#POV: You’re An Inkling

[cherryistired]

An attack for @martyr-dot-jpg !

[joelsdagger]

all the things i would do || one shot

masterlist | ao3 | resources on how to help Palestine here <3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: porn no plot. joel finds an article of clothing that belongs to you and there’s nothing holding him back once he gets his hands on them. 

rating: explicit, 18+ MDNI 

content warnings: [Post Outbreak], jackson era, established relationship, implied age gap (25+ years), joel is canon age, slightly domestic joel (blink and it’s gone), joel has a panty kink, panty sniffing, masturbation (m), soft dom!joel, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, pet names (use of baby, sweet baby, sweetheart, love), smidgen of fluff (these two are so in love it’s sickening), an inkling of a size kink (but in my head joel’s at least 6’5, he’s a BIG big man in my brain), joel’s filthy mouth, praise kink, hint of sub!joel, nipple play, one use of the word ‘Daddy’ (moots don’t look at me I couldn’t help it), slight tummy kink/tummy worship, cum eating. Joel’s POV. No use of Y/N. No physical descriptions of reader other than having hair long enough that it’s past her shoulders. 

word count: 3.1k

a/n: so, a few things before we get started. i’m new to writing fics and this is my first time publicly putting out a fic that wasn’t just for shits and giggles for my friends and i and i’m so fucking nervous like the amount of times i’ve panicked over this is a little embarrassing to admit but we ball. shout out to @skrunkly-scrimblo for encouraging me to actually write this all those months ago and for all your brilliant ideas and encouragement and practically holding my hand through it since day one. another big thank you to kat, aura, and naya for beta reading and helping me during the editing process. okay i’m done rambling, enjoy some of the filth that constantly plagues my brain <3 

Joel’s eyes blink open slowly, the sun peeks into the bedroom through the curtains across the room. For a moment he searches for you beside him, but remembers you’ve already left for the day out on patrol duty. Joel harrumphs, still bothered over letting you and Ellie bully him out of his patrol duties. “You’ve been hurting yourself too much baby,” You had told him a few weeks ago over breakfast. “Yeah, you’re an old man now. You fall over one more time and you’re done.” Ellie snickers from her seat in the kitchen. Joel just rolled his eyes before turning his attention back to the dishes, but you had caught the small grin on his face when he turned his head back to the sink. Against the two of you, Joel never stood a chance.

Joel drags himself out of bed towards his dresser to grab a new set of clothes. He throws on a blue shirt that fits a little snug on his well built form, the thin material stretches over his broad shoulders, across his strong back, and pulls taut over his biceps and he grunts as he pulls a pair of dark wash jeans over his strong, thick thighs, securing them in place with a distressed leather belt that he’s had for years. Once he’s dressed, he takes in the mess in the room. He notices both of your clothes from the night before are still scattered around the room.  He bends down to pick them up, he grunts as his knees pop when he stands back up. He starts gathering them up to toss them into the hamper already overflowing with clothes. The last article of clothing out of place is yours. Your black lace panties on the armchair in the corner. He grabs them and his eyes widen when he feels it, the center still wet from him making you come earlier. His cock instantly hardened in his jeans.  

Joel turns on his heel and in just a few long strides he’s in your shared bathroom. He deliberately avoids the mirror, knowing that if he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror he’ll disgust himself even more. Briskly, he sets the laundry hamper on the tile near the bathtub. Joel brings the thin black lace up to his face, closes his eyes and he sniffs them, breathing you in completely. He groans at the scent of you. His cock painfully hard now. He knows he shouldn't but he can't help it. He’s addicted to you and he knows he can’t wait til you get home. He knows he can’t wait to have his way with you, dig into you any way that you will let him. So, without another second of hesitation, Joel unbuckles his belt, a clink from the metal hitting the edge of the counter, unzips his jeans and takes his thick, heavy cock out, and then brings your soaked panties to his angry, leaking tip. His precum meets the wetness of your panties and he hisses at the feeling. With the wetness of the gusset of your panties acting as a lubricant, Joel begins to slowly stroke himself, wanting to take his time, savoring every feeling, relishing in it. Joel soon becomes too desperate for release, he quickly loses control, his hips moving faster to fuck his hand, his hand tightening around his cock, the grip almost painful now. His eyes are screwed shut, as he throws his head back, the night before instantly replaying in his head.

He had just gotten out of the shower to find you sprawled out on your stomach on your side of the bed, ankles crossed in the air. He rakes his eyes over your form until his eyes land on your ass. You were wearing the panties he was currently fucking his hand with. You didn’t notice him stepping out of the bathroom, too busy looking at the photo album you had just put together. It’s relatively new, most of the pages empty, yet you were looking at the photos you had taken earlier that week at the Tipsy Bison. The one that had your attention was a photo of you and Joel that Ellie had taken. Neither of you looked at the camera, the photo had captured you mid-laugh, head tilting back, eyes shut, it was a full belly laugh at something Joel had said. Joel’s arm was around your shoulder tucking you into his side, smiling down at you, a rare type of smile, one reserved only for you. 

Leaning on the entryway, his arms crossed over his broad, tanned chest, he smiles at the view. You’re in nothing but your panties in his bed, in his home. His feet move without thinking, walking over to you. He brushes your hair over your shoulder, tracing his fingers over your soft supple skin down your back and over the lace of your panties, and lightly pinches your ass. “So pretty sweet baby,” he says shyly, almost like he’s speaking to himself. You turn your head to look up at him, smiling. Wordlessly, he took the photo album from your hands, placing it on your nightstand. He gets in the bed, carefully sitting on his knees while attempting to avoid loosening the off-white towel around his waist. You roll onto your back to face him, his silver curls still damp from the shower as water still drips onto his strong shoulders. He combs his hair back after a shower and the ends tend to curl up around his ears. It’s been months since you last cut his hair but you like his hair longer, you had whispered to him in the darkness of your bedroom, your naked, sweaty limbs tangled up together between his sheets. From that night on he hasn’t asked you to cut it for him. He likes it because you like it. 

While you’re busy ogling him, Joel’s hands immediately reach to trace the floral lace pattern before toying with the little satin black bow at the center front. His rough, calloused hands slide up your bare thighs, wrapping his large hands around your thighs and he pries open your legs, his hazel eyes locked in on your center like a bullseye and you notice the cocky smirk he’s got plastered on his face, pleased with himself that he’s already got you wet for him. 

He brings two thick fingers to slide over your covered cunt. He feels the wetness on the material and he pulls back to look up at you and finds your attention on his fingers. “What a mess you made, pretty girl,” he murmurs. You’re watching the movement of his fingers, entranced by his fingers teasing your pussy as he glides them up and down your slit. He clicks his tongue at you, “so wet for me huh baby? Always so wet for me. So perfect,” he smirks to himself as he gently pulls your panties to the side, revealing your aching, needy cunt. He lowers his head placing gentle kisses on the soft skin of your inner thigh, his lips tracing and peppering your skin all the way towards your center, his mouth hovering over the place you need him most and you shiver beneath him. 

“Joel,” you whisper, he chuckles seeing you all worked up for him. “Baby please,” you whimper. 

“What is it baby?” he tuts, “use your words, sweet girl,” he tilts his head slightly with a smug grin on his face. His fingers move up and down your folds. 

“N-need them inside me, p-please,” you whimper as you claw at his forearms, clutching them for stability. 

“Alright baby, lemme taste her first,” He lays flat on his stomach, moves his arms under your legs, and hoists them up over his broad shoulders. He lowers his mouth onto your cunt and the tip of his tongue licks through your folds. He hums at the sweet taste of you on his tongue. He flattens his tongue and licks a long thick stripe and he groans lowly, the vibrations making you squirm under him. 

“Fuck, more baby,” you beg. You gasp at the hook of his nose bumping your clit. Your hands fly to his hair, eyes closing swiftly, brows furrowed as you let out a loud moan. 

“There she is,” he smirks. He flicks his tongue over your clit. His eyes slip closed as he relishes in the noises leaving your mouth, like music to his ears. Your hips buck up into his face, selfishly grinding your cunt for more. Joel’s eyes flicker back up your face, “eyes on me sweetheart,” he murmurs. Your eyes snap open to watch him as he brings his fingers back up to your cunt, two thick fingers dip into you and you can hear the wet squelch as he eases his fingers in, simultaneously, he circles his tongue around your clit. He pumps his fingers slowly in and out of you, his tongue lapping at your cunt. You feel the pressure building up more intensely inside of your belly and then you’re chanting his name as he curls his fingers inside you, petting at the spongy spot he knows will break you. He closes his mouth around your clit and he sucks hard. 

“Fuck, Joel, yes yes,” Your hips bucking up into his face, your legs start to shake as you come on his face and your cunt tightening around his fingers, a loud strangled moan filling the air. 

“That’s my girl,” he says as he watches you gasp above him, pressing a quick kiss to your clit. Your eyes flutter open just in time to see him removing his fingers, all wet and shiny, and putting them in his slick covered mouth, sucking them clean. 

Softly, he grabs your ankles, pulling you down towards the edge of the bed eliciting a giggle. His favorite sound…well one of his favorites. His favorite being the next sound that comes out of your mouth when he quickly pulls your panties down. He sees the wet shine of your cum in the center and his face lights up with glee. “You made such a mess ‘a your panties, baby,” he tuts before tossing them across the room. He unties the towel from his waist and lets it fall and it pools around his legs, revealing his thick, heavy cock, the tip angry and beads of precum seeping out of the slit. You place your hands around your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, presenting your already spent pussy to him once again and he groans roughly.

He leans forward, his fingers running through your folds once more, and you quiver at his touch. He gathers your cum on his fingers and strokes himself twice before he dips the wide tip of his cock inside of you. A whine leaves your lips. That. That was his favorite sound. He doesn’t push in further… he doesn’t move an inch. He’s teasing you…wants you to ask nicely for it. Like clockwork his voice laced with honey he says “Ask for it baby, ask for my cock.” 

Desperate, you whine again “please joel… I need your cock.” Your needy fingers trail lightly over his soft belly, sitting up slightly, you place soft kisses from his belly button down to the dark patch of hair above his cock, his body trembles at the feeling of your lips ghosting over his belly and a breathy moan escapes his lips. He laces his fingers with yours, bringing your hands near your head, his large form encompassing your smaller frame, he lowers himself down over you, his lips brushing against yours. “Baby, please. Please fuck my pussy” you mewl. He pushes his cock deeper, deeper, and deeper til the head of his cock kisses your cervix, provoking a loud groan from him against your ear as he nestles himself into you, where he belongs. 

“See baby all you had to do was ask politely” Joel cooes. He drags his hips back, leaving only his tip inside you once again and you clench around him. “Fuck, goddamn you’re fucking tight,” he grits. Slowly he starts thrusting his tip in and out. 

You whine again, “Baby don’t be mean. I want all of it.” 

“Shh..I know baby, I know,” he soothes. Then in one long single thrust, he wedges his cock back inside of you to the hilt, bottoming out into your cunt, hitting the spot that only he knows with a loud ragged groan into the crook of your neck. His cock is stretching you out, feeling every twitch, he’s everywhere and it’s overwhelming. He hitches your legs up towards your chest, opening you up more, your chest pressed tightly against his, he drags the weight of his cock languidly between your slick, moaning at the wet sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room. 

When you look up at him it’s like you can see a lightbulb go off in his head and before you know it, Joel’s large hands grab the swell of your ass, he picks you up, and repositions you both so he’s on his back and has you sitting on his thick cock. He wants you to ride him. In this position you can feel him in the deepest parts of your belly and it hurts just a little bit but you find pleasure in it, you always have.  

Leaning forward, you place your hands on the headboard and arching your back a bit more, Joel's head falls back down onto the pillows. At the sudden change of the angle, his eyes shut for just a second before he’s snapping them right back open. He doesn’t want to miss a single thing. He wants to see it all.  He watches how your breasts bounce as you move and quickly, he leans up to catch a nipple in his mouth. He’s licking and sucking all over your pebbled nipple and then his teeth graze along the hardened peak before swiftly pulling it between his teeth. He moves onto the other and he flicks his tongue over your nipple, he sucks and nips at it lightly before he lets your tit fall from his mouth, admiring the slight bounce of your breast before his eyes lock in on your face, watching your face contort and your mouth open while you seek your high. It's his favorite thing, watching you like this. 

“Jesus Christ, look at you, you’re takin’ me so well,” he groans. 

The grip of his hands on your hips tightens but doesn’t guide you, just seeks some ounce of control. You lean forward more so your clit brushes ever so slightly against the dark patch of curls at his base. The friction makes you approach your orgasm quickly. Joel’s eyes flicker down to where you two are connected, taking pleasure in seeing his cock splitting you open, watching as it disappears deep inside of you. 

“That’s it, baby. Fuck….use me. Fuck yourself on daddy’s cock, atta girl,” You roll your hips faster, grinding harder on his cock, greedy and desperate to come again. “C’mon baby, come all over my cock.” 

His words and your clit repeatedly pressing against him make your hips stutter and you clench around him as your orgasm finally washes over you, harder than before. Your body goes limp on his chest. Joel doesn’t let up, he grabs your thighs and lifts his hips, relentlessly fucking his cock up into you. His cock slams into you so hard the wet slapping sound of your bodies fills the room. 

You turn your head and press your lips to his ear, nipping at his earlobe, you spur him on “c’mon Joel, come for me baby,” you softly rasp. “C’mon baby, for me, do it for me love,” you whisper and he whimpers, his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic. You bite down on his shoulder to muffle the whines that leave your mouth as he fucks into you harder, your walls tighten around him, his cock twitches inside you before he hastily pulls out with a long pained groan and with his cock between your bodies, his cum spurts out, thick and warm, coating his stomach. A moment passes and you lower your lips down his chest, feeling the rough edges of his skin underneath your lips as you pepper open mouthed kisses along his strong torso, the soft skin of his belly, over the jagged scar on his lower abdomen, all the way down his happy trail, you feel him shiver beneath you. 

You sit up on his thighs, locking your eyes with his, you bring your fingers down to his cum on his stomach. You look back up at him, your gaze meeting his as you swirl your fingers twice in his spend and bring your shiny, sticky coated fingers up to your mouth, closing your lips around your fingers, sucking them clean. His mouth agape, he’s staring back at you while you use your fingers to lick up his cum, “dirty girl, one’a these days you’re gonna gimme a heart attack woman,” he groans. 

The memory of it all…you riding him, your naked breasts bouncing, his cock impaling you, watching it disappear inside you over and over, your cunt clamping down around his cock and the echo of your moans as you came last night playing in his head sends him hurtling over the edge.

His cock twitches in his hand, his other hand slamming down on the counter, he groans your name raggedly and his thighs quiver as he comes hard into his fist, harder than he ever has when jerking himself off. He pumps his release into your panties, hot, thick ropes of his cum painting the gusset. His cum spurting out seemingly endless for a man his age. 

If you were here in front of him he would pull the fabric up over your thighs, making you wear your cum filled panties before going about the rest of your day.

But you’re not here so instead he brings the cum soaked panties up to his face, eyeing his spend and your wetness for a moment. He stops himself and contemplates the idea in his head as he eyes the glistening sheen over the center. Just as quickly as the thought infiltrated his head, he decides against it and bunches up the thin material and tosses them in the old laundry basket sat in the corner of your shared bathroom. Joel tucks himself back into his jeans, washes his hands, limping slightly as he walks out of your bedroom and closes the door behind him leaving your laundry for another day.

[jaqofalltrades]

Barracks Bunny

COLLAB WITH @ace-of-spadez GO FOLLOW!!!

POV: You're a barracks bunny and didn't think the Colonel knew.

König x bb!reader

CW: (Part 1) Age difference (König early 40's, reader mid 20's), sparring ig. (Part 2) Size difference, size kink, authority kink, breath play, overstimulation, choking, over-the-desk, public but also not public, multiple rounds, hair pulling, fingering, cunnilingus, headboard banging, creampie, biting, marking, etc.

______________________________________________________________

You were going on the third week in your new base. Kortac. It was mid afternoon and you were making your rounds. Your evenly paced steps created tiny clicks on the hard floor, ringing out in the relative silence. A shout could be heard every once in a while from every other training room, usually someone being berated and called a maggot. This place was no boot camp, but they strictly kept up with training to whip everyone into shape. You yourself could’ve used the extra cardio, but instead you’re on your way to put bullets in walls.

You turned a sharp corner and took only a few steps, your eyes rested on the shadow of a lonely recruit sitting solemnly by himself, with only the open broom closet across the hall to illuminate his face.. You made an abrupt stop and tilted your head slightly. Your voice cut sharply into the stale air, “Soldier, is there a reason you aren't at your station right now?” 

The man’s head abruptly shoots up in your direction, eyeing you incredulously as he rises to his feet quickly straightening his posture. “What’s it to ya?” The corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. The soldier takes a few steps closer coming into the light of the main room, showing a rather rugged man but also well-kept. 

“Sarg was taking roll and sent me to seek out the stragglers.” You gave him a knowing look, already aware of the soldiers that were missing in training. You stood up straight and took a step back as the lone soldier finally entered the hall and stood over you with a strange glint in his eyes. You knew that look all too well, he wanted something. Although that ‘something’ was not clear, you had an inkling of what it was. As soon as that feeling appeared, it disappeared just as quick.

“How can you be certain that my name is on that list? I could outrank you for all your knowledge.” He grinned slyly as he folded his arms across his chest. 

“Your name soldier.” You stood your ground as you looked at him, unmoving. As your conversation goes on, you’re both unaware of the new looming presence a few feet down the hall behind a cracked door.

He gave you a quick glance up and down, already aware of your position as a barracks bunny. One of his fellow companions had leaked that little detail the other night at meal time. “The name’s Marshall Matthers. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His voiced dripped sensually. “Although I may know you more than you think.” Matthers unfolded his gear clad arms and shrugged with a smile.

You shifted your weight onto one foot and crossed your arms, lifting a brow in question. You should be telling him to get back to training, as informed to do. “And what, Private Matthers, do you mean by that?” Taking a firm step forwards looking at him quizzically. A small squeak of a door could be heard by someone that was paying attention. 

“It could mean whatever you want honey.” Matthers responded. You could tell what he was hinting at, his tone being more obvious than storm clouds in the sky. 

A hint of a smirk crossed your lips as he spoke. You cocked an eyebrow up at him and you gathered your composure to stop yourself from telling him off. You go to speak when you notice the man’s face in front of you drain of any and all color. His eyes go wide and he immediately looks back to you, apologizes and practically sprints down the hall to his designated training room, suddenly more interested in being berated than teasing you more. Your brows furl in confusion, mouth frozen in position as the words died on your tongue. 

A looming presence behind you sends chills up your spine and anxiety coursing through your veins. You take a step forward and slowly turn around, seeing a building of a man staring you down. Is this the nearly seven foot giant that has been whispered about around the base? Theres a lump in your throat as you try to swallow, mouth unbearably dry. You straighten your posture to the best of your abilities, putting a stern look on your face attempting to hide your uncertainty and uneven breath.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you, unsure of what to say. You notice the man looking you up and down, almost sizing you up rather than checking you out. Clearing your throat with a quick, “ahem,” the mountains eyes snap to your face. “And your name soldier?” You try to hide the small waver in your voice, if it had been anyone else you’d think it would go unnoticed, but the man noticed immediately. His eyes crinkle lightly, as if he were smirking under the veil of a t-shirt with two eye holes cut into it. 

“Colonel König, ma’am. And you?” he spoke lowly, thick austrian accent catching you off guard. His voice was smooth, slightly higher pitched than what you’d expect from a man of his build. Large broad shoulders, tall and wide stance, muscular arms crossed against his chest, clad in a bulletproof vest and enough gear to fill a tank. You found yourself spaced out, realizing you must have just been staring at him for a good five seconds before being quick to respond.

“My apologies Colonel, I was not made aware of who you are.” Standing about four feet apart, you and König stood, you clearly trying to remain professional while practically shrinking into yourself and him clearly enjoying having so much of an effect on you. “I was simply sent to collect any missing men for training. And now that I have, I will be on my way.” You nod and start to walk away when you hear him call from behind you.

“You don’t happen to be headed to training room C-16, do you?” The question stopped you in your tracks, how could he have known? I mean yes, he is the Colonel and should be aware of all the soldiers ranks and schedules. But the question remained, why would he be asking if he knew?

“That is correct Colonel. Is something the matter?” you ask over your soldier, hoping to avoid the uproar of anxiety you get from making eye contact with him. 

“Oh not at all, I am to be assisting with training in your group today. Shall we walk there together?” He took two long strides towards you, bumping his elbow into your shoulder as he passed. Clearly not a request, but a statement. You attempt to keep up with his fast pace, walking in silence with the tower of a man next to you. 

As the both of you neared the open training door, you slowed your pace slightly, as to enter behind him. His head peers back over his shoulder for a second before looking straight on. As you step into the full room, everyone's eyes seem to immediately land on the Colonel and then you, trailing in behind him. A few smirks and chuckles could be seen all around. You knew what they were thinking, seeing as your track record is quite widely known amongst the other men.

You walked to the side of the training room, feeling a few eyes still watching intently. König seemed to have realized the thoughts of the soldiers. He stopped in the center of the room, folding his hands behind his back, observing everyone. He knew of your midnight adventures, hearing about it from other soldiers personal conversations that he eavesdropped on. He decided to shut any ideas down before they could fully formulate. “Alright soldiers! Settle down and pay attention. No need to act like a bunch of idioten the moment one of your female comrades enters the room.”

All of their eyes snapped up and their postures straightened, everyone immediately resuming their work. You however were left standing in thought. Why would he feel the need to stand up for you like that? You two knew next to nothing about the other, much less have enough of a relationship to defend you like he just did. Was it purely just out of respect? Or did he have a underlying reason behind it, a different intent maybe? You’re snapped out of overthinking by a large hand waving in front of your face. 

“Welcome back to reality soldier, afraid we lost you for a second there. Everything alright?” König asked calmly. You didn’t know how to respond so you simply just nodded and walked over to a bench to place your stuff down. Although you weren’t yet aware of who your training buddy would be quite yet, you still sat down and quietly began preparing yourself for sparring. Just as you were about get up to ask who you would be partnering with, you feel a tap on your shoulder. 

“Looks as if you’ll be working with me today. I was told you are to work on sparring with enemies much larger than you in preparation for an upcoming mission.” Your heart jumps to your throat as you hear König continue. “I will be teaching you some strategies along with what not to do when up against an enemy twice the size of you, if the opportunity were to ever arise.” Frozen in place you begin to panic, how in the hell are you supposed to take down a man like him? He could easily snap you in half in seconds. You could already tell that today was going to be rough.

There was no doubt in your mind that your were strong, hell you would even be proud to announce that you were stronger and more agile than most of the men in the room currently. But König? That was where your confidence slightly faltered. Putting aside your worry, you confidently strided over to the mat, getting into sparring position with a determined look on your face. Across you stood the giant, now barren of his gear and equipment, t-shirt no longer over his face, instead wearing his baklava which he only wore during sparring. 

He’s stood straight, hands clasped in front of him and facing the group of fellow soldiers. “May I have everyone’s attention!” He spoke up, instantaneously getting the eyes of all in the room in which he continued. “I will be providing a scenario in which it may be difficult to fight back, I will be showing different moves and maneuvers that you may need to use to your advantage.” All eyes were on you and König, your breathing uneven. Looking back to your sparring partner, you see him getting into position. Before you even have time to react, he has gotten beside you, splaying his arm across the entirety of your chest holding onto your opposite shoulder pushing back; sweeping his foot into the backs of your knees, you fold immediately. 

You try to recover quickly, rolling over onto your stomach, attempting to push yourself up off the ground when he places his foot in the center of your back holding you down. He lectures the others on what you could have done in order to avoid this but it all goes in one ear and out the other as the air gets pushed out of your lungs. Finally, you get let back up as you gasp for oxygen, swiftly darting behind König to jump onto his back, locking your legs around his waist and putting him in a chokehold. Everyone looks shocked for an entirety of 2 seconds before you get flung over his shoulder, your back aching as you smash into the ground. 

Your eyes opened as you groaned. The sight you are met with is the Colonel’s body looming over yours, looking down, his eyes looked like they were holding a satisfied grin behind them. He reaches his arm out, and you grip onto it, being yanked up quickly onto your feet with your head spinning slightly. 

König faced the crowd of soldiers again, his voice cutting into them, “Okay. Now you have seen what not to do when facing a larger opponent. I’ll demonstrate again, but this time I will show what to do, ja?” His eyes looked around, seeing nodding heads as confirmation they were listening. He turned to you, holding his hands up, “Be in a standard defensive position, hands up, covering your stomach and head. The weakest spots.” He started to circle around you, so you moved opposite of him. He was speaking directly to you now, “Use your size to your advantage. You are smaller, so you can move quicker, and be harder to grab. Stay low to the ground, try to throw your opponent off balance.. Think on your feet. And never, ever second guess yourself.”

The second he completed his speech he darted towards you, and you drop like a bag of rocks in order to trip him. He stumbles but stays standing by which you grab his wrist and pull him over you, using the momentum of his rocking. He braces himself and somersaults forward to try and recover but as he goes to sit up, you lock onto him from behind. Your legs around his hips with your ankles crossed, locking his legs together as you wrap your arm around his neck and fall back. König tries to reach back and unlock the chokehold you have him in, when he realizes he can’t he starts to get even more harsh. Thrashing and attempting to retrieve airflow that he doesn’t think to pull your ankles apart, and finally he taps. 

You release your hold on him with a triumphant smirk, hearing him gasp for air inflating your confidence ten-fold. Obviously you offered him a hand and asked if he was okay, that’s more important than beating the nearly seven foot giant, that not a single person would ever think to go into a one on one combat with willingly. 

He stood with a lighthearted chuckle. He looked down and nodded his head in approval while replying, “Yes, I’m fine. That was good Corporal (L/n), I am more than mildly impressed with your efforts. And thank you for helping with my demonstration.” You stand straight with your head held high, eyes scanning the room, seeing the faces of the soldiers filled with a mix of nervous confusion and impressed anger. To think the only person to have the balls to attempt to take down the brick wall of an intimidating giant would be the one and only 5’6, 140 lb woman in the entire group.

“Alright soldiers, back to work. I want to see each and every one of you working hard. You have 2 hours.” König stated to everyone as he turns to refocus his attention on you. “Corporal (L/n), if you would please come with me, I would like to discuss the mission plans with you in my office.” You felt confused as to why he was asking about this when the mission isn’t for another couple months. However, swallowing down the confusion and putting on a blank face, you give him a curt nod and follow him out of the training room.

“I don’t mean to doubt your knowledge, Colonel, but if I’m not mistaken the mission isn’t until 4 months from now. How is it possible to have all of the information and suspects needed to start formulating plans on something we aren’t certain the future of?” The rhythmic pace of footsteps echoing in the empty barracks hallway. You and König walk side by side and the slow rising and falling of his chest helps to soothe the tension in the air.

To be continued...

I'm not totally sure when the second part will be out but take this for now...

[djarins-cyare]

Never Look Down

Part 2: Maia’s (Your) Morning

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Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 7,830

Tags/warnings: POV switch, hangover hell, light angst, confessions, even more references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, kissing, reference to fellatio, a lot of fluff, Reader has a name (and a job and an inkling of a backstory). Regarding her prior bad relationship, I don’t want anyone to be triggered by an assumption, so please note she was NOT in an abusive situation. Her former partner was just a drug-dealing douche.

Author’s note: I finished something new! [*cries in disbelief*] 😭. Thank you so much for your interest and support! 💖

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

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You wake up somewhere dark and soft. It takes you several seconds to realise where you are due to the throbbing ache in your head that’s screaming for focus.

You’re in Din’s bed.

Oh fuck.

Well… more like no fuck. A shameful absence thereof.

Slowly, memories of the previous night drift to the surface of your foggy brain, each one deepening your embarrassment until you’ve reached the pitiful depths of utter humiliation. It cuts deeper than your hangover, which includes a pounding headache and a bruised shoulder (how did that happen?), yet is almost trivial in comparison. Kark, you drank – and said and did – a lot more than you should’ve.

Babysitting Grogu is not your primary source of income. In fact, you have a contract with Karga for city planning and infrastructure upgrades. But that’s just building holos, presenting them to the High Magistrate, and then outsourcing the work upon approval. It’s sporadic and flexible, leaving you with plenty of hours to kill. You took this part-time job to keep yourself busy, but you’ve come to enjoy hanging out with the little guy and his bafflingly sexy father. Both are good fun, have always been friendly and welcoming, and you’re fond of their company. Who are you kidding – you’re profoundly attached to them both. Plus, Din has taught you to use a blaster, helping you feel safer and more self-reliant now you’re free of your ex’s ‘protection’. The extra credits are merely a bonus, and you’d do this for free if it came to it.

Well, not this. Not turn up drunk, pass out in your boss’s refresher, then misread a gesture of kindness as a sexual advance. And you just had to fucking let your thoughts spill out, didn’t you? Shit, you basically told him you think he’s a virgin! Sure, you’ve wondered, but you’ve never drawn any conclusions, so why did you have to vocalise those thoughts as if you had? You’ve been so careful to avoid suggesting his commitment to his creed might be impeding anything fun. So what if he can’t eat with you or sleep with you – that’s his choice. He probably thinks you’re judging him now. You shouldn’t have opened your mouth, damn it!

Of course he rejected you.

How could you ever have thought Din would want to be with you after everything you did last night? There are so many reasons for him to have walked away like he did. Not only did you fail to provide trustworthy childcare, but you also vomited in his toilet and were a drunken burden on him after he’d had to go out on a job. Then you assumed he wanted sex, implied he might not have the requisite skills, stripped naked, climbed under his sheets, and stole his fucking bed for the whole night.

You’re a disgrace. The regret burns in your chest, branding you from the inside out as the fool who pushed a former bounty hunter too far.

Plus, you work for the guy, so that’s surely a factor. Your role here is simply to take care of his kid. At least it was. And, of course, he’s never shown any interest in you. In fact, whenever you’ve wondered if the two of you are having ‘a moment’, he’s always run away.

Why did you have to make an already bad situation so much worse by revealing your desires? You were coping fine with your self-imposed celibacy. Sure, it was frustrating, but you were surviving. Repressing your libido around him was working for you.

As much as you want to hide beneath the blankets and avoid the fallout, you know you can’t stay in Din’s bed forever. Even though it’s soft and warm and smells like him – fresh yet with a hint of spicy musk. You really can’t.

Fumbling to activate the lamp, you drain the water on the nightstand, noting your clothes strewn across the floor. Thankfully, they don’t smell of alcohol or vomit (at least you’re a tidy drunk), so you get dressed and stumble to the refresher. More memories return at that crime scene, adding to your shame spiral and giving you a likely reason for your bruised shoulder.

Din has left his ultrasound cleaner out of the cabinet, which has to be a suggestion that you use it, and you can take a hint. You recall complaining that your mouth tasted like bantha balls, and accepting his pity is the lesser evil. Though it’s far more than you deserve, it’s also far better than this flavour.

You gladly let the vibrations clean your mouth and then rinse away the residue, feeling much better for it. It’s not enough to ease your thumping headache, but it’s a start.

You can’t hear any noise from upstairs or across the hall, so you wonder if your hosts are still asleep. It’s clearly past dawn since daylight is spilling down the staircase, but it could still be early. Maybe you can just slip out unnoticed? You debate checking on Grogu first. Din probably slept on the couch, though there’s a cushioned chair in the kid’s room that he could’ve used.

Guilt and concern make you check on your charge despite the risk of waking a metal sentinel. But you’re surprised to discover an empty room. That means they’re either both upstairs and being quiet, or they’ve gone out. You’re hoping for the latter. Zandi insisted you meet her for lunch, but part of you wants to run straight to your friend’s place and cry about what an idiot you’ve been. Hmm, no. You should go home for a shower first. Not that it could wash off the disgrace, but it might ease your aching head, at least.

You dart across the hall for your shoes, straightening out your boss’s sheets before you leave (a token apology, if anything). Catching sight of a comb on top of his dresser sends another type of guilt burning through you. Stealing his bed was already an invasion of privacy, but learning about what he hides beneath the beskar feels worse. You anxiously smooth down the blankets, flick off the lamp, and tiptoe up the stairs.

Thankfully, you find an empty living space, lit by sunshine so bright that you realise it’s already mid-morning. Din must have taken Grogu to school.

There’s no sign of your glowrod, but you don’t care. He can keep it. You shove on your boots with as much haste as you can manage and fly to the exit, darting through. Kriff, it’s so blinding outside that you have to turn your back to the sun or risk your hangover increasing tenfold.

Just as you’re gulping lungfuls of fresh air and keying in the lock code to secure the cabin, you hear him.

“Feeling better?”

The Mandalorian steps out from behind the cabin, and you wonder if he’s been waiting to ambush you. Damn it, you should’ve known. Bounty hunter.

You can’t look him in the eyes. Well, the visor, really. Either way, you fix your gaze on the porch. You’d normally come out with something playful and witty, but today, your brain gives you nothing except wry honesty.

“The hangover and torturous headache are nothing compared to my embarrassment,” you answer sheepishly. “I am so sorry about last night.”

You don’t specify which part because you mean all of it. Drinking to excess and throwing up in his home, as well as climbing into his bed, stripping off, and assuming he would fuck you, then commenting on how you thought he couldn’t fuck you. You’re sure you’ll never live down this shame.

Din doesn’t respond to your apology, but he steps forward, a wall of beskar and muscle blocking you from leaving the porch. He leans past you – so close he almost traps you against the door – and reverses the lock code you just entered.

When the door behind you swishes open again, he gestures inside with a nod. “We gotta talk.”

Oh, frotz, this is bad. This is so so so bad. He’s normally relaxed and happy around you, welcoming (or at least tolerating) your friendly jokes and nicknames. But right now, he’s all stiffness and silence, thumbs in his belt and elbows out wide, staring you down as if you were prey. He is not happy with you. You’ve fucked up bad.

You’re going to lose your job. It’s not a substantial source of income, but you’ll lose your bonding time with the kid and the friendly teasing thing you’ve developed with his dad. You won’t get to watch how strong and beautiful this warrior-turned-father is anymore, how soft he is with Grogu, despite his hard beskar shell. There’ll be no more shooting lessons. He’s going to tell you how offensive your remarks were last night… kark, what if he has a duty to punish anyone who disrespects his creed? Is it disrespectful to suggest he can’t have sex, though? Maybe the offensive thing was you throwing yourself at him. Or perhaps he thinks you’re hideous and finds the idea of having sex with you offensive. Whatever the case, he’s going to—

“Maia….”

Hearing your name growled through his modulator snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you realise you’re just standing there gawking at him in the doorway.

Suddenly, you feel meek in his presence, which has never happened before. Even when you first met, he was careful to make you feel safe and welcome. This menacing demeanour is new.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Can I just go home?”

Din looms closer like a rancor threatening its prey. “This won’t take long,” he insists.

With widened eyes, you shrink back toward the scene of your crimes, your near freedom now a fool’s delusion. He walks forward as you step backward across the cabin’s threshold, maintaining the proximity – a fateful dance that promises a morning even more tragic than the night before.

“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to the couch. He watches you perch yourself where you’re told to and then nods, appeased by your obedience.

A heavy silence clouds the room as your soon-to-be-ex boss flicks on the caf maker and heats the beverage while you quietly unravel on the couch. You’re not even sure what this is. It feels like he’s about to punish you (and not in a good way), but you have no idea how. Is he going to yell at you? Torture you with some kind of ritualistic Mandalorian justice? Or is he just going to describe how disappointed he is, fire you from this job, and threaten to roast you with his flamethrowers if he catches you anywhere near Grogu?

Whatever’s about to happen, you’re zealously ignoring the part of you that’s low-key turned on by how dominant he’s acting this morning. You can’t examine that right now.

After a minute or two, Din brings a cup to the couch and perches beside you, performing an awkward shuffle as he angles his body toward you. Still unsure how to act, you remain facing straight ahead, watching him in your peripheral.

He’s fully armoured this morning, his movements determined but stiff, and you recall how fluidly his body moved when he was just down to his flight suit. When he swept you into his arms, cradled you against his chest, and carried you to his bed…

No! Bad thoughts! Now is not the time for those because you’re about to receive the worst reprimand of your life (and you work for Karga!).

But your brain won’t stop replaying the memory, leading you to a distracting notion. He keeps his armour on the shelves in his bedroom – you saw it there last night. That means he must have come in to grab it this morning while you were sleeping. Damn, he’s stealthy! Though, to be fair, you were utterly passed out.

Wait. You woke up fully covered and tucked in. You don’t recall falling asleep, but you do remember arranging the blanket for optimum cleavage display. Kark, you really hope you snuggled down properly in your sleep. Because if not, there’s a chance that he opened his door to an inadvertent boob extravaganza, and he covered you up for the sake of your dignity. Fuck! How much shame can you suffer in a single morning?

He still hasn’t started talking, so before your thoughts ricochet in yet another distressing direction, you prompt, “You, uh, said we need to talk?” It’s probably best to confront your impending doom so you can run home and scream into a pillow.

Din huffs a little. “We do. Doesn’t mean I know how to start.”

Hmm, well, he doesn’t seem too angry, at least. Perhaps there won’t be any Mandalorian torture-based vengeance after all.

You don’t have the energy to play ‘guess the punishment’, but maybe you can stave it off if you beg for mercy. “Okay, then let me start. I said and did some monumentally stupid things last night, and I understand if you can’t forgive me and never want to see me again. But I just need you to know how truly sorry I am and that I really didn’t mean to offend you, and if I could—”

“Stop apologising,” he interrupts, shaking his helmet.

His order startles you into silence. It was insistent, but he didn’t sound angry at all. In fact, there was an undertone of something else. Almost the amused side of frustrated. What the kriff is happening?

Din sighs and tilts his visor toward his lap, then seems surprised to realise he’s still clutching the caf he made but clearly can’t drink in your presence. He silently offers you the steaming cup, and after a beat, you accept it, staring at it just as he did.

Never has a cup of caf received as much scrutiny as when two parties are unsure how to vocalise their thoughts.

“I made it for you,” he offers. “Thought… with the hangover….”

“Thanks,” you mumble, unsure what else to do or say. This isn’t going as expected at all, and your confusion is only growing. Is he doing some kind of bounty hunter ‘killing with kindness’ act?

This is absurd. You just need to get him talking, accept your punishment, and then you can escape.

“Um,” you begin, and his shadowed visor fixes on you again, unsettling you further. “If… if you don’t want to hear my apologies… what do you want to talk about?”

Your reluctant host forces out his response like it’s stuck inside his throat. “I want… I wanna ask you… some things. And I need you to answer honestly.”

Your stomach churns with nerves. He has questions? He must want you to explain what you said. He’s going to make you relive it – not by telling you how offensive you were, but by making you deconstruct your own comments and actions.

Kark. It’s a punishment, alright.

But if the penalty for your folly is the discomfort of explaining yourself, you can deal with that. This is a man you’re used to teasing, and he sounds just as unsure about what to say here as you are. So, you need to gather your confidence and endure whatever awkwardness this brings up.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin. “Okay… ask me.”

“You’ll answer? Honestly?” There’s an edge of desperation in Din’s voice from which you intuit his real meaning. You need to check any joking at the door.

Well, your current embarrassment level is sky-high, so whatever he wants you to respond to or admit surely can’t be much worse. You’ve already laid yourself (literally) bare for him. “I will. You got a slice of my inner dialogue last night, so I might as well continue the honesty.”

“Good… thank you.” He releases a profound sigh, a rush of static through the vocoder, and appears to gather himself for his first question. “Why do you think my creed means I can’t…?” He trails off, but you follow his meaning and match his heavy sigh.

“I don’t really think that,” you assure him. “Honestly, I’ve never known what to think, which means I’ve made no assumptions either way. But I guess… my drunken brain felt it was… safer to err on the side of caution when addressing it out loud.”

You’re not in the least bit surprised that he’s starting with this. If he is a virgin, you’ve mocked him, and if he isn’t, you’ve no doubt hurt his pride.

When he doesn’t respond, you suggest, “If that’s your first question, it sounds like you’re worried I’m judging you, so let me reinforce what I just said. ‘No assumptions’ means ‘no judgments’. But if you want to clarify things, I can promise you that whatever the truth is, I still won’t judge you.”

The importance Din is giving this topic is by far the biggest clue to the likely truth. No virgin would question you in the way that he just did. If they mentioned it at all, they’d probably just insist it’s not a topic for you to concern yourself with and never speak of it again. But inviting him to confirm his expertise gives him an easy way to lay the matter to rest. It’s also the kindest thing to do in the wake of your drunken foolishness.

He nods a fraction, accepting the premise, pausing while he chooses his words. “My creed doesn’t impose any rules relating to that, only that I cannot remove my helmet. And… some people kind of, uh… they get off on the mystery. So I do pretty well when I need to… blow off some steam.”

Huh. That was surprisingly direct (for him). You can’t help but smile, wondering if your delight stems from finally having proof that he isn’t without experience or that this discussion (so far) isn’t about how badly you fucked up.

Hoping to conceal your thoughts and keep the focus on him, you instantly slide back into teasing mode with a new nickname and a vague compliment of sorts. “Super Stud! You’re very discreet.”

“That’s the idea,” he confirms, ignoring his new moniker. “Although it’s by no means frequent, and since I got Grogu, I haven’t had….” He clears his throat. “Time and opportunity are rare.”

As much as you wish Din would choose to ‘blow off some steam’ with you, all you hear is a chance to atone for last night’s thoughtless actions. “I can take care of him while you go have some fun…?”

A massive scoff comes through the vocoder, and he shakes his helmet widely. “No, Maia, that’s… that’s not gonna work.”

But you persist, desperate to make amends. “Oh, come on, Metal Man, you deserve a break. Isn’t there anyone on Nevarro you can call for some fun?”

He sighs. “I have… options, yes.”

You furrow your brow at that. “So why did you say time and opportunity are rare? If you’ve got options, why don’t you just get your shiny ass laid while I do what you pay me for and take care of—”

A distinctly peeved huff crackles through the modulator, and you instantly fall silent. You forgot you’re not supposed to be teasing. Nor is it clear yet whether you still have a job. Foot, meet mouth.

He curtly redirects you. “Next question.” You assent with a nod, but when he continues, his tone is suddenly guarded and awkward. “Last night, you said… you suggested… that you and I might… blow off some steam.”

Fuck, this is the part you were dreading, and your pulse picks up. He seems nervous. Is that good or bad? Well, it’s better than angry and scary. You try to freeze your movements to avoid either wincing or looking too eager, nervously awaiting his question.

“Was that… because of the alcohol? Or… something, uh… real?” All you detect in his voice is discomfort, so you can’t tell which option he hopes for.

You sigh and take a careful slurp of the scalding hot caf to buy yourself time. It’s hard to answer because there’s a lot at risk. If you’re too honest about your feelings and Din doesn’t feel the same way, your relationship might end – professional as well as personal.

But once again, the fact that he’s asking suggests your answer is important to him, so the odds are likely in your favour. If he wasn’t attracted to you, surely he’d play it down and give you a way to save face. Just say he knew your silly drunken advances were simply an extension of your usual urge to tease and meant nothing, and that he forgives you for them. Surely he wouldn’t ask if they were ‘real’.

The concept sparks a tiny flame of hope in a dark and dusty corner of your mind, a pinprick of light to chase away the fears you walked in here with.

However, you can’t be too hasty or draw conclusions without facts. Though this isn’t going as dreadfully as you feared it might, the sensible option is to avoid getting your hopes up. He asked you for honesty, so you’ll give him that, but you decide to err on the side of caution again. An assumption against any interest on his part shouldn’t be offensive.

“It wasn’t… totally the alcohol,” you confess cautiously, and you see his body instantly tense up. Is that a positive reaction? “I’ve been trying to remember exactly what I said to you. I told you it was a ‘dream’, right?” Din nods once. “Well… that’s true. I admit I’ve had some daydreams about the idea. But it felt… safer not to mention it. Last night, you made it clear you weren’t interested in me, and you’ve never given me any reason to think otherwise, so I—”

“I did no such thing.”

Shit. The anger you were afraid of is finally colouring the Mandalorian’s tone, and he leans forward with his vehement denial.

What did you say wrong? Did you tease too soon with the new nickname just now? Shock and confusion contort themselves across your face, and you shrink backward.

He almost growls at your retreat, and the creak of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists has you bracing yourself for trouble. You honestly can’t tell if you’re turned on or terrified.

Before you can decide, he declares, “Last night, I had to walk away from a beautiful naked woman in my bed because she’d been drinking, and I would never do anything without full consent. I did not make it clear I wasn’t interested in you. Fuck, Maia, I have dreams about you too. All the time.”

Your mouth hangs open in surprise. Even knowing it was vaguely possible, you weren’t ready for that response.

He has dreams about you too!

Now that he’s confessed what got him so worked up, you see him make a visible effort to calm down.

His next words are much softer, soothing your prior unease, though your heart continues to thump from his admission. “Time and opportunity are rare because you’re Grogu’s babysitter, and that kid loves you. When he’s not with me, he wants to be with you. He only goes to school twice a week. That’s not a lot of time or—”

“—or opportunity,” you finish. “Okay, I get it. Why didn’t you say anything before? We could’ve been blowing off steam on schooldays for months already, but I had no idea. I would’ve climbed naked into your bed way sooner if I’d known.”

Din groans, a low and sinful rumble, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have put those images in his mind.

A deep breath later, he answers, “My son is my priority; his needs come before mine. He needs a good babysitter more than I need a good… uh….” He trails off and clears his throat. “And last night was the first time you’d ever said anything. I had no idea either.”

“But, but…” you stammer. Okay, so you’ve been keeping it to yourself, but you’re surprised he didn’t pick up on your attraction at all. “I’m flirting and checking you out all the crinking time, Metal Man. I thought bounty hunters were observant?”

He hums as if he’s flattered by your admission. “Teasing me is not a sign of anything on its own. And I’ve never seen you look anywhere other than directly at my helmet. You would’ve noticed my interest otherwise.” You furrow your brow slightly, not following, and he shakes his head in frustration. “You never look down.”

You look down.

Holy mother of meteors…

That is one obscenely snug flight suit and one fucking impressive erection.

Granted, you’ve noticed he’s been wearing the loose flight suit pants more often. In fact, you’ve missed being able to check out his toned ass in the closer-fitting ones. But since you can’t see where he’s looking, you’ve always been careful to keep your roving eyes chaste whenever he’s facing you. And, kriff, you never figured the reason for his wardrobe change was to hide this glorious attribute.

“Wow,” you breathe, unsure of what else to say. Suddenly, the volume on your headache reduces, and your lust levels shoot up. It’s so….

Din fidgets slightly, perhaps on edge because of your sudden scrutiny. Oops.

You revert your gaze to his visor, chancing some levity to ease the tension. “If I wasn’t fighting a skull-splitting hangover, I’d have a whole host of new nicknames for you already. Something about being as hard as beskar or carrying a concealed weapon… ugh, gimme a day, I’ll come up with a winner.”

His chuckle suggests the ice between you is now well and truly broken. You knock back the rest of your caf in the relaxed pause. It’s still hotter than you prefer, but perhaps it’ll quell your desire.

He lets you finish before breaking the easy silence. “Another question before you go, if it’s okay. Maybe a couple more, depending on how you answer the first one. I’d rather not leave this topic hanging now that we’ve addressed it.”

“Sure.” Right now, you’re willing to give this man whatever he wants.

“Okay. There’s another reason I walked away last night – besides your drunken state. It’s why I haven’t mentioned this before.” He swallows and inhales shakily. “You told me that your last relationship was terrible. And the fact that you chose to celebrate its end tells me you value your freedom. On my side, my relationships are rarely meaningful or long-term. So it might seem easiest to keep things casual.”

He pauses, but it’s unclear whether he wants your input. You can’t tell where he’s going with this, so you give him a one-shouldered shrug.

He leans forward and rests his vambraces on his cuisses. “If Grogu wasn’t around, it might be. But casual never ends well, and I will not threaten the bond you two have just for something meaningless. For the child’s sake, we gotta be sure where we stand before we… act on any of this. I can’t do casual with you, Maia. So the first question is: are you interested enough to try something… meaningful? Because if you’re not, we gotta bury this.”

He’s right. You start to understand why he got so worked up at your admission that you’re attracted to him for real. It complicates things.

He’s asked a logical and vital question, and you take a moment to give it due attention. Whatever happens, this cannot threaten your employment. So where are the lines?

You’ve felt something for Din from the start, and your attraction has only grown. That line is already blurred, and it hasn’t threatened anything, but it helps you see what he’s getting at. Your attachment to him and Grogu has become far more profound than you expected, so you couldn’t do casual even if you tried. It could only harm your bond with the kid if you tried to repress that attachment and keep things casual with his father.

Simply put, your feelings are already meaningful, so whatever comes next must be too.

Strangely, that doesn’t scare you. Your prior experience was poor – both oppressive and neglectful – but you were a displaced teenager on a new planet looking for protection when you got into that. Din is nothing like your ex, and this couldn’t be more different. You have faith in this man and, thus, faith in your answer.

“I am,” you confirm with a smile. “Are you?” He’s already confirmed he won’t do casual, but you need his agreement to start something meaningful.

He swallows, then echoes, “I am.”

A thrilling but weighty moment passes as you both digest this, just staring at one another in the wake of your mutual confessions. The air feels charged with promise. You can almost taste it.

It’s hard to judge how long has passed when he speaks again. “Second question. Did you use my ultrasound cleaner?”

Well, that’s a non sequitur. You have no idea how this query relates to your previous answer, but you nod nonetheless.

“Great. Come with me.”

He stands and leads you downstairs, stepping into his room and tapping on the main lights. When he sees that you’ve made his bed, he hums happily.

You’re quiet but hopeful, the heady feeling of promise that consumed you last night slowly filling you up once more as he turns to face you and beckons you closer.

“We should take this slow,” he starts. “You’re hungover, and I want you to feel comfortable when we….” He nods at the bed, oddly still reticent to describe the act.

“When we fuck.”

Din releases the cutest whimper and tugs at his pants. “That is not helping me with this problem. If you keep talking like that, I might not be able to resist,” he warns.

You scoff. “Shiny, are you really trying to threaten me with sex? Kriff, please tell me you didn’t use this tactic on any bounties back in the day.”

“No, I did not. And I’m trying to save that until your head doesn’t hurt,” he sighs. “But… question three. Before you go home, can I… kiss you?”

Your eyebrows shoot up as surprise and desire collide and carve a messy path through your chest, sending your heart tumbling into a double-time beat.

“Are you…” You’re not quite sure how to phrase your query, still chagrined by last night’s verbal blunders. “Is that some kind of metaphor? Does ‘kissing’ mean something different for Mandalorians with the whole helmet thing? Because if we’re just gonna thumb wrestle or something, I’m still in, but it’s kind of weird to call it kissing.”

He chuckles, and it eases your worry. “We do have a kissing substitute, but no, in this case, I meant what I said. I just gotta turn the lights out so you can’t see me when I remove my helmet. If that’s okay.”

All of your fears and concerns melt away with his answer. Gone are your worries about your budding romance having awkward or difficult restrictions, replaced by a certainty that you can handle not making eye contact. If observing that single caveat allows you to be with this man, you don’t even consider it a sacrifice.

Well, if he brought you down here to ensure it’s dark enough, you can help with that. You saunter to the door and touch the control to slide it closed, blocking out the sunshine filtering down the stairs, and then you turn to him with a smile. “It’s very okay. I’m not leaving here without a kiss, Din.”

He sucks in a modulated breath and doesn’t move for a second. “You… used my name.”

You know you’re allowed to – he’s told you that many times – but you find the nicknames help to maintain a friendly distance. Treat him as a friend, not as a lover. Except now things are changing.

“I thought I’d practice,” you explain. “I’m guessing that when we do get in that bed together, you’d prefer I scream out your real name instead of ‘Shiny’ or ‘Beskar Boy’.”

He groans sinfully again and reaches for you, fixing a glove around your wrist and tugging you to stand beside the shelves he stores his armour on. “Don’t move,” he instructs. Then he releases your wrist and taps a button on his vambrace, and the lights very slowly fade out until the room is darker than the void between galaxies.

Suddenly, sensations are everything. You can detect the warmth of Din’s body so close to yours, though you’re not yet touching. You hear him breathing more audibly than usual, a gentle but slightly stuttered hiss through the vocoder. You feel the air swirl around you as he raises his hands to his helmet…

The rhythmic thump of your heartbeat quickens, and despite your lack of sight, it’s as if the events occur in flashes between the beats. The absence of sound as you hold your breath. The gentle rustle as he slides off the metal helmet. The muffled clang when it hits the shelf as he lines it up. The scrape of the edge as he pushes it home. The nervous breath he releases in the subsequent silence, reminding you to exhale too.

Then he’s reaching for you, and your mind goes blank as his hands find your hips, closing the distance further. It’s not close enough to feel his arousal against you, although that’s probably wise. But if you weren’t still harbouring a headache, you’d be unable to resist pressing forward and seeking the impressive bulge you admired upstairs. Instead, you lay your palms on his cuirass and slide upward, burying your fingers in his cloak. That’s as high as you’ll go until you know what’s allowed.

One of Din’s gloved hands engulfs the nape of your neck, and you love how he’s controlling this, moving you in the dark to where he wants you. You can tell he’s leaned in closer by the sound of his breathing – more audible without the beskar barrier. Then there’s a sense of warmth on your skin as he brings you close enough to nuzzle at your hairline, gently at first, until you register the distinct press of his nose against your temple.

You feel it just before he speaks, his breath tickling near your ear as he opens his mouth to husk smooth, unmodulated words. “Go easy on me; it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Fuck, his voice is gorgeous. It resonates through you like a rumbling storm, drenching you with wanton promise, unleashing a different wetness upon you. If there were any frequency that could subdue your headache, it would be his soft and smoky timbre.

“Oh?” It’s all you can manage; a single syllable of surprise at his admission. He seems so confident.

“Mm,” he confirms, brushing his lips softly near the corner of your eye, and you detect some stubble around them. “Before we swear the Creed, we spend a while doing the things we’re taught to avoid after. I’ve only used this loophole once since then. So….” He trails off and presses a gentle kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, warm lips on soft skin, and you melt in his arms.

You want to assure him that he’s nailing it, preparing you so perfectly that he seems like an expert kisser, no matter how little practice he’s had. You want to thank him for deeming you worthy enough to use this rare loophole and express your stunned gratitude at the privilege he’s allowing you. But the notion of speaking confounds you, and all you can do is lift your chin and indicate your willingness to do this.

Din gets the message.

You can sense his nerves in the way he cautiously presses his lips against yours. But in the millisecond it takes to register a connection, your body reacts before your brain and electricity shoots through your nerve endings. Instantly, thousands of perfect explosions stud your skin, making you shiver in bliss.

He’s sweet, gentle, respectful… and it’s good. But it’s a little chaste for your liking, and you can tell he’s holding himself back. He needs to let go, so you emit a low hum of pleasure, which spurs him on and increases his fervour. You gently part your lips, and he gets the hint and takes the lead, deepening the kiss until your tongues meet – a touch that halts the spin of the whole galaxy around you.

Then he lets go. It’s as if he’s suddenly remembered how to breathe after holding his breath for decades, and oh, how utterly starved of oxygen he’s been. This kiss is feeding him, keeping him alive. His tightened grip, the tremors of lust you detect running through him, the way he almost whimpers into your mouth… it’s assertive and adorable in equal measures.

You can feel his inexperience, but you let him lead anyway. He gets lost in the sensations a few times, his rhythm faltering, but he corrects himself and responds keenly to your subtle signals of what’s good. It’s not long before you’re locked in a perfect moment, sharing an exquisite kiss with your ideal man.

When you part, it’s by mere centimetres, and you’re so full of happy chemicals that your hangover is barely a niggle at the back of your brain.

“I think that fixed my headache,” you purr against his lips. “I bet I could even thumb wrestle you now….” You have no clue what you’re implying, but you’re low-key horny, and openly flirting with him for once is fun.

Din’s unmodulated chuckle is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, I was aiming for ‘mindblowing’, but I’ll take ‘headache-fixing’,” he jests, bantering right back for once. You can’t help but close the tiny distance to steal another lingering yet closed-mouth kiss, eager to show him just how addictive his efforts were.

Once again, your lips barely separate, lingering close. “Oh, it’s blown alright – completely offline. Probably why it doesn’t hurt anymore.” A salacious idea comes to you then, and you voice it a hair’s breadth from his mouth, knowing he’ll refuse but wanting to show you’re willing. “Maybe now it’s my turn to blow something of yours….”

The sharp gasp he sucks in and raggedly exhales indicates he’s just pictured your suggestion and played the image to its fruition. In the pitch-black room, you can pick up on his obvious arousal through sound and touch – the almost-groan he swallows, the twitch of all the muscles in his body as he reins himself in.

There’s a pause as he considers your proposal, and you can tell he’s waging a war with himself to refuse. You’ve put him in a difficult position. But this new closeness allows you to upgrade friendly teasing into full-on flirting, and you can’t resist.

It takes longer than you expect, but Din finally releases a shuddering breath, swallows, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he rasps, “I would enjoy that very much, but it’s not why I brought you down here, mesh’la.”

Mesh’la? Who the fuck is that? You stiffen in his arms, unable to process the idea that he’s just said someone else’s name during an intimate moment. Even if it does sound similar enough to yours that you could maybe understand the slip, how could he—?

“Maia,” you correct pointedly as your thoughts spiral, pulling away slightly, your stomach suddenly in knots.

He tightens his hold and hurriedly assures you, “Hey, no, it’s not— mesh’la means ‘beautiful’ in Mando’a.”

There’s a tense pause, and then you murmur, “Ah,” embarrassed and glad you didn’t instantly flip out at your incorrect assumption, then suddenly flattered by the compliment. As you fall back into his embrace, your sluggish brain gives you nothing more, too confused by the pelting of emotions you just received in quick succession. Perhaps it’s best to adopt Din’s usual policy of silence.

But he saves you from your chagrin and redirects you to another topic. “Final question. Can I make you dinner one evening this week? We agreed we’re aiming for something… meaningful here. Getting physical right away is not the best way to achieve that.” He squeezes your waist with the hand that’s remained in place throughout. “As much as I’m looking forward to that part.”

A sweet smile is your reply, though you realise he can’t see it in the dark. Luckily, it’s followed up by the return of your vocabulary. “Dinner sounds good. Grogu too?” You love the little womp rat, but this sounds like a date, so you’d rather it wasn’t crashed by a decades-old toddler.

Din hums as he follows your thought process. “The kids at his school keep inviting him on playdates and sleepovers. The parents seem like good people, so I’m sure we could arrange something both he and I would be happy with.”

You nod. “Then I look forward to our first date.” You can’t imagine how a dinner date will work with a guy who can’t show his face, but at least now you know there are loopholes. Perhaps he has another for eating together.

“Me too… mesh’la Maia.” You hear his slightly cheeky but utterly earnest tone, and you can’t help grinning. How apt that he should give you a nickname just when you decide to start using his real name.

You want to kiss him again, but since you pulled away a little, you can’t judge where his face is anymore, and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to touch him to locate it. “Another kiss before I leave, gorgeous guy?” (Two can play the nickname game, and you started it).

“Always,” Din agrees through a chuckle, bringing you in close again with the hand on your neck, finding your lips and pressing something firmer, more resolute there. You open eagerly for him and revel in the thrust of his tongue against yours. He’s settling into it now, more confident in himself and his technique, while carefully heeding your responses.

You enjoy it while you can – the sensations, the taste, the warmth, the delicious calm energy that washes through you with his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hand on your neck. You commit the feelings to memory, unsure when you’ll get to do it again. You hope you won’t have to wait too long for your date.

It’s over too soon, but you accept that it has to be. As you separate, you attempt to lock in the memories of the features you’ve felt pressed against you – stubble, soft lips, a strong nose. It’s not much, but it’s more than you had before.

Din’s hand falls from your neck, and you bemoan the loss of heat and comfort, spiralling back toward your hangover from the heady heights of such an intimate moment. As you hear the scrape of his helmet on the shelf’s edge again, you panic a little and blurt out, “What’s your hair like?”

He freezes, and your panic swells for a different reason. Based on the comb you spotted on his dresser earlier, you’re confident you’re not asking a bald man to describe his hair, but perhaps it’s forbidden to ask.

“I-I mean, if I’m not allowed to know, then forget I asked. I just… now that I’ve felt your lips, it’s made me wonder about the rest. It’s fine if you can’t tell me, though.”

A few seconds later, the scrape of the helmet resumes, and he slides it into his grasp. But you don’t hear him put it on.

Din’s reply is a low whisper, and he sounds even more nervous than he was before you kissed. “You can’t see my face… but you can touch it. If you want.”

Oh. You wonder how many people have touched his face, which makes you hesitate. This feels more intimate than you should be getting right now. “Thank you. I think… just your hair today. I’ll explore the rest of you on our date, face included.” That promise wins you an eager hum.

Your hands remain buried in his cloak, so you slide one to the back of his neck and rake upward. A gasp escapes you as you feel soft strands, longer than you expected and curling slightly at the ends. You picture the cutest mess of unruly waves.

“Is it… what colour is it?” You’ve seen him without his gloves a few times – last night included – so you know his skin is a warm amber. But human genetics are so diverse that you can’t really assume anything about his hair based on that.

It takes a few seconds for him to answer, busy sighing in bliss and pressing his head into your palm like a tooka getting stroked. “Dark,” he replies simply. It’s unclear whether he’s hypnotised by your hand in his hair or he’s not used to disclosing details about himself. Both are fair excuses, and you have much more data than you did ten minutes ago either way. You’re convinced he’s gorgeous.

“Thank you, Din,” you offer as you force yourself to stop running your fingers through his silken waves and withdraw a step.

There’s a quiet rustle as he places his helmet back on and seals it. “You’re welcome.” It’s modulated again, but there’s something about hearing that metallic rasp that makes you smile. You just kissed the source of that sound.

With a muffled beep from his vambrace, the lights fade up again, revealing an impassive black T-visor. However, the armoured body below it somehow looks more relaxed and assured. Gone is the stiffness you felt in his limbs earlier, and though you wonder if a certain stiffness in his pants remains, you’re not about to start ogling him when you should be going home.

So you smile and suggest, “Walk me out?” and you’re rewarded with a nod.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a different person. Though your foggy head throbs and your bruised shoulder smarts, your very essence sparkles with an energy you’ve never felt before. It flares with each lingering touch the Mandalorian bestows upon you, with every prolonged stare of his visor, and with his soft instruction to get home safe.

He’ll call you, he promises, slipping a new comlink into your hand.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a better person. The girl who disgraced herself last night has gone, leaving a happier and more fulfilled version in her place. Even so, you’re sure glad that idiot version of yourself ran her mouth and became the catalyst for your new path with Din.

And you can’t wait to look down again. Maybe next time you’ll get to go down too.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Get ready for more loquacious end notes…

Maia’s job was inspired by this scene from s3e5. She’s not a civil engineer, but, like, she could be that girl with the datapad – doing all the planning and building the holos while the engineer gets all the glory (can you tell I work in a support role??).

I originally wrote details at the end of part one of everything Din decided – that she must be attracted to him based on how she worded things, and that he’d talk to her to verify that and determine whether it was something she’d like to act on or just ignore. But I realised it was better for the story to leave his intentions a mystery (is the thing he ‘doesn’t want to have to do’ ejecting her from his life, or simply having a grownup conversation?), which hopefully lets you feel more of Maia’s fear here.

I feel like there’s a lot of scope for misunderstandings, not just because of Din’s helmet, but also because he can be socially awkward. So there he is, massively attracted to this girl who threw herself at him the night before but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just sort of gravitates towards her, tries to get close. Is he sort of flirting? Maybe. The ‘get in their personal space’ thing might work for him when he’s casually picking someone up. So his actions here are him trying to say with body language “I like you too, I want to get closer,” but she misunderstands because of her embarrassment, sees it as intimidation, and shies away – a response which makes him even more clueless about how to vocalise things.

I hope the switch from third person (she/her) pronouns in part 1 Din’s POV to second person (you/your) pronouns in part 2 Maia’s POV wasn’t too clunky. I know it’s popular in this fandom to use second-person pronouns (you/your) even when writing from a third person’s POV (Din’s), but I just can’t make myself do it. If he’s the one whose head we’re in, when he’s thinking about the woman he’s attracted to, he wouldn’t be thinking “damn, you’re hot”, he’d be thinking “damn, she’s hot”. I was taught that we should hear internal dialogue exactly as it would sound to the person thinking it, thus we should use third-person pronouns when inside his head. You/your is only for when we’re inside the reader’s head (second-person POV so second-person pronouns). And of course, I/me pronouns are used if we’re ever inside the author’s head (first person POV). I hope that explains the switch here. I swear I can’t help my annoying adherence to grammar rules – it’s just been drilled into me. I wish I could be more flexible sometimes, but unfortunately the autism always wins 😔

GIF made by me again, slightly less blurry this time.

Definitions: An ultrasound cleaner is basically a sonic toothbrush from Legends. Both Boba Fett and Jabba the Hutt kept a rancor as a rather scary pet. Caf, as you probably know, is the SWU’s coffee. Din (and Maia here) often calls Grogu a womp rat, a pest on Tatooine (proving Din has spent long enough there to pick up the local lingo, and Maia has picked it up from him). A tooka is an SWU cat.

As always, comments/kudos (AO3) and likes/reblogs (Tumblr) will inspire me to produce more things. I don’t have a Kofi because I would rather have your help marketing my stories than take your cash, so if you enjoy my work, please support me with kudos and reblogs. Thanks!

Honestly, I’m not altogether thrilled with this fic. I struggle with shorter (ha!) pieces because, as those of you who have read Be-All And Endor will know, I’m much more comfortable playing the long game and writing things where I can focus on character development, foreshadow future events, reference and call back concepts, and do a heck of a lot of worldbuilding. So to me, this feels like it lacks depth because it’s a very simple and straightforward concept that lacks a full-on conflict/resolution arc, and as a character study it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. I’ve also been struggling to write something I felt was good enough to publish in the wake of Be-All. I don’t think this passes muster, but in the end, I realised I had to just post something – anything – simply to get past that fear of doing it. So I hope this was interesting enough to at least hold your attention! I suppose I could write a part 3 where they have their date and the smut happens, but to be honest, I have several other smutty fics in the works that have much better setups, so I think I should focus on those. I might come back to this one day, though.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Tags requested…

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@dindenimchicken @feekedbeat @foomoosworld @jude77 @penvisions

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I tagged those below in part 1 due to interest in my series masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs). Nobody told me off for my audacity, so I’m hoping you’ll enjoy part 2 also…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

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@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

[kingofpopmj]

Something About You Baby

Summary: You watched behind the scenes as filming for In The Closet began. Michael in work mode was one of your favorite things, but there was something different about this time.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader!

Warning: AWKWARD TENSION, ARGUING AND CURSING

Requested: yes

*Y/N’s POV*

It was hot. Everything. The weather. The onscreen couple. The wardrobe. Everything. It felt like only yesterday Michael jumped out of bed and began scribbling notes in the notebook I’d put in his nightstand for moments like this. I laid on my side watching him hum and beatbox until he found the right melody. His process was incredible to witness. It was so damn sexy when he lost himself in the music.

“What do you think?” Michael smiled, standing still as I eyed him up and down— taking my sweet time of course.

“Very handsome.” I leaned in, my lips molding to the curve of his cheek. “Aren’t you going to be hot in those jeans?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have many other options.”

“You could wear a speedo.” I teased.

“I think that would negate the subtly I was going for.”

“Boo. You’re no fun.” I giggled, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and twirling my fingers through the strands of his ponytail.

“Plus, those don’t seem very comfortable or supportive for that matter.”

“Must you always overthink my jokes?”

“How about… I give you a private show later. I’ll pull out all my best moves and definitely no speedos.” I could feel his fingers slip under the hem of my shirt, tracing my hipbone.

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

“Only the best for my lady.”

“We should get out there… the longer you look at me like that the closer we are to getting this trailer rockin’. I only have so much self control.” I pouted, dragging the pads of my fingers along the details of his shoulder muscles.

“I love the hell out of you. You know that?”

“I had an inkling.”

“Come on. They’re waiting for us.”

Michael held out his arm for me to take before guiding me with him to where everyone was waiting. After quick pleasantries, I looked on silently as they begun talking business. Michael spoke with the director about some last minute ideas. I took the moment to look around, it was a simple set and I was looking forward to seeing how they’d utilize everything.

“This is Y/N, my better half.” Michael’s voice brought me back into the conversation. When I turned my head I was face to face with his love interest for the day.

“Hello, it’s great to meet you.” I smiled, trying to hide how utterly intimidated I’d felt. The more I looked at her the more I felt myself shrink— she’s like a fucking goddess.

“Hi, I’m Naomi, it’s exciting to finally meet you. Michael talks about you constantly. I feel like I already know you.” She was tall with long hair and a costume which showed off her toned physique. She was absolutely beautiful.

Michael whispered in my ear about needing to take care of something and left me alone with the supermodel. We continued talking and laughing together. She was actually pretty easy to talk to. It wasn’t long until I didn’t feel so insecure anymore. I mean she’s still stunning, but she also seemed kind. She’s Michaels friend— good friend. He doesn’t have many of those, people he can trust, so that’s another plus in my book.

“Mike should’ve just had you in the video.” She nudged me with her elbow. “I think that would’ve really brought the shock value. No one would expect it, since he’s so protective of you.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he’d go for that at all. Plus, I couldn’t— I get a little camera shy.”

“Don’t be shy. Own it, I know I would. You’re with the most successful man in the world. He chose you, don’t be shy, don’t hide. Who gives a shit what they say. If you ask me, you’ve already won.”

“I’ve won? Won what?”

“Seriously?” She laughed, shaking her head and gesturing with her head in the direction of where Michael was. “Happiness.” She stated simply. “People would do anything for true happiness. You’ve got it. It brings out the envy in most.” I stared at her for a moment, my eyes searching hers for understanding. She didn’t smile this time. She looked at me with this expression that sent a shiver through my body. By the time I’d figured out what to say to her, we were interrupted before I could get the words out.

“Excuse me, Naomi, we need you.” She excused herself and walked off to the makeshift church, posing in front of it as they checked the lighting.

She’s really fitting for the role. There’s no way I could’ve done that— the outfit alone. She looked more comfortable in it— in front of all these people more than I ever could.

I was left with this uneasy feeling. Nonetheless, I watched on as they got in position. She smiled, batting her eyes when Michael emerged from his trailer. I recognized the excitement, the hitch in her breathing, but the real give away was the way her face fell when he made his way to me. She had no idea how to mask her emotions, which made it difficult to brush off.

“Y/N, baby.” His sweet voice sounded from beside as I felt his embrace.

“Hi.” I said simply, pulling my focus away from her and the anger I felt— it wasn’t important. It’s not worth it. Michael has had many admirers. This won’t be any different. Like she said, I shouldn’t hide. I should own it.

“We’re about to start. I need for you to stay right here, okay?”

“Here? Okay. I can do that.” I crossed my legs and sat back in my chair. “Oh, I love it when you give me orders.”

“Stop it.” He jumped towards me, covering my lips. “You really want me to break your back in the middle of a desert?”

“I mean if you’re offering.” I couldn’t help myself I loved the look on his face when I flirted with him, especially in public.

“You’ve gotta stop getting me started when there’s people around.” He muttered under his breath, adjusting his jeans discreetly. “Naughty.”

“Fine. I’ll be good.”

“I’ll be right over there.” He pointed over to where a dusty old car was parked. “I need to have you in my eye line, so I can sing to you. I need you there. It’ll help my nerves— seeing you will help me.”

“I won’t move.”

“Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I did exactly as I was told. I didn’t move.

Every time they took breaks in between filming, Michael was right by my side acting a fool. He was so amped up, everything I said only added to his craziness.

“Put ‘em up!” Michael yelled from behind me.

“You scared the shit out of me!” When I turned around he had a bright green water gun pointing at me and a brown cowboy hat on.

“Hands in the air fine lady!”

“You don’t have to yell—” That’s when I felt cold liquid hit me in the forehead. “What is that? It’s burning my eye.”

“I’m Sheriff Jackson and you are under arrest. Put your hands in the air.”

“Sprite?” I asked as the substance dripped down onto my lips. “You goon, did you really fill that water gun with soda?”

“Stop resisting arrest, ma’am. Don’t make me handcuff you.”

“Where’d you get that from?” I laughed, poking the shiny badge clipped to his chest. “You’re silly. So, you’re the Sheriff?”

“Yes ma’am and I suggest you start cooperating.”

“Can I ask what I’m being charged with?” I teased, tilting my chin up with my hands in front of me— cooperating.

“Being sexy.”

“That’s not a crime. It seems to me like an abuse of power on your part.”

“Yes, I use this badge to get near beautiful women. You caught me.” He grabbed my wrist, pulling me out of the chair and into his chest. “If you give me some lovin’. I’ll let you go— charges dropped.”

“You’re so damn annoying.” I kissed him roughly, sinking my hands slipping through the strands of his hair. “You’re lucky you’re so scrumptious, Sheriff.”

“Having fun?”

“I would be if I wasn’t all sticky from being shot at with sprite.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll lick it off of you later.” He winked, dancing around me and pinching my butt. “I’ll have an hour for lunch, if you’re interested.”

“I’ll go pick up your favorite.”

“You’re my favorite.” He walked me over to the car and kissed me. “I can’t believe I’m helping a fugitive escape.” He murmured against my lips.

“Sheriff, the only thing I’m guilty of is having dirty thoughts about you.” I kissed his cheek, his jawline then his neck as I felt his heart begin to race. I pulled away, smiling up at him. “I should get going.”

“Tease.” He huffed, smacking my butt as I turned to get into the car. “Drive safe. I love you.”

“I love you.” He shut the door softly, leaning through the open window to kiss me one last time before I drove off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I pulled up to set, paper bags in hand everything felt the same. It wasn’t until my eyes landed on Michael that I realized I was wrong. He jumped slightly when I greeted him and was painfully quiet.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, thanks for getting food.” He sounded genuine in his tone, but the way he was pushing food around his plate with a fork told me there was more.

“Michael, you can—”

“Please!” He jumped up, dodging my hand as I tried to reach out to him. “Just drop it.”

There was so much I wanted to say. I had so many questions, but I stayed silent. When I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I immediately felt sick, I looked like a scared kid who’d just been grounded. I felt so damn confused.

“I gotta get back.” I watched as he left the trailer, his head hanging forward and his steps small but steady.

“Okay.” I said after the door shut. I felt helpless. I had no idea what the hell was going on. I thought about how clear he’d been about me taking my spot behind the camera, but right now it felt like he didn’t want me there.

Yet, my feet still carried me outside where the atmosphere had dramatically changed.

“3… 2… Action!”

I stared at my hands, resting in my lap, trying to think over the events of today. I had no idea what could be bothering Michael, but it was serious. I could feel it. When I finally built up the courage to look at him he spun around quickly avoiding my eyes. I don’t think I ever felt more devastated than in this moment.

“How was that?” I heard a voice speak near me. I looked up in time to see the crew walking towards the equipment. This meant they were taking a break— yet Michael was— I didn’t know where he was.

Great. He’s hiding from me now. What’s going on?

The crew had huddled around one of the monitors as they viewed the scene they’d just filmed. They were cheering and applauding at the performance Michael and Naomi were putting on. Even I had to admit, they were doing a great job, very convincing— almost uncomfortable to watch since they were having so much fun groping each other. Truly every girlfriend’s dream to witness her man dry hump in the open desert for a dozen cameras. I’m a lucky girl.

“Look at them. This is going to be hot!”

“That’s a star couple if I ever saw one.”

“People are going to go crazy over this video.”

“They’d be absolutely stunning together. Imagine their babies. Oh, they’d have beautiful babies.”

What the fuck. They’re having babies now? I can’t take much more of this. It’s getting difficult to keep up the supportive girlfriend act. It was easy to tell myself it’s just a job and Michael deserves to have me here cheering him on, but now it felt like I was intruding.

“Naomi, can we get you on the floor?” She flipped her hair and nodded enthusiastically. “Michael, just climb on top of her, do whatever comes to you.”

Yeah, I’m gonna need a break. I hopped out of my chair, walking off before taking one last glance at my boyfriend— that was a big mistake. His hand on Naomi’s chin, guiding her to look up at him from where she was on the floor— in front of him— on her knees.

That’s awesome.

I’m totally okay with this.

I’m not upset. They’re just acting.

And, they just so happened to be great actors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Michael’s POV*

As I danced along to the music, something had shifted and I could feel it deep in my soul. I tried to continue, but I was too focused on the empty chair a few yards in front of me. This isn’t right. She wouldn’t just wander off without telling me. I took a deep breath, shaking my head and when the music stopped my feet took off. This felt— it all felt wrong.

“Babe?” I found her stood behind the trailer, her back pushed up against it. “Why’d you leave?”

“It didn’t feel like I was needed anymore.”

“Of course you are. I panicked— I was worried when I didn’t see you.”

“I’m not stupid.” Her eyes were glossy when she finally spoke and her lips stuck in a frown.

“Of course you’re not. I never said you were.” I reached out to her, but she pushed my hand away.

“Well, then, why are you treating me like I am?”

“Babe, what’s going on? What’s this about?”

“This is humiliating.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can cut the tension with a knife. Why did you even bring me here?”

“Because I need you.”

“It doesn’t— I don’t think you do.”

“Come on. Let’s go inside.” I tried to reach out for her again, but she stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself. She was shielding her from me and it hurt like hell. “Let’s talk. We should talk.”

“It’s in your eyes. They always tell me what you can’t say. I can see it.”

“Honey, see what?”

“Michael, you’re into her.”

“What?”

“You’ve been acting— you haven’t been yourself off camera— with me. I don’t know why, but ever since lunch you’ve been avoiding me. It seems like you rather be over there with her… you’re not being yourself. And, the only explanation I can come up with is that you’re into her.”

“No. No. That’s not true.”

“That’s what it feels like— like you want to be with her. You’re acting different.”

“Baby, no. I promise that’s not it.”

“When they yell cut you practically hide from me, but I can tell. I can see it in your eyes— it’s— there’s something wrong and it looks like when the camera is rolling you’re loving every minute. I can feel it— there’s something going on with her.”

“No, Y/N, no— I don’t want her. This is work and I’m just playing a part.”

“You guys are all over each other—”

“It’s for the film. We’re acting. I’m acting. That’s all.”

“It seems like you’re both really enjoying it. Why are you avoiding me? Like you don’t want to be near me—”

“No, that’s not it! I’m so sorry… I didn’t intend to make you feel that way.”

“What is it then! Am I imagining it?”

“Y/N! No!”

“All you can say is no?”

“No! I mean— shit, not no.”

“You’ve gotta get back out there. I’ll just stay here or I can leave.” She took in a deep breath like she was trying to appear unfazed. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No. Y/N, listen...” I drifted off, feeling helpless. I had no idea what to say— how to say this.

“Just say it.”

“I don’t know…”

“Then, say something, say anything.”

“I was avoiding you because I can’t keep things from you. I’m not a good liar.”

“A good liar? Oh my god. What did you do?”

“Babe.”

“What did you do with her that you need to lie to me about?” Her voice was weak and she started crying profusely at the thought of me betraying her.

“No. Please listen to me.” She still wouldn’t let me touch her, so I settled for placing my hands on the metal exterior of the trailer, on either side of her, blocking her in so she couldn’t run away from me.

“I’m listening.” She muttered, staring off into the distance.

“I’d never do something like that. I didn’t mean— I meant I’m not good at keeping things from you. I hate it actually. And, I thought it was best to not tell you this while we’re still here because I didn’t want you to kill Naomi.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I love you. Do you hear me? I fucking love you. I didn’t want— I thought I was protecting you.”

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Shit. Okay, please don’t be mad.”

“Michael, you’re scaring me.”

“When you left to get us lunch. She came into my trailer—”

“Who?” Her eyes squinted, focusing on my every word and I knew immediately this wasn’t going to end well.

“Naomi, she came onto me.”

“She what!” Y/N yelled, taking me by surprise.

“Oh, you’re already mad. That was quick.” I nervously bit my lip, stalling because I didn’t want to tell her everything. She was going to lose it.

“What did she do Michael?”

“I need you to promise me that you won’t run over there and go all Balboa, okay? There can’t be— you can’t make a scene.”

“Michael, tell me, now.”

“You didn’t promise.”

“Fine. I promise. I won’t make a scene.” Her voice was calm when she said it, showing me a tight lipped smile to reassure me. I didn’t have much time to study that smile before she spoke again. “Now, tell me.”

“Naomi came onto me. She threw herself at me. I didn’t think she’d— it came out of nowhere. I—It made me so uncomfortable. I was kind of embarrassed— but still— honey, I— I should’ve told you. I— S— She grabbed me— like— down there and said things— offered some things I’m not very comfortable repeating—” I didn’t get to finish before she dipped her head under my arm, escaping my makeshift barrier. “Babe!” She didn’t stop and she didn’t look back.

I took a deep breath before chasing after her, but she’d vanished. Damn, I forgot how quick she is. The only hint of her whereabouts was the sound of Naomi’s trailer door being ripped open. I scanned the area anxiously, but nothing seemed off. No one was suspicious of anything. There were no eyes on me. Everyone was going on about their business as usual and that’s when I really noticed how quiet it was. It was too quiet. I couldn’t hear any sounds of a fight which made me curious and a little afraid. Carefully, I walked towards the open door of Naomi’s trailer, peeking inside and nothing. I didn’t see Y/N or Naomi anywhere. I really didn’t want to go inside, but knowing my girl, I’d definitely have to carry her out of here.

“Babe! Are you in here?” There was a slight creaking sound and it was only then I noticed the trailer shaking.

No answer.

“Babe?”

Still nothing.

I placed my foot on the first step, counting to five before going any further, but thankfully that was as far as I had to go. Y/N appeared from the back room with a toothy grin on her face this time, fixing her shirt and dusting herself off.

“Hey baby! There you are.” She chuckled, walking over to me, intertwining our hands and dragging me back outside— away from what she’d done. My gut told me she left behind a crime scene. The way she smiled at me— I had no doubt she took care of business.

“What did you do?” I whispered, studying her body for any visible wounds. I paused, inspecting her hands, specifically her bright red knuckles.

“Nothing.” She shrugged innocently. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t see anything, did you?”

“Y/N, you have to tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Did you hit her? Yell at her? I didn’t hear any yelling. What happened in there?”

“I didn’t hear anything. Did you?” She tilted her head, waiting for my answer. There was something about the way she was looking at me. I wanted to laugh, but I was genuinely curious what she was capable of.

“Babe—”

Before I could finish, Naomi emerged from her trailer, looking— very different. She looked like she’d been to hell and back. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were trained on the floor as she walked by us. She had her hand on her forehead, acting like she was blocking the sun, but I could tell there was more. She was covering something, maybe a scratch or bruise.

“I didn’t cause a scene.” Y/N whispered to me as she brought her lips to mine.

“I’m not sure whether to be scared of you or really turned on right now.” I wasn’t scared of her. I was impressed, maybe that was wrong, but I was.

“You’ll figure it out.” She winked, cupping my face and rubbing her thumb across my cheek.

“Thank you. Thank you so—”

“No need. I’m always going to have your back. I know I promised, but I couldn’t— I couldn’t just let someone get away with doing that to you.”

“Thank you for standing up for me. No one has ever done anything like that for me.”

“And, I always will. You’ll always have me.”

I stared at her in awe for what felt like hours, the way I love her is unlike anything I’ve ever known to exist. She defends me with her whole heart. No matter how low I feel she brings me back up. When I feel like I’m drowning she keeps my head above water. I don’t know how she does it— I don’t know why she does it, but damn would I be lost without it— without her. Fuck, I knew it the first time I laid eyes on her. I knew it the first time I heard her voice. I needed her. My girl.

There’s something about her.

“I love you.” It came out as an exhale, but shit did I put my soul into those three words. I felt a tug at my lips, admiring how she looked at me, like I was her world— the same way I looked at her.

“You should.”

[ohthewh0rror]

WE’LL MEET AGAIN SOME SUNNY DAY.

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚ prompt — “If I can’t love you in this lifetime I will wait for you until the next.”

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

A/N: Alexa, play For Her by Whatsaheart. Which totally has nothing to do with this fic, but the song is 1000% a Tom/Reader song. Also this connects to a previous Tom POV in a way, I might make a part 2 to this tbh.

So this is what it means to lose? To accept you’re at the end of your rope? This sense of hopelessness, knowing there was nothing I could do to change my fate, carved a pit into my chest, hollowing out the center where my heart once lay and burrowing itself in its place. I stood at the top of the grand staircase, sunlight coming through the windows, setting the room alight in a soft glow. The home itself is silent, but I swear I can hear the inkling of laughter in the distance, it feels just out of reach as I continue to make my way to the bottom of the stairs.

I try to follow the sound, but it feels like the sound is teasing me, dancing in and out of each ear, beckoning me closer just to drift away again. Before I know it, I’m standing in front of the door. The need to open the door is overwhelming, but a voice in the back of my head is attempting to dissuade me from grasping the handle.

As I hesitate, my hand hovering just above the handle, I hear it again. The sweet sound of laughter; something so familiar, so inviting, it gives me the strength to dismiss the voice in the back of my mind. Grasping the warm knob of the door, I give it only a slight twist before it softly cracks open. I can hear the laughter more clearly now, it’s here just on the other side of the doors. I stand, still hesitant to open the door fully and step out, when I hear her.

Her? Who is this her? She’s calling out to me, telling me it’s time. I open the door fully, and the glow of the sun is suddenly blinding.

Tom awoke with a gasp, confused, as his heart thumped painfully against his chest. He laid there for a moment, taking in where he was, making sure he was in fact in his London flat. He let out one last shuddering breath as he sat up, realizing he wasn’t in some manor, but instead his bed.

What kind of dream was that? Was it a dream? It felt so real, almost too real. Tom was internally grateful when the clock on his bedroom wall chimed, letting them know it was time to get up and get ready for work.

Tom hurried through getting ready, skipping breakfast entirely, intent on getting out of his flat and to his job at the Ministry as soon as he could. The dream unsettled him to his core; the feelings of hopelessness, acceptance, and dare he say longing left him feeling suffocated. He needed a change of scenery and the monotony of work to take his mind off things.

But, as the day wore on, the dream continued to haunt him. Especially the voice of the woman calling out to him. It wasn’t a voice he had heard before, yet it sounded so familiar to him still. It wasn’t until he was out with a few of his coworkers later that day, getting drinks when he finally found her.

He heard her laugh before he saw her face, the sound causing his heart to plummet, as he desperately searched with his eyes for the source of the sound.

And there she was, standing across the room with what seemed to be a friend of hers. An intense feeling of déjà vu washed over him as he took in the sight of her throwing her head back, laughing at something her friend had said. It made no sense to him, as he doesn’t know this woman. He doesn’t remember seeing her a day in his life, and yet looking at her now, he feels as if he’s seeing an old friend again for the first time in a long time.

One of his coworkers, Rafferty, must have noticed he wasn't paying attention and took it upon himself to see what had Tom so spaced out because the next thing Tom knows there’s a heavy hand on his shoulder. He hears Rafferty’s gruff voice in his ear a moment later, “that’s Y/N, she works at the Ministry too, Department of Mysteries.”

Tom nodded absentmindedly, contemplating just leaving it at that. To let that supposed dream remain a mystery for the rest of his life, a perpetual ‘what-if’ in the back of his mind. But it seems as if he didn't have a choice, when Rafferty, the annoying brute, called out to both Y/N and her friend over. As they made their way towards the table, Rafferty turned and gave Tom a wink, giving Tom half a mind to hex him into the next century.

His aggravation seemed like a footnote once Y/N had made it to the table. After she greeted Rafferty and his two other colleagues, she finally turned to him.

Oh…oh no.

Tom truly hadn’t believed in love at first sight. His whole life he figured it was a load of rubbish, just something in children’s storybooks to inspire their imagination. But now, at the age of 26, he can say that love at first sight was very much real. Seeing her was like breathing in your first gulp of air after nearly drowning, painful yet so relieving.

Relief?

Yes. That’s what Tom felt holding her hand in his as he introduced himself, Tom felt like the part of his life that had been missing finally fell into place as he looked into her (Y/E/C) eye’s. Tom didn’t know what Y/N was thinking, but if the look on her told him anything, she was feeling the same way he felt in this moment. Y/N seemed almost reluctant to pull her hand away, but ultimately did. Still, neither of them looked away from each other.

As their introduction led to casual conversation, Tom and Y/N’s conversation continued on late into the night, even long after their other companions had left. As the bartender made the last call, Tom offered to walk Y/N outside to an appropriate apparition point. They fell into comfortable silence, one you’d expect from two people who had known each other their whole lives.

And maybe they had, just at another time, in another life.

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

Curiosity Part 1

Summary: Reader wanders into a sketchy part of the city and curiosity is her greatest temptor.

TW/CW: None that I know of. Reader x Mafia/Vampire!Colby Brock eventually.

Requested?: Nope

A/N: This started as a creative writing prompt and somehow turned into an imagine bc I have nothing but Colby Brock on my brain lately lol.

A/N: Fucking adorable little shit.

Y/N's POV

As the sun sets over the harbor, the lights of the city came on, one by one. I shiver, pulling my thin hoodie tighter around my body. I know it’s stupid of me to be out this late, especially in this part of town, but I need to. It began as a need for fresh air but has since turned into a need for adventure. Everyone around me always said this side of the city was dangerous and I want to see it for myself. As I wander the dimly lit streets, eyes scanning for any signs of danger, I begin to think everyone is being dramatic.

I'm not scared in the slightest. My plan is to take off sprinting toward my apartment at the first inkling that I'm in trouble. I'll be fine, right?

I might have been fine had I not wandered down that one street that led me to that one section of shipping containers that led me to that one alleyway. I jump as a smooth voice speaks from the shadows, “What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ out here?”

I look in the direction of the voice, knowing I should run but curiosity keeps my feet cemented in place. Dropping my face into a disinterested gaze, I respond, “Just getting some air. How ‘bout you?”

From the darkness emerges a tall, blonde man, “You’re brave aren’t you?”

I force myself to stay calm and look into the blue eyes of the stranger before me, “Depends on who you ask,” I shrug.

The stranger tilts his head slightly and grins, “He’s gonna love you,” he mutters to himself but I still catch it. My heart leaps to my throat at the seemingly ever-growing grin on his face as he steps closer, never daring to drop eye contact and I can’t seem to look away either. “You’re coming with me, Princess,” he states before turning to walk back down the alleyway.

My feet follow of their own accord. No matter how hard I try to turn the other way and take off running, my body won’t cooperate. I scan ahead of me, trying to discern where the man may be leading me but all I can see is dingy brick walls and busted trash bags. Finally, he speaks again, “Here we are,” stopping in front of a decrepit door with a rusty “keep out” sign hanging front and center. I try and fail to speak as he knocks a pattern into the wooden door.

Promptly, it swings open revealing another man, this one smiles at me and bows, “Come on in.” As I step across the threshold with Blondie following closely behind, I can’t hide the shocked look on my face, swearing I saw fangs on the man who welcomed us in. Shaking my head I mentally deem it an alternative fashion choice and return my attention to my surroundings. Muffled, bass-filled music can be heard from behind the walls around me. Somehow, my feet seem to know exactly where to take me.

The black walls of the hallway are covered in all kinds of spooky and music-related memorabilia. The plush deep purple carpet is a striking contrast to the darkness of the hall. As I round a corner, the room opens up into a sort of speakeasy. I stop in my tracks as the group at the bar pauses their silly antics and turns to look at me. I can feel the urge to bolt out of the room once again but one of the bar patrons calls out, “Whatcha got here Sam?”

The blonde stranger I met what seems like hours ago steps out from behind me and toward the bar, taking a seat, “Found her wandering around the container yard. Didn’t immediately bolt like the others typically do.”

The previous speaker raises his eyebrows in shock before plastering a big, bright smile across his face. My heart does a quick flutter as he watches me and with a few snickers around the group, it’s almost like they heard it.

He doesn’t speak again for quite some time which allows me to fully take in the group before me. The blonde who had brought me in off the streets, now known as Sam, orders a drink from the bartender before nudging and whispering to the one who had welcomed us in, who laughs heartily before shifting his gaze to the one staring me down. This one looks almost devilish yet so charming in his purple button-up and black leather pants. The chain necklaces he wears brush his exposed collarbone and the rings adorning his hands send naughty thoughts through my mind. I shake my head before taking in his striking blue eyes and dark fluffy hair. These men look nothing like what everyone warned me would be awaiting me on this side of the city.

I'm pulled from my thoughts as the dark-haired man speaks up, “What’s your name, Sweetheart?”

My throat is dry and I struggle to keep my voice steady as I speak up, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Several in the group chuckle including the main speaker who replies, “I would. That’s why I asked.” His voice is deep and velvety smooth. The kind of voice that could rile me up but still talk me to a peaceful sleep as well. There is a hint of mischief in his words and yet he remains gentle.

“That’s for me to know and you not to find out,” I state, sounding braver than I feel. I find myself wanting to melt before this man and I don't even know his name yet. Feigning disinterest once again, I add, “Can someone kindly show me to the exit?”

The man before you looks at Sam with an impressed expression on his face, “Quite brave isn’t she?”

Sam looks at me and shrugs with a smile on his face, “Depends on who you ask,” the call back to before unknown to the others but sticking out clearly to me, “Or at least that’s what she says.”

The other man looks back to me, “Here, I’ll go first. My name is Colby. Your turn,” he motions to me before taking a sip of his drink.

I mentally debate with myself between lying or telling the truth before landing on, “(Y/N).”

Colby tilts his head and grins at me, “See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” The door greeter whispers something to Sam which draws Colby’s attention away from me immediately making me want it back. Colby gives the man a disapproving look, “Jake, you know we can hear you, why bother whispering?” Jake simply shrugs.

I yawn and stretch my arms above my head, “It’s getting late, I think I’ll be going now.”

In the blink of an eye, Colby is right in front of me tilting my chin up with his thumb and pointer finger to lock eyes with me, “That’s entirely your decision but I think you and I both know you’d rather stay.”

Despite my racing heart, my voice remains disinterested and steady, “What makes you think I wanna stay here in this dingy speakeasy when I could be at home in my warm bed getting some shuteye?”

Colby grins, “Because you’re too damn intrigued to leave now. You haven’t taken your eyes off me since you walked in and don’t think I didn’t notice these pretty lips pout when I looked away from you,” he marks the end of his response by brushing his thumb over my bottom lip.

My heart skips a beat at his actions and the fact he saw right through me makes me want to give in completely. I don't. I step back and turn toward the door instead, “I’ll just see myself out.”

Colby’s hand drops to his side as I hear Jake laugh behind me, “She didn’t deny his statement.” I exit the building successfully despite every bone in my body screaming at me to turn back around and run into his arms. Despite my heart feeling a little heavier, I make my way back to my apartment. As I crawl into bed sometime later, I replay the night’s events in my head. I can’t seem to get Colby out of my head and unbeknownst to me, he can’t shake me from his thoughts either. I promise myself that I won’t go looking for him again but that’s a promise I'll soon break. Curiosity might’ve killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back after all.

Masterlist

More Colby Brock Imagines

[ilikebookssomuch]

hello hi yes this is pt 3 of my kidnapping Sophie & Dex au so yeah anyway. No one has told me if they do or don't want to be tagged so I'll just keep tagging the few people I know and if you want to be tagged then tell me :)

(also I promise this gets sadder but we aren't to the truly good part yet. Soon.)

Mr. Forkle’s POV

  Errol L. Forkle, the elf who created Project Moonlark, was at a loss for words. The Collective stood around him, along with Tinker, Calla, Lur, Mitya, and Physic. Squall, who was a Froster and used her ability to crust herself in ice to conceal her identity, was the first to speak. 

“I just got back from Havenfield. Grady and Edaline are a mess, and so far there has been no sign of Sophie or Dex,” her voice caught on the last few words, and she leaned against the wall of the treehouse. The Black Swan had decided to meet in Alluveterre, a hideout consisting of two massive treehouses with a gazebo in the center. 

Everyone was gathered around in the boy’s common room, but no one was relaxed in the slightest. Mr. Forkle tore his hands through his hair, asking Tinker, their Technopath, if she was getting anything from the registry feeds of the kids.

“Nothing,” Tinker spoke very little, and today was no exception.

He knew that if Tinker, who was without a doubt the best Technopath he’d ever met, couldn’t track down Sophie or Dex, it was a very bad thing. The only other time that had happened was when Jolie…. No. He wouldn’t give up so soon. 

“We’ll keep searching. Lur, Mitya, can you travel to Havenfield? Perhaps the earth will give us clues.” 

The two gnomes nodded and slipped away. 

“Granite and I will consult the Council. The rest of you are free to go. Physic, go to Slurps and Burps and stock up on healing elixirs and balms. I suspect we’ll need them.” Physic nodded, her emerald-studded mask swaying. After she leaped away, he turned to the remainder of the group. 

“You are all welcome to stay here, but I think Squall has family matters she must attend to.” Mr. Forkle looked pointedly at Squall's frozen form. With that, he took Granite’s rocky hand, raised his pathfinder, and stepped into the beam of shimmering light.

Twelve glimmering castles came into view as the warm rush of light faded. Granite and Mr. Forkle found Emery’s bold sapphire blue castle after a few minutes of searching. Mr. Forkle used the ornate door-knocker, waiting precisely eighty-three seconds until a dark-skinned face with a sapphire-studded circlet answered the door. 

“What are you doing here? And who are you two?” Emery asked, glancing at Mr. Forkle’s bloated skin and Granite’s statue-like appearance. 

“We must save the introductions for later. We’re here about two young elves that have seemingly gone missing. Do you have any inkling as to where they might be?” Mr. Forkle asked, shoving the door open to reveal a luxurious room full of blue and white furniture. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, which stretched high above their heads. 

“If you’re talking about Mr. Dizznee and Miss Foster, no. We are trying our best to track them down, but wherever they are, they clearly didn’t take their registry pendants. There hasn’t been a signal from either of them since yesterday evening. And I must ask again, who are you? What do the children have to do with you?” said Emery, a note of confusion creeping into his voice.

“You can stop trying to surpass our mental defenses, Councilor Emery. We both sensed you the second you furrowed your brow in concentration,” Granite said, reaching into his pocket to pull out a pathfinder.

Emery’s face morphed into shock, and as Mr. Forkle was pulled away by the light, he heard Emery say, “Are you with the Black Swan?”

@myfairkatiecat @ilov3b00kss0much @stunning-mess @ham-cheese-toastie @alaydabug2 (again, you can tell me if you'd like to be tagged when I post more!)

[heyidkyay]

I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twenty-Seven

A/n: Hey! 27's here, sorry for the long wait, took a break whilst on holiday and then I lost all motivation. But here it is and so full of fluff and stuff too! I'm not sure where this'll lead in truth, if it even will, but I'm grateful to everyone who's shown the series some love! Hope you like the update:) No warnings on this one I think, only mention is that there may be some more terrible Spanish written in here, so I apologise beforehand to all fluent speakers, I'm sorry! Also we're starting with a Matty pov, which will then switch and stay in the first person, enjoy! X

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Masterlist

—MATTY’S POV—

He was stood in the doorway, see. Just watching, observing the way she carefully moved about the bedroom, lost in her own head as she typically was most days. He could visibly see the cogs ticking about in there, the endless train of thought she’d plopped herself down on. But she puttered about still, getting ready for, well, God only know’s what. But he had an inkling.

She glanced up at him through the mirror she had sat on the dresser and he flashed her a squinted smile, arms folded across his chest, body propped up against the door's frame.

“Gonna stand there all afternoon, creep?” She teased.

Matty rolled his eyes and moved across the floor to join her, eyes flitting briefly over the makeup she had laying about. “Might do, got a problem with that?”

She chuckled and shook her head faintly in return, fiddling with a necklace she couldn’t quite clasp with her cast still on.

“Here, lemme.” Matty motioned towards her and grasped the thin silver chain from her hands before pivoting her back around, the two of them facing the mirror now. He spoke quietly as he looped it over her head and around her neck, tinkering with the clasp, “So where you off to then?”

Those lovely eyes of hers fluttered downwards and he caught the slight quirk of a smile in the glass. He had to hide his own.

“Just out with George.” She admitted softly and looked up at him again then, as though she wanted to read his reaction to it. 

He really had to dim his grin now, instead opting to fiddle with the finicky clasp of the necklace she’d had since forever, because it seemed he’d been correct in his hidden assumption. 

Not that it’d been much of a secret though, fucking surprised that half of Tenerife hadn’t heard the pair of them roaring at each other late last night. But he figured that they'd somehow needed that, to air out forgotten wounds and make anew. Probably still had a long way to go though- and he’d very much be watching George’s every move along the way- but he was glad for the change in direction. It’d been a long time coming. 

He hummed and let the necklace fall around her collar once he'd caught the latch, before pushing her hair forward and dropping his chin to rest atop her shoulder. Their eyes met in the mirror, “You nervous?”

She released a shaky sort of breath around a sweet smile, fingers coming up to play with the tiny hummingbird the necklace held. “Why’d you ask that?”

He shrugged a single shoulder and smirked at her in the reflection, throwing an arm around her too for good measure. “Good thing, nerves. Make you feel like you’re living, innit? Like you’re doing something right.”

Her eyes narrowed but she was still smiling at him, even as she released the chain to childishly flick the side of his head, “Maybe, but you’re making them worse right now.”

Matty only laughed and pulled away when she walked over to where she had a couple shoes lying about. “How? I’m just bein’ nice!” He retorted in defence, “And besides, we both know you could probably dye his pubes bright orange and he’d say thank you. Sad how in love the kid is with you.”

She rolled her eyes at him with a slight scoff, deciding to ignore him and instead ask, “What do you reckon then, trainers or sandals?”

Flopping down onto the already made bed, Matty hummed as he looked between the pair, “Where’re you headed?”

“Not a hundred percent, out to eat maybe?”

Matty kissed his teeth in thought, “G will probably plan something a bit more than that. Go with the trainers, just in case.” There was a wrinkle between her brows even as she went along with his choice and he withheld a heavy sigh, “Or just go with whatever you think’s best, ey?” Women!

“Nah, ’s not that. Just...” She fiddled with her shoelace, but Matty knew better than to offer to help her with them these days, easier to just let her do it at her own pace. And he knew that now, same way he knew he’d have to go about awaiting on a prolonged answer. She sighed quietly to herself after a minute, having finally collected the right words, he assumed. “I don’t know, made it sound like it’s a date or summat.”

Now it was his turn to fucking frown. “What, is it not then?” He prodded as he propped himself up onto his hands to look over at her. 

She shrugged, all timid-like and just not her. “Dunno.”

Matty dragged his tongue across the inside of cheek and under his bottom lip before he huffed loudly and jumped up off the bed, her head snapped up towards him as he did.

“Where’re you goin’?” She questioned him, but he reckoned she already had a feeling- they’d both known each other far too long to not.

“To fucking ask the twat.”

“Matty, don’t you dare!” He heard her call out just as passed over the threshold, heard her continue to repeat herself too before she stumbled out onto the landing to chase after him. But he didn’t care, muttering about how he’d have to ‘smash fuckin’ heads together to make people see sense these days’ and 'forced into doing bloody everything around here’. 

“Matty!” She repeated in a hissing sort of tone from somewhere behind him, but he was already barreling into George’s room without knocking or a care to level his bandmate with a put-upon glare.

“Right!” He proclaimed outright, catching the attention of said idiot messing about with his hair nervously in the mirror, “G, mate, is this a date you’re taking our Birdie out on today or not? ‘Cause if we could just settle this whole thing now then I reckon we’d all be able to go about things a bit easier, no?”

His blunt tone and question had George faltering in utter surprise and then glancing between himself and the girl, wearing only one shoe, stood in his doorway looking just as sheepish as him. Matty rose both brows at the pair and let out a heaving sigh when neither spoke a word.

“Fucks sake. George!” He demanded and was finally gifted the attention he so deserved- these two, a right pair of muppets. 

George fish-mouthed for a split second, alarmed eyes darting between them both, but he nodded as he swallowed thickly. “Yeah, um yes. At least, I'm hoping.”

Matty flew his hands up praisingly, “Thank fuck!” He exclaimed and then turned towards the other nuisance in his life, “Right, now B, you down for this date or are you gonna crush the poor knob’s heart?”

The girl snorted and Matty noted that a faint flush stained her cheeks as she dipped her head, but she was still smirking over at the giant idiot stood in the corner, a shoe dangling from her hand.

Matty grinned at the both of them and then moved to leave the room, “Good! Right! Glad we got that debacle all cleared up. What would you lot do without me, hey?” He shot her a sly wink as he passed by, feeling very smug if he did say so himself, and just hoped that the two of them could cope for another couple of hours without him.

—

It was strange, this void we were sitting in. Quiet. Nervous really, but not the bad sort. Just this buzzing energy that surrounded the both of us in the backseat of this cab together.

George kept shooting me quick glances, almost afraid to linger but unable to hold his stare ahead. It was making me all jittery, the kind of feeling most tended to get when you were with someone new and you were excited to see where it would head. But G and I, we’d never had that the first go around. He'd been a stranger, a part of the band, a friend next, and then we were together.

It sounded simple, wording it like that, though it'd been anything but.

Still, this buzz was sweet and palpable. It had a hold on my breath, as well as my mind. It was fucking thrilling.

“¿Lleva usted mucho tiempo en España?” The cab driver questioned, breaking the silence that had only been ebbed by the low hum of the radio and the outside traffic. His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror and I smiled.

“A mí más que a él, pero sólo durante unas semanas.” I replied, gaze drifting towards George for a moment when I felt his eyes on me, I was glad when he didn’t glance away again. “¿Desde cuándo es taxista?”

The cabby hadn’t known much English when he’d pulled up outside of the villa, so there had been evident relief written into the quirk of his smile when I'd realised and answered him in Spanish. He’d been trying though throughout the drive, for George’s sake I realised, who had gifted the man his phone once we'd entered so that I’d be none the wiser of our destination.

“Uh, few years.” The driver answered me as he pulled out of another side street. “Siete y medio?”

I hummed around another smile, “Seven years is a long time! You enjoy it?”

He nodded, flashing me an understanding grin. “Sí, sí! Mucha gente maravillosa.”

“¿Muchas historias que contar?”

He laughed in retort, flicking the indicator downwards. “Many secrets, too.” He indulged.

George was wearing this bemused smile beside me, eyes squinted as they travelled between the driver and myself, but he seemed content enough to just sit and listen in on our conversation.

“Like what?” I questioned the man, leaning in a little closer in my seat in hopes that he’d divulge a bit more.

I was pleased when he did, went on to tell me a few myriads about the travellers he’d picked up on drives, as well as a few of the familiar locals. One man had brought along his pet parrot, though it hadn’t been caged, just stationed on his arm, and the guy had said nothing more about it. Only spoke a few words about where he was headed and then spent the rest of the journey whispering to the bird, his eyes almost crazy. Our driver had said that it’d put him on edge but he hadn’t been able to help his hysteric laughter once he’d finally dropped the passenger off at some banana boat rental place. 

Another, was with this older woman. He’d thought nothing much of this blonde who'd climbed into his cab outside of a bar one night, figured she was just headed home from meeting with friends or family, but it'd been nothing of the sort. Instead she’d asked to be dropped off outside of this crappy, rundown hotel on the edge of town and said she was meeting up with a ‘client’. In the shortened version of his story, she’d actually been a prostitute and had many a story of her own to tell him on the way over, having been in the game nearly twenty years. One involved the time she’d had to hide an eight ball of coke where the sun didn’t shine. She’d then gone on to offer to show him exactly she she’d done it in the back of his cab, but he’d been too shocked to speak. Even so, the woman had still flashed him her arsehole before getting out and paying her tab.

I was chuckling away to myself as the driver finished up with his latest tale. I'd been a translator of sorts for both him and George, who was now unable to help his laughter too it seemed, all of us pleasantly pleased by the joyful atmosphere that'd been created. So lost in our conversation that I was honestly surprised when the car rolled to a stop on the side of the road, so slowly I’d barely even noticed until the man had turned back to face us.

"Sin embargo, a pesar de lo divertidas que fueron esas personas, creo que este viaje fue uno de mis favoritos." The cabbie smiled, his eyes kind. 

I murmured a repeat of what he’d said to George and the drummer mimicked the warm words back to the man, claiming to feel a similar way. I believed him, too, G had been all over the world, probably met more cab drivers than anyone else I’d ever met, but the expression he wore then was too genuine to be anything other. 

“Ustedes dos han sido encantadores de conducir,” The man acknowledged, glancing between us. “Thank you for listening, yes?”

I gifted him a large grin as George and I steadily made for the door, “Thank you for telling us. Ha sido un placer conocerle.”

“Sí, y tú, querida.”

George handed him some euros through the driver’s side window and the man patted the back of his hand in thanks as he accepted the cash. “Muchas gracias. Mantenerse seguro y cuida de ella, ¿vale?” I heard the man say and George chuckled whilst nodding his assent.

“I’ll try. Thank you, man.”

And then the cab begun to pull away and George and I were left- hang on, where the hell had we been left?

“Where are we?” I asked the same man, squinting as I raised a hand over my face to shield my eyes from the hot sun, wanting to glance about. There wasn’t much surrounding us, just a single row of brightly coloured houses on a quiet little street littered with palms.

My gaze found him again when he failed to answer. He was stood across from me, still stuck in the same place he’d taken since having stepped out of the cab, now though he wore a cheeky smile. “Truth?”

I lingered on the term and then bit my lip, before nodding once.

George tucked his hands into the shorts he was wearing, blue they were, and had sunglasses atop his head that didn’t move even as he turned it to the left. “I have not a fucking clue.”

He started laughing when he saw the way my face instantly dropped.

“George. Be serious right now, ‘cause I swear to God.”

The idiot only continued to laugh, though it was practically a snicker now, as he glanced back at me. “I’m not gonna lie and say I know exactly where we are, that I could probably get us back to the villa if I really tried, but that’s not me, is it? So, what I will tell you, is that I paid Ross a stupid amount of money to find us a secluded enough beach so that we wouldn’t be bothered, and then drag some shit down here so that it’d be set up for when we arrived.”

I blinked at him. There must’ve been about a foot or two of distance separating us- seemingly planned- and so I found myself stepping off the curb to close it. George looked a little apprehensive the nearer I grew and I saw the way his shoulders hunched a tad as though he was expecting a slap or something of the sorts. 

Instead, I simply stopped just shy of his nose, now toe to toe, and glanced up at him.

“How much we talking here?”

George exhaled an amused chuckle through his nose, “That’s what you choose to focus on?” I raised a brow and he relented. “A lot, because he’s a twat and I’m gone enough on you to do just about anything to make this day perfect. Yeah?”

I found myself withholding a very apparent smile upon hearing that, which only made him that more nervous, which entail then had him rambling to save himself. 

“I know it’s stupid, yeah, but Ross, he’s smart, ain’t he? And I figured that he’d want this to be nice for us- for you, I mean. And Matty and Hann they’d’ve botched this right up if I'd've asked them. Like could you imagine? Ad would’ve had us on some fucking boat sailing off somewhere romantic, forgetting that you get motion sickness and I hate being stuck with fuck all to do- I mean, after all that water, what else is there, innit? Then Matt, he’d’ve either gone over the top with it all, or gotten a right laugh out of it. So, yeah, Ross had been my only option, really. And I knew I could trust him to tell me if I was playing a tit, if all this wouldn’t be something you’d want, but he didn’t and so, here we are.”

He forced a grin he obviously didn't feel and scratched at the jut of his jaw.

Giving in, I finally cracked that smile I’d been hiding and released an airy titter when his whole being relaxed. 

“Where’s this beach then?” I questioned him, hands linked behind my back as I pushed myself up onto my tiptoes, glinting eyes finding his. He knocked his head one way and then rolled his lip together whilst watching me.

“Somewhere over there, I think.”

“Think?” I challenged with a small smirk, he hummed. “Reckon you can lead the way then?”

I inhaled at the way his eyes roamed the entirety of my face, like he was taking in every inch of it that he could. My head shot downwards when I felt his fingers graze the skin of my forearm, I let it drop from behind my back and swallowed when our hands slipped together.

“If you’ll let me.” Was all he said, and I nodded quietly before I let him lead us out and away from the road.

We travelled down a lengthy little alleyway slotted between a pair of tall houses, one terracotta, the other a pale yellow, and came across a slanted cliffside. It was there that we discovered a painted gate that led to a set of stone steps leading down, down, down onto a grassy verge that soon trailed into thick golden sand.

I’d kicked my shoes off the second I could and breathed in when my feet finally touched the warm sand. George’s hand never left mine all the while and together we waltzed down the length of the beach, murmuring to one another in the breeze whilst the sea washed away our footprints.

It was just after George had almost tried to trip me up and spin me further into the ocean that something up ahead caught my eye. A smoky trail that danced high in the sky and was coming from a small fire-pit that had been lit on the sand. I must’ve stopped pretty abruptly because George frowned at me before a smile graced his features.

“Cool, ain’t it? My idea that, just so you know, in case Ross tries to rob any of the credit.”

I blinked a couple times, taking in the scene set out before us, and then looked up at him. “You planned this?” I asked as he continued to lead me closer.

There’d been an oversized blanket spread out, held down by a couple rocks at either corner, it homed this wicker basket that sat in its centre. An old radio with an antenna as long as a Wolfhound’s tail perched by the flickering firelight too, practically as old as the song it sang.

“Sacrifice, really?” I pondered aloud, a happy smile limning my lips as I turned to glance over at George, who merely shrugged in turn.

“Figured everyone loves a bit of Elton.”

I chuckled, “And what’s in there?” I asked, gesturing over towards the basket.

“Food and some other shit.” George answered me. I shook my head and mimicked his stupid reply under my breath, earning myself a playful shove. “You know what I mean.”

“A picnic then? George Daniel who ever claimed you weren’t a cliche!”

“Piss off.” George laughed, “I can just chuck this all out you know, then all this effort gone will have gone to waste.”

I feigned a pout, “Poor Ross’ll be so disheartened.”

He narrowed his eyes at me then, done with all my needless teasing now it appeared, and I wailed in sudden surprise when he lifted me up off my feet and tossed me over his shoulder.

“George!”

“Nah, reckon I’ll keep the cliche picnic and nice little blanket I set out, let the radio play, and just sod you off instead. Sea’s big enough for you to get lost in and, if I remember rightly, you quite like to swim.”

“George, I swear!” I shouted through my laughter, thumping his arse with my one good hand. “Put me down, now!”

George paused just short of the shore for a second and hummed theatrically. “You willing to apologise then?”

I scowled and he must’ve sensed it, even with my head hanging just short of his hip, because his body moved with a chuckle.

“What was that, lovely? Can’t quite hear anything yet.”

I huffed, figuring a half-arsed apology was better than getting my cast wet. Because we both knew he'd do it. “Sorry for making fun of your picnic.”

“Come again, can’t hear you over the wonderful sound of the sea. These waves are something else, I tell you, you seeing ‘em too?”

George yelped when I pinched the back of his leg in retaliation and I laughed even as he treaded further into the water.

“I said sorry! I'm sorry! Now take me back, you giant prat!”

Thankfully he did and I was breathless when he placed me back down on the blanket.

“Alright there, Birdie?” He smirked at me and planted his hands on his hips whilst I flipped him off and staggered over to have a nose in the basket. He laughed as he followed behind me, “Come on, B. I was only messin’.”

I hummed and peered over at him when he settled down on the blanket too, “So was I. This is really nice, G. You didn’t have to, you know.”

He grew a little sheepish then I reckon, because he looked off into the horizon to hide his face from view. “Wish I could’ve done more in truth.”

I rolled my eyes but gasped when I caught sight of the batch of tiny chocolates tucked away in the very bottom of the basket. “How the fuck did you manage to find these this time of year?”

George chuckled at my childlike excitement upon finding the Mini Eggs and shuffled in closer to unwrap the packet I’d been struggling with. “Man of many talents me.” 

I shook my head in disbelief and thanked him when he handed the chocolate eggs back to me. “No, really. I need to know ‘cause I want to take a stash of these back to England with me.”

I offered him up one but he just shook his head before leaning back on his elbows. “Can’t. Didn’t buy them here.” He told me, and I tilted my head in confusion. He shot me a brief smile before he wrinkled his nose. “Brought ‘em with me, didn’t I?”

My forehead pinched and I shuffled in place to bring my knee up to rest my arm on. “What do you mean, you find them at the terminal or something?”

George just shook his head, eyes grazing the shoreline. “Got drunk a couple of weeks before last Christmas. I mean, like off my head, couldn’t remember fuck all when I woke up, drunk. Right?” I hummed, waiting for him to continue on. “And well, a couple of days before Christmas finally rolled around, I got a knock at the door, didn’t I? Confused as to what the fuck it could possibly be, hadn’t ordered anything to the house, everything I had had gone straight to the studio, but I opened it up anyway, figuring it might’ve been from my dad or something, and was met with the sight of like, a 5kg bag of Mini Eggs” 

I snorted, unable to help myself, and raised my hand to cover my mouth. “Why?” I couldn’t help but ask, and this was when he sort of shuttered.

I watched as George purse his lips before blowing out a large breath, still looking anywhere but me.

I forced out a small chuckle, “G? What, is it really that bad? Were the Mini Eggs just a cover for some sort of drug smuggle or something?”

George’s mouth twitched into something that almost resembled a smile. “Imagine... The Sun would have a right field day with that, wouldn’t they.”

I popped another egg into my mouth and allowed it to melt a tad before knuckling his shoulder, “Tell me.”

He sighed and then groaned as he shifted over onto his side. “Before we broke up, a bit before your birthday, I kept on thinking over and over about what to get you for it, yeah? And you’d complained about not having these things all year round, or something of the like. It wasn’t long after things had all gone to shit between us that I’d managed to drink myself stupid trying to escape my own head, just to stop thinking about how much I’d fucked up with you. But even the drink couldn’t help.”

He snorted quietly to himself, as though he was telling an inside joke only he knew about, fingertip grazing the pattern in the blanket beneath us. “Ended up ordering you the chocolates a year later anyway, didn’t I? Even pissed out of my head I can’t seem to ever escape you.”

I chewed away quietly to myself, not sure how to take his story in truth. It was difficult to swallow past the idea of him wasting away like that, drinking and doing whatever else just to get through, just to avoid me. I toyed with the sweet packet I held as I did. But ultimately decided to take it on the chin, make light of it. Because there was bound to be more tidbits like this shared from the both of us in the future, so why hold onto them and feel ashamed?

“So, all I’m hearing is that, somewhere back home, you’ve got a massive stash of Mini Eggs just waiting for me?”

George laughed, a breath of relief rippled out of him, “Sure. Well, not quite. Good portion of it's gone now-”

I cut him off with a hurt shout, “What do you mean, gone?”

“If you’d let me finish,” He went on to say, shaking his head at me playfully, but there was something behind his eyes that told me he was grateful for the out he’d been given. I waved a hand and gestured for him to hurry along. He rolled his eyes, not unkindly. “Christ. As I was saying, it’d been a couple days before Christmas, I was lonely and fucking depressed, wallowing away in Ross’s smelly flat most of the time, and they’d just been sat there, hadn't they? So I’d stuck on the Godfather-”

“One or two?”

He groaned, helpless to my ongoing interruptions. “Two, obviously.” And I hummed my quiet approval. “Any-fucking-way, I ended up just eating them as I watched the film.”

“Isn’t it like three and half hours long?”

“Are you gonna keep interrupting me every time I speak?”

“Might do.” I shrugged, fighting back a smile.

He released a breathy laugh, “Figured. But yeah, almost that long. So by the time it’d ended I could hardly bare to look at another fucking egg again. Had to have Ross come and take them from me and ended yucking up in his downstairs loo, which he wasn’t too happy about.”

I giggled then plucked another chocolate from the bag to hold out towards him, “Even now?” He grimaced and shoved my hand away. I laughed harder, “Come on, G. They’re so good!”

“No, go away.” He said, chuckling as he rolled onto his back to escape me.

I paused and had a thought hit me. Hastily I moved onto my knees to crawl over to where he was spread out, and he watched me with a furrowed brow, one hand tucked up behind him to cushion his head. 

“So I suppose that means you won’t be up for a kiss then, yeah?” I provoked as I popped another chocolate into my mouth, practically towering over him now. I saw the way his throat bobbed around a swallow. 

“I mean, that’s different, ain’t it?” He tried, squinting into the sun above me whilst I smirked, baring down on one of his angled knees.

“No, I don’t think it is.” I shook my head, and I was being very brave here with my next move, because I hardly even thought about it as I swung my left leg over his torso to settle over him, leaning in close, one hand fisted in the sand above his head. “‘Cause it must be the taste, yeah? That sets you off. I’d probably have to brush my teeth or something before you even thought about wanting to kiss me, right?”

I was playing him like a fiddle and we both knew it.

Almost cautiously his fingers came to brush against the skin of my outer thigh, I tried not to outwardly react but his touch alone set me alight.

“Could always see though, couldn’t we?” He defended and I glanced down to his lips, parted ever so lightly, a breath away from my own.

It was then that I sat back up and rolled off onto the blanket next to him like nothing had happened. “Best not risk it.” I quipped and the laugh I’d kept at bay upon seeing the face he'd made was forced out of me when he all but threw himself on top of me, grinning as he shook his head in utter disbelief.

“Why’re you so nasty to me, B?” He murmured into the tiny space that separated us once more. “Huh?” He pressured as he brushed his nose against mine, “When I’ve done all this too.”

I smiled, this small fond thing that sent him grinning, and wrapped my legs around his waist to keep him close. “I already said thank you for the picnic.”

“Did you?”

I hummed sweetly, and for the third time since George had flown out to see me, I kissed him. 

[morningberriesao3]

MWMD - Touch My Skin

Steve Harrington X Virgin!Eddie Munson

Summary: Steve has a sore back. If only there was someone who could work out all those knots...

Word Count: 3.3K

Chapter: 2 of 6 CHAPTER LIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Content Warnings: Explicit m/m sexual content including… Virgin Eddie Munson, Dry Humping, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Minor Crossdressing (ahem, EDDIE WEARS A G-STRING), Oh no they’re both tops?! what will they do!!?!, Top Steve Harrington, Power Bottom Eddie Munson, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Nipple Clamps, Under-Negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex, Creampie. Underage Drinking and Recreational Drug Use.

Tags: Eddie Munson lives, 5 + 1 Things, slow burn, POV Eddie Munson, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Caretaking, Massages, Sharing a Bed, House Party, Play Flighting, Bros Being Bros (JK it’s very homoerotic), Halloween, Boys in Makeup, Independence Day, New Years Eve, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending

Many Ways, Many Days, to Say ‘I Love You’

May 14th, 1986

Steve helped Eddie shower a total of thirteen times. But who’s counting?

But now, Eddie can move a little bit better. He has the strength to stand for longer periods of time. His maimed chest doesn’t pull as tight when he stretches in certain directions. The ache under his scars has dulled to a tolerable throb.

He can reach his dick. And he’s tugged one out everyday since discovering that for the first time all over again. He wasn’t lying that he felt like he’d been edged – especially with Harrington’s hands all over him throughout the weeks.

It was bittersweet when they both agreed that Eddie could manage to bathe alone.

Steve still helps him wrap his wounds. Most have closed past the point of reopening, but the deeper ones – like the one over his chest with his missing nipple, or right under that one, by his ribs – are still flaking scabs and oozing white and red. Steve helps rub ointment on them, even though they’re both aware that Eddie could now do it by himself.

But over the weeks they’ve fallen into a routine.

Steve helps Eddie, and Eddie tries to reciprocate by cooking meals and cleaning Steve’s clothes. Their relationship is confusingly physical but Eddie chalks it up as the aftermath of a near-death experience.

Small touches on their shoulders. Thighs pressed against thighs on the living room couch. And yes, dressing wounds that Eddie might be able to manage himself, but neither of them allow that to happen.

They don’t really talk about the times in the shower. It’s like a secret that they’re keeping from even themselves.

They especially don’t talk about how Steve would strip his own shirt off to keep it from getting wet and soapy. Or how each time he helped clean Eddie, he got more confident with his hands. Or how, without fail, Eddie’s cock would start straining right in front of Harrington like a fucking flag, no matter how many times he jerked himself off that morning.

Look, you turn me on, it said.

Eddie has an inkling that Steve knows he’s gay by now. But that’s just one more thing they don’t talk about. Because Steve is straight as an arrow and acknowledging something like Eddie’s dumb crush would smash the frailty of whatever the fuck their friendship has turned into.

Steve sleeps on Eddie’s couch. Wayne had accepted their new roommate without protest, pulling three of his mugs out after his evening shifts – right when Steve and Eddie usually wake up – instead of two.

“The Harrington boy, huh?” Wayne asks one too many times.

“We’re just friends,” Eddie answers each and every one of them.

Today, Steve gets home from his shift at Family Video early. Wayne is still home, eating something before heading off to his own shift. Eddie made spaghetti Bolognese – but really it’s just pasta with canned tomato sauce and a very small amount of fried hamburger mixed inside.

“Steve,” Eddie greets, raising his eyebrows at the sight of a scowling jock, “you’re home early. Grab a plate, I made enough for, like, three days. Very much on purpose and not because pasta portions are confusing.”

Eddie hopes he isn’t the only one who never measures spaghetti right.

Steve reaches into one of the cupboards for a plate, which he manages fine, but groans out a sound of pain when he lowers it to the countertops.

“You alright, man?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, fine.” Steve reaches around to squeeze at the flesh of his lower back. Eddie tries not to choke on his bite of spaghetti as he watches that hand grope at a place he wishes he could touch himself. “Keith sent me home early ‘cause my back is out. I was reshelving the returns unacceptably slow, apparently.”

“Shit, man.” Eddie stands from his spot at the small table. “Let me get you a Tylenol.”

“No, Eddie, sit down. I’m here to take care of you, not the other way around.”

“Don’t bark orders at me like a child, Harrington. I’m capable of getting you a Tylenol from the bathroom.”

“I can get it myself, Munson.”

“No! Sit down and let me –”

“You sit down!”

“Let me get you a goddamn Tylenol –”

“Well,” Wayne grumbles, standing from the table to loudly clatter his plate into the sink, effectively cutting off the two boys from their bickering, “that’s my cue to leave. Lemme know who ends up gettin’ the Tylenol when I get back home.”

Eddie feels his face get hot. His uncle knows he has this stupid crush, as much as he tries to deny it.

“Bye, Uncle Wayne,” he mumbles, not taking his eyes from Harrington while he says it.

He crosses his arms. It’s a stare down, neither boy moving from their positions. Neither boy peeling their eyes off the other. The door behind them closes.

Then it’s a mad dash to the bathroom.

With Steve’s former jock status, he’s faster than Eddie, and Eddie is still a little bit sore so that’s another point against him. But the thing about Eddie – he’s less afraid than Steve to play dirty.

He grabs the other’s shoulders with a bruising grip and pulls him backwards. Steve tumbles behind Eddie with a disgruntled noise bursting from somewhere within him. He nearly lands on his ass, but manages to steady himself as Eddie takes the remaining few leaps to the bathroom door, yelling, “Fuck you, Harrington!” as loud as he can behind him.

Eddie can hear Steve stumbling angrily behind him, a string of curses coursing from between his lips as he does. He bursts in through the half-closed bathroom door, but Eddie already has the bottle of Tylenol in his hands, opened, with a single pill delicately placed in his palm and presented to Steve as if on a platter.

“Your painkiller, my liege,” says Eddie, holding in the triumphant laugh that he oh so desperately wants to release.

“You’re so stubborn.” Steve rolls his eyes but cracks a grin anyway. If Eddie lost the race, he probably would have pouted. That another nice thing about Steve – he’s not a sore loser.  

“That’s not very nice,” he says, grabbing one of the paper dixie cups from the counter and filling it with water from the tap.

Steve places the pill on his tongue, swallows the water. Eddie tries not to watch as the apple in his throat bobs up and then down, but he fails miserably. He also fails to look away as water dribbles from the corner of Steve’s lips. He can’t help but want to lick him clean, but that’s neither here nor there.

He does something else brave instead.

He says, “you’re a messy boy, hmm?” and lifts his thumb to wipe away the small, wet stream from Steve’s mouth. Eddie never gets tired of Steve’s reactions when he flirts with him in such a way.

It’s innocent, he tells himself. He flirts with everybody. Even girls. It’s a defense mechanism really, just in case he flirts with the wrong person. He can just brush it off as a personality trait. It doesn’t mean anything, he can say.

But maybe one day he’ll get lucky and somebody he likes will flirt back.

Steve chokes on his water, sputtering even more down his chin. He falls into a coughing fit and Eddie finally can’t contain his laughter any longer. While Steve sounds like he’s dying as he coughs and gasps for air, Eddie grabs at his sides that ache with each contraction of his abs.

“You’re – an – asshole,” Steve says when he can catch enough breath to speak. He twists his back the wrong way and groans, reaching his hand to grasp at the strained muscle.

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s laughter dies down. He flails his hands out to help support Steve, grasping one hand on his shoulder and one on his waist. He tries not to think too hard about how his fingers are grazing under the hem of Steve’s t-shirt, pressing into the warm flesh of his hip. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

“I’m fine, Munson,” Steve argues, but gasps a sharp intake of breath when his back pinches once more.

“How old did you say you were?” Eddie jokes as he leads Steve to the couch.

“Har-har. You try sleeping on a couch for a month.”

Eddie’s face twists up.

“Shit – no,” Steve says, “that’s not what I meant. I really don’t mind, dude, it’s mostly comfortable. I just think I slept wrong.”

Eddie feels bad. It’s been a bit of a point of contention between them.

Over the weeks he’s been trying to convince Steve to go back home during the nights so he can sleep somewhere other than the shitty old couch his uncle bought in 1962. But Steve, ever courageous, ever the caregiver, refuses to even consider letting Eddie be on his own. It’s an uphill battle of a topic. He’s even tried to get Steve to stay on his bed while he takes the couch. No dice.

He tries again.

“C’mon, man,” he pleads. “If you won’t go home, just take my bed. I know the mattress is – uh – not in the best shape, but I’ll put clean sheets on and it’ll be better than the couch –”

“I’m not the one healing,” Steve quips, using that tone that means, ‘drop the subject, it’s closed’.

Eddie’s jaw tenses. “You are though,” he mumbles. “You’re hurt.”

Steve stretches himself along the length of the couch, opting for laying on his stomach. He arches his back inwards suggestively (not suggestively, it just looks suggestive to Eddie), moans (again, impure thoughts), and then goes lax.

“It’s just a sore back. It’ll be better tomorrow.”

Eddie lets the subject drop. For now. He’s about to say something witty, make one of his signature jokes, but Steve –

“What I really need is a masseuse.”

Eddie gapes at him for a moment, then says, “I think it’s a little late to book –”

“Or just a massage, in general…?” Steve interrupts, lolling his head to the side to catch Eddie’s eye. He tosses him a sheepish grin.  

Eddie’s heart hammers in his chest, but he paints his face with a confident smirk. At least, he hopes that’s how it looks. “Are you asking me for a massage, Harrington?” He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes like his mind isn’t screaming at him: Do it! Do it! Get your hands on Steve’s gloriously muscled body –

“If you’re offering.” Steve shrugs one of his shoulders. And what he does next is so suggestive that Eddie thinks he can’t possibly be misinterpreting it.

Steve grabs the hem of his shirt and peels it off.

Startled laughter escapes Eddie’s lips, all high-pitched and cracking. But Steve looks at him like he’s deadly serious. It just makes Eddie’s nerves worse.

“How am I supposed to rub your back –” Jesus fuck, Eddie never thought he’d speak a sentence like that to Steve Harrington, “– when you’re sprawled over the entire couch like a fat housecat?”

Steve scoots closer to the inside of the couch so there’s a strip of maybe five inches near the edge. He buries his head in his arms, waiting.

Casual, Eddie reminds himself. Act casual. A casual massage between friends. It’s totally normal and not weird or sexual. Stop making it sexual.

And for the love of God, keep your fucking hands above his belt.

Eddie sits on the small space beside Steve’s thighs. And then he hesitates.

Steve’s back muscles are screaming at him. And all Eddie can think is that this must be some sort of cruel joke. Like, once he touches Steve’s bare skin, Steve will turn around and ask him what the actual fuck he thinks he’s doing.

“You alright back there, Munson?” Steve asks, craning his head backwards from the space of his arms to cop a look at Eddie, who must look stupid staring down at a shirtless Steve.

“Don’t get your panties in a knot,” he says, clenching his jaw tight as he rubs his hands together to warm them up. He presses one of his fingers into Steve’s shoulder blades, and Steve relaxes into the touch. When he doesn’t yell at Eddie to stop, he persists, adding the rest of his fingers and his palm, and then even a second hand. He kneads at Steve’s muscles and revels at how soft he feels. He expected Steve to feel hard because – well – he looks hard. All muscles and lines and edges. But really, he squishes under Eddie’s grip. Pliable. Silken. “Is this okay?”

“Feels good,” Steve says, all scratchy and low and rumbly like he really is enjoying Eddie’s touch. It was hard to keep his dick at bay when Steve helped him shower, but this is level-ten-boss hard to stop it from chubbing up. He’s glad that Steve’s face is hidden in his arms because the jeans Eddie decided to wear today are too tight to hide the semi he’s currently sporting. “The knot is a bit lower though. Can you try to loosen it?”

Eddie watches his hands as they glide down Steve’s spine. His thumbs press deliciously into the divot in the centre of Steve’s back as they find their way to his waist. “Here?” he asks as Steve trembles under his fingertips.

Eddie is making Steve tremble and he can’t do anything but watch. Isn’t that just life being a little bit of a bitch?

“Close,” Steve says, “but a bit lower still.”

His hands slip to Steve’s lower back, close to his hips. He has a passing thought – wishing he had lotion – but maybe that would make this even weirder. His hands squeeze more than massage. He notices how good his hands look there, gripping around Steve like he owns him. The only thing missing in the picture is his hips snapping against that perky little ass of his –

“Better?” He interrupts his thought process, mostly because he can’t excuse himself to rub one out in the middle of Steve’s back massage.

“Lower.”

This is a dangerous game that Eddie is playing, and he reminds himself that he’s only playing it with himself. It isn’t like Steve is trying to get Eddie’s hands on him, besides to relieve himself of his fucked up back. If Robin was here, Eddie is sure that she’d be in his position instead. So really, it’s up to him to not make it weird.

His hands work lower on the canvas that is Steve Harrington. Eddie notices the little dimples on his lower back and he indulges himself by pressing his thumbs there. They slot perfectly in the little dips. And Steve lets out a beautiful sound when Eddie applies a bit more pressure.

“Yeah. Right there.”

Steve makes these breathy little moans. They’re like music to Eddie’s ears. He physically has to stop himself from making noise of his own, because that would be a line crossed into the ‘weird’ territory he’s been desperately trying to avoid. His teeth bite painfully into his lower lip as he works his hands over Steve’s skin, pressing into little lumps of knots with his thumb to make the boy under him squirm and whimper. Sue him, he’s a bit of a sadist. And a bit of a masochist, because shit, it hurts all over that he can’t dip his fingers into the waistband of Steve’s pants, but he loves it all the same.

Eddie rubs Steve’s back for at least twenty minutes. He watches as the flesh under his fingers turns from light tan to reddish pink as it’s kneaded over the same area. It’s mostly quiet in the trailer, besides Steve’s hums of approval when Eddie reaches a good spot and the odd click of Eddie’s dry throat when he swallows his nerves.

Eventually, Steve sucks in a deep breath and lifts his head to signal that Eddie can stop. He almost offers to keep going anyway, but he doesn’t want Steve to know how much he enjoys touching him like this. That is, if the outline of his dick in his pants doesn’t give him away first.

When Steve sits up, Eddie grabs one of the cushions from the couch and hugs it to his lap. Casually. But maybe it draws attention to the area between his legs because Steve’s eyes trail downwards to his crotch. The look on his face makes Eddie feel like his boner is on full display, but when he looks down himself it’s fully covered by the pillow.

“Thanks, man,” Steve says, stretching his arms above his head so his abs ripple with the movement. “That feels so much better.”

Eddie is pulsing away under the tight fabric of his jeans. The whole massage session was a whole new lesson on edging. He needs to take care of the situation in his pants before it takes care of itself.

“No problem.” Eddie stands from the ledge of the couch and wishes that Steve would look away for just ten goddamn second so he could adjust himself in his jeans and drop the fucking pillow that’s hiding his predicament. But no, he’s not that lucky. Steve continues to stare up at him, blinking like he expects something from Eddie. At this point, it obvious that he’s hiding a massive erection and Eddie knows Steve’s smart enough to know why the pillow is following him to the bathroom. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

When he finally faces away from Steve, he tosses the pillow over his shoulder in the direction of the living room without a glance.

“Need a hand?” Steve jokes. Maybe because of all the times he actually did help Eddie shower, or maybe because he’s all too aware that Eddie’s about to rub one out under the stream of hot water. Either way, Eddie groans loudly as he slams the door behind him, leaving Steve smiling behind him on the couch.

It takes him two minutes to get himself into the shower and wrap his fingers around himself. He pretends they aren’t his though, of course he does. He pretends it’s Steve’s soft fingers rather than his own rough ones. He pretends the moans that are etched in his brain are being breathed into his ear as Steve reaches around his waist and tugs between his legs while hot water cascades over them both.

He pretends it’s Steve’s thumb that presses right there, right at that good spot under the ridge of his dick.

It doesn’t take him long to come under his own touch.

He moans Steve’s name as he does, and when he falls from the throws of his orgasm, when his brain fog clears, he really hopes it wasn’t as loud as he thinks it was.

Steve is still smiling when Eddie gets out of the shower. He’s staring. Eddie can only hope it’s not for the reason he thinks it is. “What?”

“Nothing, man.” Steve stands from the couch to shoulder past where Eddie is frozen in place. His chest burns as Steve’s eyes seem to rake over his body, so exposed with only a towel wrapped on his lower half. His ravaged chest on full display. That’s probably why he stares. Steve slips inside the bathroom. “My turn,” he says. And the door clicks closed.

For a split second – and believe him when he says he blames it on a trick of the light – Eddie swears he sees Steve wink.

NEXT CHAPTER

MASTERLIST

SOCIALS

[pinkpastels113]

the knee thing

you’re confused. you set down your phone. you hop off the bed and tread into the kitchen, where your girlfriend is finishing up the dishes.

“what’s the knee thing?”

chloe looks at you. laughs. a bit choked up and high too, you notice. “excuse me??”

“y’know. the knee thing.” you lean against the counter and wave a hand in the air. “the trend all over tik tok or whatever. i don’t know what that is.”

“and you think i do??” chloe rinses the last plate, sets it in the dishwasher. you watch her avoid eye contact with you as she fishes out the soap to start it. “why don’t you just google it?”

“because i think you know it already. and i want you to show me.”

chloe pauses from her position bent over the dishwasher. slowly, she closes the little door containing the dishwasher soap and then the dishwasher itself. after starting the cycle, she turns to you. “you. want me. to show you.” chuckling, she tilts her head cutely at you in just the way she knows irritates you sometimes. “beca, baby. you do know it’s a move, right? like a move to turn someone on.”

“oh.” to be honest, you had an inkling. based on all the girls swooning in their povs on your for you page. but you still pretend to be surprised, because if it means you get to make out with your beautiful girlfriend and be turned on, sign you up. you’re always up for a reason to have chloe blink at you with hooded dark eyes, to have her take you to bed and whisper filthy things in your ear as you whimper her name. “i didn’t know that.”

“yep.” chloe pops the p. then she takes a step closer, and bites her lip. and you’re done for. “you still want me to show you?”

“god. yes, please.”

you suddenly find yourself up pinned against the counter, next to the sink, chloe’s hands on either side of you, caging you in. chloe’s mouth is a breath away from yours and you can barely breathe. “don’t say please to me bec, unless you wanna be fucked really good tonight.”

“chloe-“ you don’t even get a chance to finish your sentence before chloe is kissing you speechless. your surroundings blur into the background as she sucks on your lip. one hand settles on your waist while yours sink into her hair. your senses are so overwhelmed with her taste and her smell and her touch that you don’t notice chloe surreptitiously nudging your legs until it’s open wide enough for one of hers to slip between. you gasp into her mouth, and chloe smirks before kissing you harder with tongue. “fuck.”

“of course, baby,” she replies, like it’s a promise. and then. and then she presses her leg closer to you so that her thigh brushes against your clit, through the fabric of your boyshorts, light as a feather. your eyes open just enough to see that chloe is watching you too, with dilated pupils and a glint in her blues, as the base of your spine digs into the granite behind you. her grip tightens on your waist. her lips taste like raspberries. the bed suddenly feels too far.

her thigh never loses contact with the apex of yours. her leg slides up, up, up, until it’s her knee that’s grinding on your clit. “oh my god,” you say, repeatedly, as chloe adds more and more pressure, until you’re full on moaning. “chloe, please. that feels so good.”

“yeah?” her lips have now moved to your neck; she’s a big lover of you making sounds of pleasure for her. she’s leaving a mark. a litter. “this is what you were wondering about. are you turned on?”

“yes.” you tug at her hair a little rougher than necessary. the curse chloe lets out before nipping at your pulse point makes it worth it. “so turned on right now. i want to fall apart for you. please let me. right here.”

and chloe does. the other hand not palming your ass grips the countertop like her life depends on it, her knee moving like her hips always do when she’s on top on you, and soon you’re sobbing her name into her shoulder. your vision turns black, then white, and then you’re gasping back into reality, with chloe’s face looking incredibly smug.

“and that, my beca, is the knee thing.”

*****

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

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Chapter XVIII: I Gave My Life Away

pre warning: tags contain some non specific spoilers

warnings: 18+ MDNI mentions of a suicide attempt, alcoholism, narcotics addiction, depression. Adult content not meant for people under the age of 18. (spoiler for next tag!) Grinding/heavy petting, an inkling of smut. Angst, hurt feelings, heavy subject matter. reminder that this is fiction and i do not condone the actions of my characters! afab!gn!reader, they/them pronouns, rockstar!eddie, use of y/n lol i did not use y/n once!, pet names

a/n: i am… so sorry. that’s all i’ll say for now.

Disclaimer: I do not give permission to have my work reposted on other sites. Reblogs are more than welcome, but please inform me if you find my work elsewhere unless otherwise stated.

—

January 1991

Eddie’s POV

“Eddie? Eddie!” The voice is familiar, but too far away. He can’t see anything beyond a spinning figure, but he feels the harsh slapping on his face before someone drags him by his armpits into the bathtub. “Cmon, man, please.”

Then there’s water, and it’s cold, and Eddie’s trying to move but he can’t, he can only cough and choke as the shower spray gets into his nose and mouth.

“Oh fuck, thank fucking God.” Then there are footsteps, and Eddie’s hauled out of the bathroom on a stretcher, the frantic voice following closely behind.

-

Present Day

Eddie’s POV

“Ed, they’re looking for you. Two minutes.”

Eddie nods, waving the security off and turning back to her. “You’re still in Ohio, then?”

“Yeah, seems it. Nothing really goin’ on here, though.”

“Isn’t that kind of a good thing?”

She shrugs, her lips pursed. “Guess so, if it means you’re here.”

Eddie chuckles shyly. “Well, I should get moving, or Steve will have my head.

She nods eagerly, wrapping herself tightly around Eddie’s torso, causing him to shift uncomfortably. He hasn’t seen her since before, and he realizes now he’s not that person anymore. It causes his heart to skip with anxious energy.

“See ya.” She sends him a wink, and he waves as she turns on her heel to venture back into the crowd.

The security guard is still there, humming the chorus to Under The Bridge as it plays out of the house speakers, leaning against the wall as he waits for Eddie to finish with the pretty, dainty girl he’s with, and Eddie returns to him like a scolded child. “Alright, let’s go.”

“That your girl?” He asks, making small talk with the rockstar he has likely no interest in.

Eddie shakes his head. “God, no. A friend, maybe. Not even that much, not anymore.”

“Guy like you doesn’t need to dwell on that, man. Sure you got plenty of ladies lined up for a chance with you.”

He snorts, amused by this guy’s casualty. “You’d be surprised.”

The guard escorts Eddie all the way to the stage, where Steve is seething and huffing about, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Sorry, sorry. Ran into someone.”

Steve’s expression softens slightly at the mention. “Was it-“

“Yeah. But it’s fine, really. Civil, even.”

“Right. In that case, I’m still mad at you,”

“Sure, of course. Can we hold off on my discipline until after the show?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, breathing deeply as if to prevent himself from taking a swing at Eddie. “Fine. Go.”

Eddie bows his head to thank him, and takes his place next to his bandmates, who’d been left waiting restlessly for their frontman, again. “Hey-“

“Shut up.” Jeff silences him. “Don’t wanna hear it.” And it’s fair. They shouldn’t have to listen to his excuses. He’s supposed to be working on himself, and all he’s managed to do is piss off the people that matter to him most. The house lights dim, and Eddie watches as the crowd grow feral, shoving toward the stage, shaking the metal barricades standing between them and the stage. His heart thumps in his ears, in time with the crowd’s eager chants of “COFFIN, COFFIN,” a command he’s inclined to obey. It drags him forward, led by his band onto the stage to present themselves to a mass of people that want to tear them apart.

The stage lights up with the first chord, and Eddie hears the audience beyond his monitor. He looks back to Gareth, who’s awestruck at the noise, then to Jeff who holds his hand over his chest, genuinely thanking these people for coming. Eddie wants to feel it, too. The warmth these people seem to offer his friends, but he’s somewhere else. He can’t get used to it, like he’s wearing shoes half a size too small. It makes him shift uncomfortably inside his skin, constantly feeling the eyes of thousands on him, relying on him, there for him. It’s then that he realizes he’s sober on stage, for the first time in five years.

He’d stuck to his word, now twenty four hours without consuming a drop of alcohol. He feels his chest tighten, like a hand made of knives has broken open his ribcage to squeeze his heart until it pops. His lungs will fill with his own blood and he’ll choke, he watches as it flashes before him, a panic stricken fantasy but Eddie wouldn’t say unrealistic.

His friends are looking at him. The crowd is calming with their increased confusion; a late start and now a strange, empty pause. He has to fill it. He can’t find you, and he’s taking too long, and it’s starting to confuse his band, so he shouts into the blackness “HELLO, COLUMBUS!” and the room combusts with the release of tension. “I am so sorry we’re late. Thank you for waiting. Let’s burn this fucking place down.” Gareth hits his sticks together, both a warning and a courtesy that there’s no stopping now, and Eddie rides the momentum. He nails every incoming note without thought, and he can feel the vibrations through the building, both of the music and the crowd. He gets the same rush he used to, when he was wide eyed and bushy tailed, younger and in love with the life of a rockstar. For a second, he feels it again, in the same place he’d felt the least alive at this time two years ago.

-

Your POV

“What the hell!” You stomp up to Steve, screaming over the noise of the stage into his face. “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Steve only smirks. “How does it feel, huh? To not have a fucking clue what’s going on? He’ll tell you. I can’t-“

“Blah!” You throw your hands into the air, “I get it, you can’t tell me. Just… who’s the girl?”

Steve’s smile only grows. “Are you jealous?”

You groan, more from exhaustion than embarrassment. “Of course I’m fucking jealous, Steve! Don’t play dumb! Please, don’t make me feel stupid.”

His face falls, and he grabs you by the shoulders, jolting you into focus. “You have nothing to worry about. That I do know.”

It’s not enough, but it’s all you’re gonna get. You can’t help but respect it, the commitment to keeping Eddie’s business to himself. Truth be told, Steve is probably dying to tell you. “It’s that big, huh?” He nods sadly, and you mirror him in understanding. “But he’s going to tell you. He’s gonna tell you everything, and it’s gonna be a lot to digest. So I’ll be here when he tells you.”

“Steve, you’re scaring me.”

He nods. “That’s my intention. You might not get the answers you want, but you’ll get answers.”

-

You watch the tail end of their set with your brain going in circles. What could Steve possibly mean, the answers you don't want? What answers do you want? Who’s the girl, for starters. But mostly, what happened, in the two years without contact? What made you so angry? You can’t imagine an answer heavy enough to break you, not off the top of your head. Whatever it is, you want it. Even if it’s just to understand Eddie a little more. Even if it means he can’t be with you. Even if it means you have to let him go.

“Thank you!” Eddie shouts after the final note of a song you couldn’t name. “Thanks for comin’ out, Columbus!” The crowd shrieks, ratting your brain inside your head. “And give it up again for DEATH DANCE APPROXIMATELY!” The crowd politely continues cheering, and a small girl next to you sends you a bright smile. “So, so grateful to have them on this whole tour with us, you have no idea.” Eddie laughs bashfully, out of character for him to do while on stage. It’s a small thing, something you shouldn’t have noticed, but of course you did. He’s nervous. You squint, as if it will help you read him better, and it doesn’t. “This is our last song, I wanna hear you all. Loud as you can, alright?” The crowd whoops, and Corroded Coffin start in on Sweetheart, and you almost choke on your tears immediately.

Eddie has always said the closing song is the most important. It’s the one freshest in their mind, the one that will stick with them the most. It has to be perfect. He’d never used Sweetheart as the closer, and it’s obvious Gareth and Jeff weren’t ready for it, probably assuming Eddie skipped it reading the setlist. Eddie’s voice shakes slightly as he sings, but it’s perfect. His eyes stay closed the whole time, and you desperately wish he’d open them, find you in the wings, and sing the words to you again. Like he had, any time you’d asked him to just because you could. You sing along, lose yourself in the lyrics for the first time in years, actually hearing the words meant for you.

And then it’s over, and they’re thanking the crowd and bowing, and walking off stage, and even though you know you’re gonna see it all again night after night, even though you have seen it tens of times already, you miss it. The feeling of a shrieking crowd feeling all of their feelings while you feel yours. The feelings you hope you can give to your own audience. You feel like a teenager seeing their favorite band for the first time, and you’d forgotten how good that felt.

Robin seems to appear from thin air next to you. “Hey!” She semi-shouts over the bustling crowd. “Are you crying?” It’s a question you should absolutely be used to by now. You hadn’t noticed this time, though. “Oh!” You sniff, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Yeah, guess I was. Not sad, though.” Not necessarily true, but for now a nonissue.

“We’re all goin’ out tonight.”

You shake your head. “I’ll catch up.” She frowns at you. “It’s okay! I’ll tell you everything I can after.”

The possibility of a gossip session soothes her curiosity, and she squeezes your arm before continuing to wiggle through the crowd. You follow her backstage, into the massive dressing area backstage, where Eddie sits with his bandmates in a circle of metal fold out chairs, each of them holding a beer. Besides Eddie, who fiddles with the label of his water bottle.

“Right!” Jeff pats Eddie’s knee as he speaks, “We’re goin’ out. celebrating our biggest show to date.”

It’s then that Eddie lifts his eyes and catches you staring. You don’t bother averting yours to the floor, already having been caught red handed. “Do you guys mind if I sit this one out? I uh, have a prior engagement.” The girl, you’re sure. The girl you have nothing to worry about, the girl Eddie knows in the nowhere state of Ohio. You chew on the inside of your lip until you draw blood, anxious and suddenly unsure of everything Steve had tried to warn you about.

“Yeah, man, of course. Come out if you change your mind, though.” With that, Gareth and Jeff exit the room, and your friends follow suit soon after, leaving you and Eddie alone.

-

Eddie’s POV

Now, I have to do it right now. “Hey,”

You face him, eyes wide with questions he so desperately wants to answer for you. Your hands are clasped tightly together, your knuckles white and arms flexed, jaw clenched. “You wanna get some coffee?”

Your nod is vigorous, and he holds his elbow out for you. You quickly latch onto him, and Eddie feels just how anxious you must be. He can’t imagine where your head’s at, with your nightmares and your constant, irritating habit of caring about him so much. He’s exhausting you, and all he wants now is to let you rest.

Eddie asks a remaining staff member to escort the two of you out the back way, and into the warmth of the summer night. “Is there even somewhere that sells coffee around here? Let alone somewhere that’s open?” You joke, and he chuckles.

“I guess I didn’t think that far ahead. Ah!” He points down the road, to the glowing 7-Eleven sign. “Onward!” You laugh, and it floods through Eddie, like it’s drenching his head in ice water, refreshing him. He’s since dropped his arm, but yours stays locked around him, like if you let go he’d run away. As if he’d ever think to do such a thing.

He breaks the thick silence finally, after several minutes of walking through it. “You uh, said you wanted to talk?”

You look up at him. “I did?”

“Yeah, uh, this morning? We didn’t really get the chance.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah I guess so. I just,” You shake your head, frustrated, “I have questions.”

“Okay,” Eddie shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. He wants to give you the answers. Finally, he wants to be completely open with you.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, shoot. I’ll answer your questions.”

“Any of them?”

“All of ‘em, sweetheart.” He can’t help it, he loves watching you shy away at the nickname, cute and soft, under all that armor.

-

Your POV

“Okay…” You have to be careful. One wrong move, and he’s shutting you out again. “Where’d you go tonight?” A subtle way to ask it, you think. Not accusatory, just curious, bordering on nosey.

“I ran into an old friend. From group.” You snap your neck, catching the words he says so casually.

“Group?”

Eddie nods, “NA-slash-AA.”

This is nowhere near where you thought this conversation would go. Every question you’d had crumbles at his answer. “What?”

“I’m more of a casual attendee, lately.” You feel your head fill up with more questions, and you’re drowning. “When did you-“ You’re expecting him to cut you off, but he waits. “When did you start going to meetings?”

Eddie looks to the sky as if to find the answer in the blackness above. “Early into 1991. There was still snow on the ground.”

“What um,” You’re walking the tightrope here, and you heed Steve’s warning. “What made you decide to go?”

Eddie looks at you again, his expression sad. “Had a really, really bad night.”

“What happened?” You ask, too quickly. It’s not fair, and you don’t have any right to know the answer, but Eddie snorts a laugh, like this news isn’t breaking your heart to learn. “Steve saved my life. I’m surprised he hasn’t divulged this story to you, even with the fact that I begged him not to tell anyone. Took me years to even tell the guys. I had gotten so bad, I didn’t care what happened to me. I was drinking myself to sleep every night, wallowing in self pity, barely able to function. I was worse than any time before. Worse than I was when you’d called me that night.”

“What night?”

“You were drunk, you probably don’t remember. Sometime in September of the year before, I’d been up all night trying, and you called me at home.” The memory comes back in a tidal wave. You’d just finished recording your EP, your first cohesive body of work, and with it had been signed to Sub Pop. Things had been looking up for you after cutting things off with him in July, but somewhere far away, Eddie had been drowning.

Before you can say anything, he continues, “Anyway, we were on a kind of hiatus as a band, had been for about a year at this point. I had nothing to get me out of bed before three in the afternoon, nothing to distract me from my pity party. I went out every night, drank until I couldn’t see, and did lines in the bathroom with people I didn’t care to know. I probably slept with six or seven different people a week, sometimes more. I couldn’t stop, because then I’d have to feel my feelings, and I was so afraid of them. One time,” He has the gall to chuckle, “after I got kicked out of a bar in New York for trying to fight the bouncer, I was so wasted and beaten that I fell asleep in my front yard with my pants around my ankles. Really glad I don’t have neighbors.”

It all pours out so easily now, like he’s telling you about his trip to the grocery store. “I uh, only got worse after that.” He stops, and you look up at him, waiting with wide, stinging eyes. “You sure you want me to keep going?” You nod. You don’t want to know, but you have to. As much as you suspect it’s gonna hurt, it means something that he’s finally willing to tell you.

He pushes forward. “On New Year's Eve of ‘91, I mixed whiskey and Steve’s Xanax. Way too much of it. Harrington found me passed out in the bathroom of my hotel room at around 1AM and called an ambulance. I'd written a note and everything.”

He pauses again to let you digest it all, and the silence sends a piercing ring through your ears. The words coming out of his mouth feel so far away, disconnected from the mouth they’re coming from. You’d never known Eddie to give up. Nothing had stopped him before; from finishing high school, from getting out of Hawkins, from being a rockstar. Regardless of how angry, or frustrated, or beaten he'd gotten, Eddie had always bounced back.

He finally pulls you from your thoughts. “That was the worst of it, but it had been a long time coming. When we were,” He gestured lamely to the air, “seeing each other, I was usually either on a run or coming down. I didn’t hide it well, I was almost sure you’d known, or at least suspected something. I was so angry and twitchy all the time. As much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t bring you into it, though. I never wanted you to know, and in a lot of ways I still don’t. Actually, please tell me you don’t wanna know. I’ll shut right the fuck up.”

“Nice try, but you underestimate how nosey I am.” He laughs, and you smile despite it all. “When did you start, I guess doing coke?” He doesn’t think about it for long. “Ironically, New Year’s Eve 1990 was the first time. I was a pro at it by May. I'd been drinking heavily for years by then, guess I wanted to jazz it up to ring in the new decade.” He stops walking and pivots to look at you, suddenly eager, and in no way aware of how jarring what he’d just said was. “Do you remember when I would get nosebleeds all the time, or when I’d sneeze and there’d be a giant snot bubble?” You nod, your face contorting with disgust at the memories. You remember a specific time, when you’d been making out with him in his hotel room in Boston, and his nose had just started dripping blood onto your bare chest. He’d gotten so pissed off at himself he’s left without putting his shirt or shoes back on. “Yeah, that had nothing to do with the humidity. Deep down, I think you knew that.”

He’s right, but you can still feel the crack in your heart spiderweb and spread as you hear these suspicions about Eddie confirmed.

“When was the last time?”

“The first or second night of the tour, I think.”

“Are you still drinking?” Dustin’s question makes more sense to you now. You wonder how he’d found out.

Eddie hesitates, as if fighting himself on whether to answer truthfully. “I didn’t today. It’s the first full day I’ve gone in a while. Touring is always difficult, and I’m sure you understand why this time is uh, particularly stressful.”

“Because of me.” Obviously.

“Because I know how badly I’ve hurt you, and because I know I haven’t made it up to you yet. I haven't earned your trust or even your time by any means, and I hate that you’re seeing me like this when you should be enjoying your first full US tour.” He chokes the last words out. You’ve stopped walking again, waiting at a deserted intersection, not yet ready to cross. “I’ve been fucking up recently, which is why I haven’t said anything. It’s not because I don’t want you. I want you so, so much. I just can’t do it yet.”

“Eddie,” You reach for him, and he lets you. You hold his face in your hands, feeling his flushed cheeks warm your palms as you look at him under the streetlights. “You don’t earn things like help and support, Eddie, not from people that-“ You pause. Not now, it’s not fair. “People that care about you. Thank you for telling me, I can’t imagine what you must be feeling; surrounded by triggers at all times, having to see me so much. I never would have agreed to the tour if I’d known—,“

He cuts you off, shaking his head, wafting the scent of his shampoo at you. “Don’t do that, please. This is not your fault, this is my own undoing. You are exempt from blame here.”

“I wish I’d known you were struggling. I wish I could have helped.”

Eddie traps your hands with his own on his face. “I know. I do, too.”

A sob shoves its way through your lips, and you can’t rebuild the dam fast enough. You’re crying, ugly sobbing with snot and mascara painting your face into a sad clown. It may be a cry of relief, having finally understood where your love had gone, so to speak, and seeing a glimpse of him right now. A version of Eddie happy, warm. He smiles at you, a big, beautiful smile, but his eyes are so sad. “I wish I had known to ask. Would have saved us both so much trouble.” Eddie drops his hands to your waist and pulls you closer to him, your coffee quest long forgotten. “I am so sorry.”

“Thank you.” You do not fight it, because there’s so much for him to be sorry for, regardless of if you want the apology. You trust that he means it. “I won’t push you for anything else. But I need you to ask for help, when you need it. I'm not gonna turn you away.” You wrap your arms around his torso, as physical proof of your words. You feel his arms as they surround your head, and he pulls you further into his chest. His breathing deep and even, heart beating soundly, you let yourself inhale him, indulge in his closeness even for a second. You eventually start to pull away, but he catches you, and you crane your head up to look at him, your nose inches away from his. Eddie’s eyes flick to your lips. It’s a fraction of a second, but you notice because you always do. You mimic him, flicking your eyes over his soft, pink lips and back to his deep, sweet brown eyes.

He moves first, but you’re quick to follow, and Eddie catches your lips with his, and you fight the urge to once again burst into tears. The kiss is one you haven’t felt in so long, like sleeping in your own bed after months being crammed inside a van or a two star motel. It’s a deep, yearning type of kiss you hadn’t known you were missing. Eddie moves a hand to cradle your head, like he’s holding the most valuable thing in the world. He’s gentle, almost timid, like the wrong move will ruin everything, break you both into pieces you won’t be able to fit back together. His lips are so soft, with no aggression or anxiety behind them, no nervous, frantic energy like he needs to consume you before you disappear. He takes his time, and you swim in the calm of it all. You rest your hand on his jaw, your finger lightly brushing his ear, the other stuck with your palm against his chest, squished between your bodies.

The last time Eddie kissed you like this was the day before he almost died. Before he cut that stupid sheet rope and tried to be a hero, he’d held you like you were the only thing on earth worth dying for. This time, though, there’s no rush, no impending doom to cut it short. You wonder if you’re pushing it, if this is too much for him, because it’s almost too much for you.

You pull away for a second. “Is this allowed?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I think I know what you’re asking, but what do you mean?”

“Like, while you’re recovering. Shouldn’t you be more focused on that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Probably. And I will be. But I’m sober right now, at least, and all I can think about is you. And now you know everything, and you still kiss me like I’ve always been worthy of it. Even when I’m still not.”

“Do I really know everything now?” You lace your fingers through his and resume your walk.

He looks at you. “Do you have more questions?”

You have so many, but you’re so tired, so emotionally drained. “What do you think about, when you think about me?”

Eddie snorts a laugh at your question and you hide your face in your free hand. “Nothing good. You’re under my skin, doll. Always have been. Hey, look at that,” you look to where he’s pointing, the bright lights of the 7-Eleven store. “I’m kinda over coffee. You wanna watch a movie? For old time’s sake?” You nod wordlessly as your heart skips about, and he opens the door for you so you can grab some snacks instead.

-

Another hotel room, with boring white walls and bright white bed sheets. Eddie’s suitcases already sit in the corner, placed there by the hotel staff, complimentary mints on the pillows. Eddie flicks the bedside lamps on before fiddling with the remote, and you immediately realize, you’re once again without your own clothes. “Could I borrow-“ Eddie throws a shirt that lands perfectly draped over your face and you’re overwhelmed with his scent. “Thanks.” You deadpan, removing the fabric. He’s tossed a pair of his shorts onto the bed in front of you as well, and you’re silently grateful, because you wouldn’t have asked for them. He quickly flings his shirt off his head, and you watch as he swaps his jeans for a pair of worn flannel pajama pants.

Eddie then clicks the TV on, searching the channels aimlessly for something to watch before quickly giving up, muting it on a late night talk show. “How are you doing?” He’s already sprawled on the bed, resting his head in his hand to look at you, still in your clothes.

“I’m just digesting, I guess.” You face away from him to pull your sweat soaked shirt over your head and toss it on the floor, feeling his eyes on your bare back. You never wear a bra onstage, but you’re regretting it now. You yank Eddie’s shirt over your head to hide your butt as you yank your tights down, suddenly very aware of the color of your panties: red, and far too lacy for these circumstances. You yank Eddie’s boxers up your legs, and feel decent enough to face him again.

“We have to stop meeting like this.” He blurts as you slide into the space next to him, on top of the covers still.

“What do you mean?”

“After dark, sharing a bed, sharing my clothes,” He gestures to you, dressed head to toe in Eddie Couture. “Someone might see us. People are gonna start getting suspicious.”

“You think they’re not already?” You shift to lay on your side, now looking at him straight on. “We aren’t exactly being discrete as of late.”

He gives you a half shrug. “Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

“The fans, making assumptions.”

You think about your choice of words. “I thought it would. I think it bothered me more that they weren’t right.”

Eddie cracks a goofy smile, and you swat at him uselessly. “You want to be having a steamy secret affair with the douchebag frontman of Corroded Coffin?” He teases, poking at you.

“Oh, shut up.” There’s no malice in your voice. “You know what I mean. They have it all figured out. We’re together, in love, not ready to share it with the world or whatever. Much less complicated than whatever it is we’re actually doing.”

Eddie considers this for a moment. “Guess that’s true. I don’t think I could explain any of what we’re doing to Steve, let alone the public.”

You sigh. Poor, ignorant Steve. There’s only so much you’d be able to tell him for sure. “He’d have a heart attack.”

“I’ve already spooked him enough for a whole lifetime, I can’t drop this bomb on him too.”

“Let’s not worry about that. We don’t even know what we’re doing.”

“I just know I wanna keep doing it.” The way he says it sends you reeling instantly, drawing you into him, closing the distance between his lips and yours. You melt into him, wrapping your leg around his waist as he grips the flesh of your hip. Your hand slides effortlessly into his hair, tangling around your fingers, pulling a moan from Eddie’s throat as you tug him further into you. You can feel his gentry twitch in his pants, only a few thin layers of fabric separating him from your core. You roll your hips against him, sighing as his tip bumps against your clit, desperate for friction.

Eddie moves, latching his lips onto your throat causing your brain to fog. Your chest heaves as he nips at your skin, marking you, making your head swim with pleasure. You feel his fingers toying with the hem of his t-shirt, his calloused fingers sliding under the fabric to caress your skin, sending chills up and down your whole body. You shiver, and he pulls away. “Wanna stop?”

“Shouldn’t we?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

So you kiss him again, hungrier now. You help him yank his shirt over your head, abandoning it on the floor next to yours. Eddie shifts again, pressing your bare chest against his before breaking the kiss suddenly. “May I, uh,” He stutters like he’s a nervous teenager again, as if he’s seeing his first pair of boobs ever.

“Please.” You sigh, and it propels Eddie on, shifting down the bed until he’s eye level with your chest.

“God, I missed you.” He rasps, and you don’t have time to ask if he’s talking to you or your tits before he runs his tongue over your nipple, pulling a whine from your throat. You feel his other hand slide down your torso, freezing when it reaches the waistband of his boxers. “Sweetheart?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you let me take care of you?”

—

chapter XIX

haha hehe hahahahah ha ha. ha

tag list: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @littlepotatobeansworld @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc

[strawberry23487]

pov ur free use at the glade

❗️minors dni❗️

if you like, reblog, comment, follow ,interact w me in any way and i have reason to believe you‘re a minor you‘re kicked.

warnings: r3pe/non-con, somnophilia, free use, r3pe without contraception, short breeding k1nk passage

disclaimer: i do (obviously) not condone rape in real life. consent is key.

pairing: newt x fem!reader, thomas x fem!reader and gally x fem!reader

format: something between bullet points and blocktext.

word count: 425 words

notes: lmk if there’s something more i should have tagged! also i have NO idea how tumblr tagging for sensitive topics works and i have an inkling no one‘s even gonna see this post bc i messed up 😂

when you arrive you’re in a coma, like teresa

when the boys see you, they instantly want to grope and touch you, but they hold back

you‘re put in a special room, with always one boy watching over you

it doesn’t take long until the first one can’t stop himself from feeling you up

lets say it’s newt.

he brushes his finger over your cheeck, your throat, then cups one of your breasts through your clothes. he can feel himself get hard. at first it would stay at this, touching you over your clothes, murmuring to you, getting really hard, but resisting the urge to touch himself.

at some point he‘d give in, take his dick out and start to touch himself. he comes into his hand, gasping and staring open mouthed at your motionless face.

you bet it would only take him a few times of this to get bolder. until he reaches for your hand (oh the skin is so soft), and curls it around his dick, jacking himself off with your hand. that would make him come like crazy, until he‘d peel your shirt off you and started running his hands all over your throat, stomach and breasts, until he‘d take off all your clothes and finally fuck you for real.

oh and he‘d also do i without a condom, in the hopes of impregnating you before you even woke up from your coma 🥰

either the other boys had started to do the same to you already, or then newt is going to egg them on.

im thinking maybe he tries to get one of the “good ones” with a conscience into it, like thomas or gally

thomas would be all whiny “but newt that’s bad”, but newt would just laugh and show thomas how wet his fingers came back from your cunt.

“nobody’s that wet if they don’t want to get fucked,” he smirks

thomas gets convinced bc looking at you and touching himself just feels too good, and then he can’t stop himself from sinking his dick into you either because you look as though you‘d feel so good and—oh god you do.

gally would be more of a stoic “this is wrong and also i’m not interested”.

but he can’t lie to himself for too long, especially not when newt takes all of your clothes off and spreads your legs so gally is sitting right in front of them, while newt lets his fingers slide through your folds (it’s the slick noise that makes gally lose his control)

ok i had many more ideas for this, eg how things would go once you wake up, but i got a little carried away, so im gonna stop here 😂

[isfjmel-phleg]

@inklings-challenge here is my contribution for day 9's prompt, "Child."

I attempted some Mikaiah POV. I can't say I love it or that I would be able to sustain it long-term, but it was interesting to test out. My usual style isn't very suitable for a five-year-old!

It was a cloudy morning, and Mikaiah’s elder brother was going away.

Mikaiah had known about it for a long time now, of course. Ateva had explained everything. Josiah was going to school in Corege, which was a country far away, so far that he would have to take a ship there. He would learn all sorts of things and make friends with all the other boys so he would never be alone and Tamett would go with him to keep him company too and before you knew it, it would be Christmas, and he would come back home with presents from Corege for everyone. And presents from Corege were nice. That was where Ateva had got Mikaiah his favorite book, Elephantling. So everything would be fine. Mikaiah couldn’t wait to see Josiah off. He wanted to see the big ship up close.

He wanted to go to Corege too. But Father said no. Mikaiah was too young. That didn’t make much sense. Mikaiah had been on ships plenty of times before, and he knew exactly what to do. He knew about doing lessons too. Everything that would be at Josiah’s school was something that Mikaiah could do already. Father didn’t understand that when Mikaiah told him, no matter how clearly Mikaiah explained, and he said not to argue with him anymore and go to bed at once. Hartwin, the plush elephant, was a much better listener anyway when Mikaiah held him close and whispered his hopes to him that night, and he didn’t mind getting a little damp either.

Now that everyone was here, at the ship, Mikaiah didn’t try to hide anywhere so he could go with Josiah to Corege. Father had told him what he was supposed to do, and Ateva was holding his hand so tightly that he couldn’t have wandered off anyhow. He wanted to very much. But Father would be cross again.

Josiah and Tamett did not look excited to be going on the big ship. But Josiah was never happy about anything. When it was time to tell him goodbye, Mikaiah wriggled out of Ateva’s grip and gave his brother his widest smile. “I’m going to miss you. Will you bring me an elephant book for Christmas?” 

And he tried to give Josiah the biggest hug he could, to cheer him up.

But Josiah pushed Mikaiah’s arms off his waist and shook his brother’s hand instead. “I don’t know if I should bring you anything if you’re going to behave like that,” he hissed. 

Mikaiah could hear him, but the reporters with the cameras couldn’t. Mikaiah had forgotten they were there. Reporters took pictures of everything that the family did whenever they went somewhere, so it was important, Father said, never to do anything in public that wasn’t proper. Only babies hugged people like that, and now the newspapers would say that Mikaiah was a baby. Father wouldn’t like that, and Mikaiah wouldn’t either.

So no new elephant book for him. But it wasn’t fair. He did want one very badly. He was going to suggest this to Josiah again, but Josiah had moved on to nodding at Ayra.

Tamett was still there, standing by himself. He looked sad. Mikaiah understood. He was rather sad too about never getting that book. 

He still had Elephantling, but that wouldn’t be fun anymore. Who would read it to him? Certainly not Father or Ayra. Ateva read sometimes, but she just read the words. She didn’t use a funny voice or make elephant noises or make up silly parts to make the story better or read the book backwards just to laugh at how the words sounded when they didn’t make sense anymore. That was how Tamett read. And now Tamett was going away. For a very, very, very long time. It was going to take forever to get to Christmas. Mikaiah couldn’t wait that long.

He didn’t care so much if Josiah wasn’t there, but he didn’t know what he would do without Tamett to play elephant or give him pick-a-back rides or eat Mikaiah’s nasty peas when no one was looking. 

Mikaiah was going to be alone, probably forever, and the more he thought about it, the harder it became not to cry.

Crying in public was perhaps even worse than hugging. But Mikaiah couldn’t help it and before he could stop himself, he hid his face in Tamett’s overcoat, threw his arms around him, and choked out, “I miss you!”

Tamett shifted, and Mikaiah expected to be pushed away. But instead Tamett was moving them into the shadow of a pile of luggage. 

“It’s all right, Miki,” he said. “I’ll miss you too. But I’ll be home soon.”

“No, you won’t!” said Mikaiah.

“Oh, all right, I suppose it won’t be for a while, but it won’t seem so long if you keep busy. Do you still draw pictures?”

Mikaiah sniffed and nodded. Father said that those were a waste of time when he could be practicing penmanship, so he only drew when alone in his nursery now. Tamett’s family liked Mikaiah’s pictures.

“Will you send me some?”

Mikaiah promised that he would. And he hugged Tamett one more time, until Tamett said that they needed to go. The rest of the family were almost done with their goodbyes, and the reporters might remember about Tamett and Mikaiah again and look for them and point their cameras at them.

Sometimes he wished that Tamett was his elder brother, not Josiah.

He remembered to smile politely in the way that he had been taught—not too big, no teeth—as he stepped back toward the family and took Ateva’s hand. Tamett had slipped back into Josiah’s shadow. No one seemed to care that they had gone for a moment. Except for Josiah. He looked cross. He looked like he wanted to say something to Mikaiah but he didn’t. 

Perhaps he was going to say that he had changed his mind and would be a nice brother and get Mikaiah the book. That must have been it. But now he would have to wait to say so. 

Christmas couldn’t come soon enough.

[fanficapologist]

Heyyy!! Fluff and joy indeed! I love how despite the ongoing tensions between them, Maera and Aemond had a bit of respite. I do think the tension won’t let up; not while Alys is there. And as Maera mentioned, Aemond seemed to become a different person around her. And I think it irks Maera because she realizes that Aemond trusts Alys’ visions blindly. I mean it could be that Aemond trusts Alys given his previous time at Harrenhal and the fact that she managed to turn the tides in their favor - like wiping out Maera’s kin. He probably thinks her power is absolute. Unlike Maera who probably has an inkling that her visions are possibilities therefore, not set in stone.

I think this tension between them would bubble over until it goes to a head and that will most likely be the last we see of Alys. Now, the question is, what is that event and how 🤔 For now, we have to endure those little barbs of audacity that Alys shows Maera.

Still, it is very satisfying to see Aemond get affected by Set Arryk. For all his talk of nothing is between him and Alys, I’m sure it’s not pleasant seeing your wife get comfortable with another man, even if he knows Maera is an honorable woman. Can’t say I feel bad for him. I’d like to think Maera also laid it on thick when Aemond saw them to piss him off. Though I doubt Maera has feelings for Ser Arryk, I’d like to think Ser Arryk feels protective of her like an older brother would. Or a dear friend you know is strictly platonic because they already feel like family.

I enjoyed reading their time in the God’s Eye. I think Aemond did it to get a reaction out of her, to lighten the mood. And they ended up getting surprised by the dragon egg!! I hope this is a good sign for them and their unborn child ☺️. It’s funny because I too am experiencing tension at home with a relative so it’s nice to see I’m not alone in that regard. Yeah, it sucks but it’s moments like these that make you think it’s not the end of the world, and you’ll be okay.

Okay, now that’s settled. I am ready for the next chapters 🙌🏻 hope you’re enjoying the week and wishing you a happy easter if you celebrate it!

P.S. can I just say I love it when I’m called pet names, I’m giggling like a school girl 😚 do you have a nickname I could call you by? Only if that’s fine with you and I hope this wasn’t too weird 😬🙇🏼‍♀️

Good afternoon! (Or at least it is where I’m at 🤣)

We’re gunna explore more about Alys and Aemond during the next POV which I’m excited to upload 👀

And Ser Arryk is just a bro 😎 and Aemond is insecure af 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’m glad you enjoyed it! I can see a few people getting annoyed in the comments about the fluffy chapter but like I said earlier, there is no divorce here! And she’s pregnant with his child, there is nowhere to go in this universe. As a married person myself, it is not a straight line, there are peaks and troughs, even during arguments!

P.S- you make a good point! I’m just some random person on the internet for now aren’t I 🤣 I’ll do a little introductory post and I’ll tag you 😘

[thelordofgifs]

please tell me more about maedhros in part 30 of tfs beloved 🌟🌟🌟

(director’s cut ask game)

Oooh excellent question ty!!! Part 30 of the fairest stars is probably one of my favourites and I have SO many ramblings I can do about it. Under the cut for spoilers.

There was a lot riding on part 30: I wanted it to be very sad, and also very suspenseful, and to function as a character study of Maedhros while also not revealing to the reader what he was actually planning to do. Which was tricky! I think I managed to pull it off, but it was definitely technically challenging to write (also emotionally challenging, it made me so sad ok).

Not long after I realised that the third arc would end with Maedhros going to Sauron, I also realised that it would be best not to reveal too much of his thought processes: so, although he's the most central character of the arc, he actually gets very little point of view in it. He narrates a couple of lines in parts 23 and 24, but the last proper extended pov he gets is in part 22 – which worked quite well, because as the arc progressed I wanted to hint at his gradual mental deterioration without alarming the reader too much. In part 30, on the other hand, you are meant to be extremely alarmed. Interestingly, Maedhros himself, who is very wedded to the idea of himself as Logical and Sensible and Always Right, does not really have any idea of how bad a state he is in during part 30.

There's stuff like this incident, for example:

“No – no – you’re wrong,” Maedhros says, a little wildly. “Finno is good, he wouldn't—”

Turgon watches him, not unsympathetically, as he struggles for words, and then fetches him some water and waits until he has regained his composure.

He did pretty much have a panic attack in front of Turgon there, but without acknowledging it to himself.

Or this one:

Still, cowardly, he finds himself dawdling; after leaving Fingon’s chambers he wanders through the corridors for some hours.

(It is hard to keep track of time these days; he might blink and realise that it has grown dark outside without his noticing, or else that he has no memory of coming into this part of the fortress.)

Maedhros. Baby. You are having a severe mental health crisis.

It’s not that he’s unaware of this! Which comes across mostly clearly in what is imo the single saddest line of part 30 and possibly of the entire fic:

If Maedhros said, No, it is all dark inside my head, and I cannot see a way out— If he said, I know what I must do, but Valar curse me, I am afraid, I am so afraid— Or even if he said, Káno, help me, help me, help me—

It’s just. he’s so close. If he had only asked for help – you only ever have to ask!! – all the tragedy could have been averted; and Maedhros knows that! He knows that Maglor would do anything to make him feel better, but he can’t bear to keep relying on his brother any more, and so does not do the sensible thing and reach for help.

(A lot of Maedhros’ thought processes in part 30 were written to feel like those of a suicidal person. That was deliberate for many reasons: of course Maedhros is the only named Elf who canonically does commit suicide, and for me one of his defining traits is a very… unelvish instinct for self-destruction – consider also the fact that he begs Fingon to kill him on Thangorodrim. Then there was the simple plot-and-suspense reason that I did want the reader to maybe get the inkling that the ill-advised decision he is planning to make is to commit suicide: in a way it is, because he isn’t expecting to ever leave Sauron’s captivity, I don’t think. So this is why he states explicitly that he “cannot see a way out”, and why too he is so concerned that Fingon does not blame himself when he finds out what Maedhros has done. When your mental state is this bad, it’s very easy to start thinking in black-and-white.)

Hmm what else. Of course the first two thirds or so of part 30 are really about Maedhros trying to set his affairs in order before he leaves (again… he really does feel like he’s dying, in a way), and in particular to tie up loose threads in the two relationships that most define him, his relationship with Fingon and his relationship with Maglor. So first of all he talks to Lúthien about the Silmaril in Doriath, which he frames to her as wanting to win for Maglor’s sake – which is not strictly true, of course. Maedhros wants the Silmaril because of his Oath. But convincing himself that he needs to fulfil the Oath because Maglor deserves to be free of it is… a rather convenient way of putting it to himself.

Then he talks to Turgon about Fingon, and asks him not to hold a grudge against Fingon on Maedhros’ account.

“On your account,” Turgon repeats. “You do rather think everything is about you, don’t you?”

Here’s another Hard Truth for Maedhros, after Lúthien’s insights about the nature of the Oath: he’s not the main character! He needs to stop thinking that he’s the main character! (I do think the failure of the Union in canon was mainly because Maedhros saw himself as the protagonist of the fight against Morgoth. He’s just so utterly unable to recognise the shape of his own narrative.)

Turgon is right in this conversation, but he’s also pretty harsh on Maedhros. In particular, he attacks the one conviction Maedhros usually takes as gospel, which is his belief that Fingon is a good person:

“Alqualondë,” says Turgon, with an air of dreadful finality. “You know as well as I do that he would not have leapt into the slaughter were it not for you! He followed you into it, and he will follow you to his doom just as blindly. Will you stop him, Maedhros? Or will you drag him down with you into whatever accursed acts of evil your damned Oath compels you to next?”

“No – no – you’re wrong,” Maedhros says, a little wildly. “Finno is good, he wouldn't—”

The thing is! Maedhros loves Fingon very deeply: and he is fundamentally unable to see the people he loves with any degree of objectivity (see also: Maglor). This came up all the way back in part 8, when he is worried that Fingon might launch an invasion of Doriath:

“Finno,” says Maedhros, “you don’t – you won't—”

Fingon kisses him. “It’ll be alright,” he says.

Maedhros trusts him, of course he does. But he is also frightened.

A lot of his general worldview is predicated on Fingon being a good person.

So Turgon's accusation sends Maedhros spiralling. Although he wasn't expecting to succeed in convincing Turgon to forgive Fingon, he also wasn't expecting to have to reevaluate something so fundamental.

He does not know whether he has succeeded in softening Turgon’s opinion of his brother; his thought was to mend the breach between them, smooth out the little anxious line that appears between Fingon’s brows when he sees Turgon from afar – but he should have known it would not work, he who ruins everything he touches.

But could he ruin Fingon? Does the taint in him truly run that deep?

It is not possible. Fingon is all goodness and light and purity, the shining hero, the Eagle-rider, who brought Maedhros back from his living hell and drove Glaurung away from Hithlum and – and slew the Teleri at Alqualondë, and – kissed Maedhros on the field of his victory as though he were truly nothing but the spoils of battle—

his internal monologue is... very fucked up here, to put it lightly. Maedhros has spent a long time talking about himself as "corrupted" and "tainted" – very dark and loaded vocabulary which he does fully buy into. (This is a relic of Angband. I've long thought that one of the most destructive things to do to a person, far worse in some measures than physical torture, is to make them believe that they are evil and irredeemable – and Maedhros, who had very recently become a murderer at the time he was taken captive, must have been such a prime target for psychological manipulation of that sort! Easy to hurt, indeed. And then the events of tfs – most notably the stabbing – have done nothing to disabuse him of that notion.)

While I was writing this part, I was working off a list of Reasons Why Maedhros Makes His Decision – I didn't write it down anywhere, but in order of priority they probably go something like this:

he wants Maglor to hate him

he thinks he deserves to suffer

he doesn't want to be Fingon's trophy and if he is nothing but a trophy and a lovely thing to be admired, then he might as well be Sauron's

he has a plan to get the Silmarils back (it is not spoiling much to say that this plan is very, very stupid. but it's there)

he needs to leave so that he doesn't snap and accidentally kill Maglor

NEW!! he needs to leave so that he doesn't make Fingon evil

he needs to leave because he is hurting Maglor by relying on him so much

he needs to leave because he is politically toxic for Fingon, as the fallout from the kiss has shown

once again!! he is so so so fucked up!! But, back to Turgon: he pretty much sends Maedhros into crisis by pointing out that Fingon is in fact a three-dimensional and morally rather flawed person, a fact which Maedhros prefers to ignore – but in the end, instead of taking the right lessons from his conversation with Turgon, he just concludes that he is the entire problem here and if only Fingon were free of his terrible corrupting influence he would be as good and heroic as Maedhros knows he actually is. You idiot that's not how any of this works!!

He calms down a bit once he has managed to wrangle this realisation into another reason why he should leave, though, and manages to keep a pretty cool and collected mask during his conversation with Fingon.

“Well, he was right about one thing,” Fingon says softly. His eyes are fixed on Maedhros’ face. “I do love you best. I would put you above any of them.”

Maedhros does not flinch.

“Very romantic,” he says, endeavouring to sound wry, “if perhaps not a sentiment you should express in public.”

look at him deflecting!! wouldn't it be nice if he actually said what he was thinking for once. oh well.

There's also this:

Maedhros squeezes his fingers, and meets his eyes as earnestly as he can. “You are not – you are not cruel, Finno,” he says. “You are not – like him. You are not.”

(Sidenote, but – and I've mentioned this in previous director's cuts – Maedhros is usually pretty articulate and well-spoken, the diplomat, the linguist's son; when he starts stumbling over his words, or speaking in sentence fragments, it's a pretty clear tell that he is in a terrible state mentally. In part 30 it's so bad that even his thoughts and internal monologue are full of em-dashes and incoherent half-clauses and clumsy repetition. I put thought into this ok!)

Anyway, this is actually Maedhros just talking to himself, trying to convince himself that Turgon was wrong, that Fingon isn't evil (which isn't what Turgon said but ok Maedhros), and that he is not like Sauron, one impulsive adrenaline-fuelled kiss beside. Unfortunately, Fingon is not really giving him the reassurance he needs, mostly because Maedhros won't tell him what's troubling him:

The last time they kissed, Fingon tasted of blood. The cold metal of his gauntlet left deep marks on Maedhros’ cheek. Now his mouth is sunshine-sweet, and he twines his bare hand in Maedhros’ hair, drawing him closer, inhaling him, possessing him, and Maedhros lets him—

Maedhros lets him.

You will lead him to his ruin, said Turgon.

They break apart at last. Fingon rests his forehead against Maedhros’ and looks at him like he has never seen anything lovelier.

This is part of the weird little tangle Maedhros has got himself into, which goes something like: kissing me knowing I didn't want him to was bad and something Sauron would do = Sauron said I am easy to hurt = being in a relationship with me is going to turn Fingon into Sauron because he can't help but hurt me and I am too weak and corrupted to stop him, which is messed up and victim-blaming and illogical and wrong on SO many levels, but yeah. Anyway, that phrase, "he has never seen anything lovelier", was pretty deliberately chosen, in light of Maedhros' statement in part 29 that he does not want to be merely "a doll, a trophy, a lovely thing to be admired"; and Lúthien, too, signals to him that she understands this hyperspecific fear of his, when she tells him, "It is very hard, I think, to be treated as nothing more than a lovely thing to be admired." So here, with Fingon's adoring gaze on him, Maedhros is worrying once again that loving him is bad for Fingon, and is making him into a worse person. In a very convoluted way, because, again, he isn't thinking clearly at all.

(Starting to realise I could write another entire post on the russingon dynamic in parts 28-30, and I have plenty more of these director's cut asks to get through, so I'll cut it short here lol.)

Anyway, the last and saddest of the conversations Maedhros has is, of course, with Maglor because I am soooo normal and ordinary about these two. Maedhros isn't actually intending to talk to Maglor before leaving:

Maedhros only means to look at him, but then Maglor glances up and notices him standing in the doorway. “Nelyo! I did not think you were sleeping here tonight,” he says. Then he looks at Maedhros more closely. “Another nightmare?”

This is mostly because Maedhros is worried that Maglor, who makes a habit of noticing his every minor tell, will start to suspect that he is planning something; but in the end he can't leave without giving himself a goodbye, even though neither Maglor nor the reader know that it's a goodbye. (The reader probably could tell? Unsure.)

Anyway, this last scene was mostly about fleshing out all the Maglor-related reasons from Maedhros' list above; namely, making it clear that he does know exactly how badly he is about to hurt Maglor, and is going through with his plan not despite that fact but because of it, because he needs Maglor to hate him. I've already written an entire essay about their dynamic in the third arc, so I'll keep it shorter here, but basically: Maedhros has become all too aware of how codependent and unhealthy his relationship with his brother has become, and has hit upon a very, very bad solution to this problem.

I mean.

When Maedhros found Maglor in the cave, his brother was moments from death, so weak he could not lift his head; and his white face lit by the Silmaril was filled with bereft despair, for Curufin had abandoned him.

In his secret heart Maedhros long thought it the cruellest of all Curufin’s deeds. How could anyone willingly hurt Maglor – how could anyone leave him?

Maedhros: my brother has abandonment issues. I think abandoning him will fix this,

Oooh yes also that reminds me! Maedhros spends a lot of time in part 30 thinking about Curufin: and this is really the crux of it, the fact that Curufin's decision to leave in part 20 and Maedhros' decision to leave in part 30 are parallels of each other. In fact the approximate train of thought of mine that led to this plot point, back in May when I first conceived it, was "everyone keeps being mean to Curvo for being so so stupid but you know what. I think Maedhros can be stupider actually."

Anyway, unlike the three other conversations he has in part 30, Maedhros doesn’t go into his conversation with Maglor with any particular goal he would like to achieve. He just… loves him. And, as he tried his best to play the devoted lover with Fingon, he slips now into the role of the responsible elder brother, telling Maglor to go to bed and scolding him for staying up too late. (Not to get on the suicide parallels again, but sudden calmness/more cheerful behaviour is a somewhat common indicator that a suicidal person has made a decision to end their life.) And, also, I think a part of Maedhros wants to leave Maglor with a good memory of him, even though that's contrary to his actual goal, which is to make Maglor hate him. (This is also why he tries to refrain from touching Maglor throughout the conversation, although he isn't ultimately able to.)

The very last bit of the scene:

Even so, the tune is recognisable: a lullaby Maglor wrote for Maedhros by the shores of Lake Mithrim, in the very early days when Maedhros was too terrified of it all turning out to be a dream to even close his eyes.

Maglor sang it again when he saved Maedhros’ life from Carcharoth, moments before the wolf leapt upon him, and again in Himring with Maedhros’ knife sticking out of his abdomen.

Hearing it now, he takes Maedhros’ hand, and listens attentively; but eventually his eyes drift closed, and Maedhros watches as his breathing eases into sleep.

idk something about the parallels here. the fact that Maglor sang this lullaby at the times when Maedhros hurt him (not that he was actively involved in the Carcharoth incident, but he blames himself for that anyway) and that Maedhros sings it to him now, just before hurting Maglor yet again... I just like the image.

I was rather pleased with the way the scene ends on a very gentle note; Maedhros literally gets up to leave seconds after this, but I knew I didn't want to show the actual moment he walks away, and leave his POV still on this very peaceful little tableau.

Then there's a little interlude in which Fingon and Maglor Find Out, and then we return to Maedhros' POV for the fun final scene of the arc. There isn't a lot to say about Maedhros' walk through Dorthonion; mostly what I was trying to do was to trick the reader into thinking he was walking to Menegroth lol. (Which doesn't actually make any sense, since he can't pass through the Girdle. But I wanted to lead you into considering the possibility anyway.)

One thing I do want to highlight:

Hard to feel very thankful about anything, when his feet are drawn inexorably forward, as though he is walking downhill, although the ground is flat here.

He was vaguely worried, in the dimmed and distant way he feels anything right now, that he would not be able to find his target. It is not exactly marked on any maps, after all.

But he should not have been concerned. Some ugly core of him knows the way he is going.

and also

Ancient instinct pushes him to his knees.

I was deliberately using very passive language here: Maedhros' feet are being drawn forward, he is pushed to his knees. (Also, "some ugly core of him"! He's so convinced that he is fundamentally evil and corrupted!) He has basically completely relinquished any idea of his own agency here: this is inevitable, and he was always going to end up here, at Sauron's feet, and there is no other way the story could ever have gone.

He's wrong, of course. He did have a choice, he had so many chances, and he didn't take any of them.