a quick second. You wondered about that too.

Tom wasn’t really being intrusive. Most of the time, he will leave a few minutes after you’d open the door to get the things your friends would drop off. You’d always ask him if he wants to stay inside for a bit, but he’d always decline.

Except for that one time, though. That one time that you knew you were going to fall in love.

It was the week of midterms and deadlines. You were knee-deep with papers from different classes that demanded to be finished that week, one of which was a research paper that practically tied you to your laptop and made you consume an unhealthy amount of caffeine.

It wasn’t until 2 am when you were about to go on a quick drive to a McDonald’s but saw Tom dozed off in the hallway, his back pressed against the wall.

“Tom,” You shook him gently, trying not to startle him. “Tom, wake up.”

His eyes slowly fluttered open, seemingly disoriented at first but would soon fall into the warm familiarity that your face always brings.

“Why are you sleeping in the hall?” You asked quietly, careful not to make a fuss. The walls in your dorm were very thin and you learned that the hard way. You’d think they’d put a disclaimer about that in the lease when you’re housing a bunch of university students with raging sex drives.

It took Tom a minute to fully comprehend the question, seeing that the bright fluorescent light was being harsh on him and that he’s generally like that when being jolted awake.

“Oh, erm, I—” Tom was finding the right words to use. He can’t exactly exclaim ‘I’ve been worried sick about you!’ out of nowhere. Instead he said, “I was waiting for you to open the door, just to see if you’re alright.”

“All night?”

Tom scratched the back of his neck. “It seemed that way, yeah.” He muttered sheepishly.

You were dumbfounded. Surely this was the first time someone actually fell asleep outside your door, waiting for you to come out. It was sweet but highly unnecessary.

“I was just about to head out and get some McDonald’s, do you wanna come with?” You asked, giving him a hand to hoist himself up.

“I should get going—“

“Have you eaten yet?” You asked cutting him off, taking Tom by surprise. He shook his head no. “Then you should really come.” You said, jingling your car keys in front of him.

Tom was debating whether or not to go with you. It’s been a while since you hung out, but that was the same case for everyone. None of your friends have properly hung out with you ever since the semester started.

Tom should say yes, right?

“Let’s go, Tommy,” You said as you grabbed his hand and dragged him across the hall. “I’ve been staring at my laptop all day and I really need some unhealthy food to balance out the concerning amount of caffeine I’ve consumed.”

“Is that why you’re practically bouncing off the walls?” Tom asked amused, trying to keep up with your pace with your hand holding his.

“Totally,” You grinned at him. “I need to wear out the caffeine or else, I’d have to skip my morning class again.”

“French?”

You nodded. “They’re counting the amount of absences in that class and I really need to keep my shit together.”

“‘m not exactly sure why you took that as an elective,” Tom commented, properly wrapping his hand around yours with fingers interlacing each other.

You tried to ignore it, you really did, but the warm feeling that settled around your stomach drove you crazy.

“Why not? I think it’s cool to learn another language.” You nudged him playfully which he gladly returned.

“I know and trust me, I’m in awe that you’re learning another language! erm—I guess it’s just I feel like you’re overworking yourself too much.” Tom pointed out softly, hoping he didn’t come off as rude or intrusive.

“Eh, I don’t mind.” You replied “It’s what drives me to keep going and for me that’s more than enough. Even if it leaves me little to no sleep, even if it takes too much of my time—it’s enough reason for me to do it.”

Tom stared at you in admiration as soon as those words slipped out your mouth and you didn’t even notice it. You were walking towards the student parking lot, consumed by the twinkling lights from the neighbouring lanes near campus.

Maybe if you weren’t busy consuming the quiet campus grounds, you’d notice the very first time Tom fell in love with you.

“Besides, I know a phrase in french now.”

“Hm—and what’s that, then?”

“Je ne suis pas l’escargot”

“L’escargot? Isn’t that—“

“I am not a snail,” You giggled. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Tom laughed, “I supposed so.”

Maybe if you weren’t so afraid of confrontation, you’d have an idea of when Tom knew that you were his person.

See, the thing is— you needed to face reality sooner or later and both your friends could see right through it.

“Honestly, Y/N, how on earth can your box of art materials be this heavy—” Tom appeared in front of the door frame, heaving as he carried the box from two flights of stairs.

You quickly averted your gaze from Maia, who was staring at you expectantly, and cleared your throat. “You can just set them by the door, Tom. I don’t know where to put them yet.” You said as you tried your best to act normal.

“You sure? They’re a tad heavy and I don’t want you to strain yourself.” Tom asked with furrowed brows.

All you could do was nod. The last thing you wanted was Tom’s focused attention on you.

“If you say so,” Tom sighed in defeat “I’m going to grab more boxes—Baby, you don’t have to carry that!” Tom was quick to disappear as he urgently dashed towards his girlfriend, Nadine.

“Oh, but I want to help, Tommy.” You heard Nadine say sweetly, assuming she was also pouting.

You could see Maia roll her eyes, urging you to give her a nudge and a taunting look. “Maia,” you called her out, silently pleading her to stop.

Maia settled down but she wasn’t exactly calm about it either. “I’m still not sure why she’s here.” She murmured. You and Harrison were close enough that you can hear her rambles—which was expected from her anyway.

Maia and Nadine go way back—like toddlers and playgrounds kind of way. Though that sounds figuratively adorable in a way, Maia and Nadine never got along.

Nadine used to date Maia’s brother, which already caused Maia a great demise. As one could expect, the relationship didn’t end well. She left him out of nowhere, saying she needs to find herself—or something along those lines.

A week after the breakup, what Nadine found was herself in the arms of another man. Of course, Maia’s brother was devastated—He truly loved Nadine. Maia had to be the pillar that her brother leaned on. It took Maia a great amount of time to help her brother pick up the pieces that Nadine left.

So yeah—Maia wasn’t thrilled when she heard that Tom was Nadine’s new boyfriend.

“She offered to help, Mai,” You whispered “Who am I to deny help?”

Maia looked at you as if you managed to empty your head while you were moving in between flats. “She’s been after me ever since we were kids. She’s also the reason why it took my brother months to get out of bed,” Maia deadpanned “and She’s Tom’s new girlfriend. Remember Tom? Your ex?” She said rather loudly.

You gave her a tiny pinch on her arm, causing her to yelp. “Maia, are you nuts?!”

Harrison left the two of you so he could grab more boxes, while you and Maia bickered silently amongst each other.

“You are thicker than I thought—Seriously, Y/N. Quit pinching me!” Maia aggressively rubbed her arm.

“They’re going to hear you!” You hissed. “The last thing I want is for those two to get involved.”

“Babe, they’re already involved. Tom, especially.” Maia remarked. “I see the way you look at Tom. I also see the pain you feel whenever he’s with she who must not be named.”

“I’m not doing this Maia,” you mumbled as you walked past her. Your objective was now to help Harrison with the remaining boxes. Your objective was anything but to talk about you and Tom.

“You have to face it sooner or later, Y/N.” Maia called out “I’m not leaving you or this apartment until you tell me what really happened.”

“What’s going on?” Harrison asked as he entered the apartment, carrying three sets of boxes. You grabbed one from him and actively avoided his question.

Before Maia could reply, Tom and Nadine appeared on the doorframe, with Nadine practically glued to Tom.

“Harrison got the last remaining boxes so we’re heading off now,” Tom announced as Nadine’s face painted with clear desperation to get out of your place. “Are we still going bowling tonight?” Tom asked before Nadine whispered something in Tom’s ear and left.

“I’m actually exhausted so I’ll pass,” You answered, obviously avoiding spending time with your ex and his current girlfriend. You’re not that pathetic.

“Same might actually have to just drink the night away,” Maia responded with a grin.

“Well, there’s no way I’m third-wheeling so I’m good,” Harrison said as he threw himself towards the plush teal couch that you snagged from a flea market.

For the tiniest second, Tom seemed disappointed but gave a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, maybe we can reschedule our bowling night, then?” He asked. “It’s not as fun to go bowling with just the two people.”

You, Harrison, and Maia all shared a look. You weren’t on board with bowling-night, to begin with, but you didn’t want Tom to feel as if you were avoiding him—which you were but no one needs to know that.

Maia looked at you, waiting for an answer because god knows she will solely depend on her decision based on yours. You don’t even have an answer, to begin with.

“What are you two supposed to do then?” Harrison asked Tom. Thank god for Harrison.

“I might take Nadine to this poetry jam event that she’s been dying to go to” Tom replied with a soft voice.

“A poetry night?” Maia almost wanted to laugh “You don’t even have the slightest interest in literature, Tom.” Maia didn’t mean to offend him or maybe she did? She wasn’t completely fond of Tom ever since you and Tom broke up—well, she wasn’t fond of the idea that Tom was dating her ‘arch nemesis’, but Tom was her friend and so were you.

“I know that, Mai.” Tom rolled his eyes “but Nadine likes it and I’ll do everything to make her happy.” That left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“If you say so,” Maia murmured before she took a quick look at you. She looked like she wants to give you the biggest hug. But you held a stoic look on your face—something that you picked up because you were afraid of confrontation.

“I’m serious,” Tom defended, lost in his feelings, which only irked Maia even more.

“I know, I heard you— we heard you,” Maia replied, her face showing only one emotion: annoyed. “God, read the room,” Maia grumbled to herself. Harrison had to reach for her hand, urging her to calm down.

“I really love her,” Tom whispered. That left a slap in the face.

It was a cold Saturday afternoon and it has been raining almost all day. It was one of the rare weekends that you weren’t really occupied to do anything other than to lay on your couch and consume a copious amount of entertainment.

Despite the spitting rain, you actually want to head out this time. Being confined to your desk and the university was torture especially since you couldn’t do anything about it—the four of you were graduating this year, no one could afford to slack off.

You and Tom were cuddled against the sofa— Tom was busy watching something on TV while you were busy scrolling on your phone.

“Hey, Tom?”

“Yes, my sweet girl?”

“Do you want to go downtown?” You asked, looking at your phone as you read the details of an event happening this weekend.

“Right now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “There’s a book fair being held at the local theatre.” You rested your chin on top of his chest and gave him a pout. You were getting sick of being cooped up between your study table and the library. This book fair was a change of scenery and it’s definitely right up your alley.

“But it’s raining, darling” Tom tried to say in the softest way possible. It’s not exactly up in Tom’s interests though.

“I know,” You sighed “I guess I’m just getting sick of this place.”

“You’re getting sick of me?” Tom asked with a huge pout. He was kidding of course.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of you, Tom.” You chuckled softly.

“Okay,” He hummed, pulling you closer to him—if that was even possible. “Then can we stay like this for a while?”

“Anything for you, angel.” You whispered as you closed the details about the local book fair. Maybe next time.

Soon after Tom left, Maia pulled you to her side and asked, “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You feigned innocence. It was clear as day that you weren’t okay, your friends knew that.

Knowing that you weren’t going to budge, Maia walked towards the kitchen and brought out a bottle of wine from the fridge.

Harrison raised an eyebrow at her and asked, “When did you manage to put that in the fridge?” All of you had been occupied with grabbing boxes that there was no way that Maia had the time to put wine in the fridge, let alone obtain them from somewhere.

“It was supposed to be a celebratory drink for Y/N’s new place,” Maia replied as she set the wine and three various mugs on the coffee table. “Obviously, that’s not happening now.” Drinking wine using the oddly designed mugs you collected over the years was a cry for help.

“It’s 4 pm, Mai.” You pointed out as you stared at the white LED clock that you bought off Amazon—another impulse purchase enabled from scrolling on Pinterest for way too long. “We haven’t even had lunch yet.”

“Oh please,” Maia snorted “If there’s one thing that I’ve picked up from university, it’s drinking with little to no food consumption.”

“And if there’s one thing that I’ve picked up from university, it’s cancelling all of my plans for the entire day because I have to tend your hungover-self, Mai,” Harrison remarked as he grabbed the bottle and placed it back on the fridge. “I’m ordering food and no one’s drinking until everyone has finished a meal.”

You heard Maia mutter a string of curses but most especially the part that she said, “This is not the version of daddy that I envisioned Harrison to be.”

All of a sudden Maia’s idea of binge drinking doesn’t seem like a bad idea, you thought.

Turns out Harrison had no intention of letting any of you drink. He was pretty adamant about not having to babysit two drunk messes in one night.

“As if babysitting one isn’t enough,” You recalled Harrison say. He was obviously pertaining to Maia, in which she just huffed the entire time. You often wondered if Maia and Harrison noticed the obvious tension between them, because personally you found it endearing. It was no question that they were meant for each other.

“Y/N, you still haven’t told us whatever happened between you and Tom.” Maia suddenly pointed out. You, Maia, and Harrison were still in the living room, silently watching TV.

You were actively avoiding this conversation for the longest time as you haven’t told anyone about it, and based by the curious faces of your friends, you figured that Tom didn’t tell anyone about it either. You’re still not sure whether that’s a relief or not.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You mumbled. It’s not like you were lying, there really was barely anything to talk about. Heck—You and Tom never got to talk about it properly either.

“We see the way you look at him, Y/N.” Harrison replied softly. “I think there is something.”

“Look—” Maia sat up properly “I know you’re not really vocal about your feelings, but the fact that you’ve never talked nor showed any emotion about your breakup terrifies me, babe.” Maia’s tone was laced with concern.

“I remember the day you told us about it too,” Harrison couldn’t hide his concern too “We were having brunch together at our usual diner and half-way through our meal, you promptly said “We broke up” when Maia asked where Tom was,” Harrison recalled it like it was a fever dream. He and Maia had already expected that you weren’t going to tell them about the breakup when it just happened. However, it baffles them that it’s been over a year since you and Tom broke up, and not one word has been said about it.

It was silent for a while, except for Criminal Minds that was playing on the TV. You blankly stared at the screen, hoping that you’d catch whatever the agents were saying. It was impossible, especially when all your mind could focus on was the recollection of the day Tom knocked on your door at 1 am to breakup.

You were relatively busy that day from volunteer work, so you haven’t seen any of your friends the entire day—or Tom for that matter. Actually, you haven’t seen Tom in a few days. He would send texts periodically throughout the day but they were always short and most of the time, you always forget to reply.

You figured Tom was busy with his own thing and both of you established early on in your relationship that texting—or lack thereof— shouldn’t account to your relationship, especially since both of you are equally bad at it.

You didn’t think any of it since you were bound to see your boyfriend and your friends tomorrow for brunch anyway. He will have your undivided attention by then.

So imagine your surprise when you heard a soft knock from your door at 1 am, only to find Tom in disarray. His eyes were bloodshot red, tears falling down his face. His messy curls were masked under the hood from his jumper.

At first you were in panic, you thought that something terrible had happened to any of your friends—his family even.

But as soon as Tom dropped to his knees and whispered, “I’m sorry,” you had a clear idea what was bound to happen next.

It’s been silent for a while. The door was still open and Tom sat out in the hall with his back leaning against your wall. You did the same thing except you were on the other side of the wall that Tom was leaning on.

You two were close enough to the door frame that you could hear each other, actually facing each other was a whole other thing. Tears kept streaming down your face as you kept your eyes closed and rested your head against the wall.

At some point in your relationship, you prepared yourself in case this happened— that you would accept whatever happens between you and Tom. You didn’t exactly anticipate that it would happen so soon.

“Was there someone else?” You asked quietly. It was the first time you spoke after Tom dropped to his knees. You hoped there wasn’t. In fact, you silently begged to yourself that there wasn’t someone else, because you knew that you couldn’t handle that.

“No, no—of course not.” Tom immediately answers.”I could never do that to you.”

It was silent again. You were starting to feel numb—you tried your best to gather your thoughts and forced words out of your mouth, but you couldn’t.

“Are we not worth fighting anymore?” You practically whispered. It was a gamble— you weren’t exactly sure if Tom had heard it and you don’t have enough strength to ask it again.

“Y/N,” Tom sniffled. “You can’t say that.” He placed his hand on top of yours. You had your hand resting on the floor and you didn’t exactly notice that it served as an invitation for Tom hold it again.

You love Tom with all your heart. He kept dismissing it but Tom made you a better person. He made you feel like love can be expressed through different forms of things—not just words.

You loved him by exclusively making time for him. You went on museum dates where he would make cheesy remarks, saying that you’re the most remarkable piece of art in the entire place. You went on dates to watch football games—you never understood it but Tom was happy, so you were happy.

You loved him through your touch. You would often massage his back because he had been tirelessly working himself to the core. He didn’t ask for it but you knew it would make him feel better. Your touch didn’t have to be intimate—though you expressed it through that way too

You loved him through mindless actions. Almost every time you would stop by at the local cafe to grab yourself some coffee, you would always recite Tom’s favourite order on autopilot.

You loved him through silence. Study dates were gems for you. Even if you didn’t talk for the entirety of it and even if you were the only one who studied for the most part and Tom was just playing on his phone, having Tom beside you was enough.

You loved him so much that it pains you to think that maybe you weren’t enough for him.

“I don’t think I can fight for someone who doesn’t even want to,” You muttered bitterly. “Just answer the question, Tom.”

He didn’t answer. All you could hear were the silent sobs that you two were trying to hold back. At this point, you knew you wouldn’t look at Tom. Your heart wouldn’t take it—it will crush you.

“Are you not happy anymore?” Your voice cracked as you broke into a sob.

“Y/N—“ Tom squeezed your hand even more. You’re going to miss it, but you had to let go.

“Tom, if I’m standing in the way of your happiness then we should end this.” You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away. There’s a ghostly feeling that still lingered from Tom’s touch.

“Please, Y/N, let me explain—“

“It’s okay, Tom.” You whispered. “I understand.”

“You know I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Tom.”

“But—“

“But maybe it’s best if we end it, I know. I got it.” You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down from crying. “Maybe it’s better if we stayed as friends.” Maybe it’s better to realize that whatever you and Tom had were too good to be true—that your love will never compare to the love he deserves.

“Do you want the truth?” You asked your friends, with tears forming in your eyes. You can’t even decipher how they looked at you because of the tears clouding your vision.

Were they looking at you in pity? Empathy? Sadness?

“The truth is—I’m mad.” You gritted the words through your teeth. This was the first time your friends had seen you like this. All of the pent-up sadness, aggression, and hurt you felt was starting to get the best of you.

“I’m angry. I’m hurt.” You snarled, furiously wiping the tears from your face. “I’m angry at the fact that I can’t seem to be genuinely happy for Tom. I’m hurt at the idea he seems to be a better boyfriend for Nadine, that he constantly makes an effort for her.”

“I don’t even know if he even loved me the way that I loved him,” Your voice became quiet “and it’s selfish for me to think that way because I never fought for it—for us. That’s enough reason to keep me up at night.”

That’s enough reason for you to wonder if you’ll be capable of loving someone so deeply again.

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@quaksonhehe @dark-infernal-instruments @trustfundparker @emsma11 @tomshufflepuff @spider-babe @goodgirlgonetom @tabi-toast

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland angst #tom holland x you #tom holland x fem #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland fic #tom holland blurb #tom holland and reader #tom holland and you #tom holland imagines #tom holland x y/n #tom holland au #tom holland and y/n #the girl writes i guess #txmhoellandwrites

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javier-pena · 4 years ago

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

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The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

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