#S N I F F LE

[partyinthemysterymachine]

happy birthday!!

H. G A S P

OMG....

OMG!!!!!!

WAAAAAAHHHHHH OMG THANK YOU SO MUUUCCHHH THAT IS SO FUCKING SWEEEET OF YOUOUUU ADFKHSDFGHKSDFGKJHSDFGHLK ;_____;!!!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH BOO THANK YOU HAPPY GOOMTDAY TO U TOO!!!! WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH I CAN'T THANK YOU ENOUGH IM ;___;!!!! IM GONNA CRY SO HARD SO MANY TEARS FROM MY EYEBALLS

THANK YOU SO MUCH ILU TO PIECES AND FOREVER HE'S SO FUCKING C U T E IN YOUR STYLE WAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE LOVE AND SUPPORT I WOULD ACTUALLY FIGHT TO THE DEATH FOR YOU

[milla984]

Like Water For His Fire

Summary: When Ram goes MIA you get nervous... but he's got a very good explanation and you can't really stay mad at him

Pairing: modern AU Ramaraju x fem!reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: brief mention of anxiety, mentions of marking, kissing, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 2k

7:56.

The sunset paints the sky orange red and from the bedroom window you can see its reflection on the surface of the nearby lake, as the evening breeze raises silvery ripples on the water. Adjusting the strap of Ram’s tank top on your shoulder you blow a strand of hair off your face then check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time: no texts. Zero missed calls.

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” you repeat under your breath.

You sit on the coverlet and hug his pillow. There’s usually something soothing about putting on his clothes or smelling his perfume - today, however, neither his old top nor the faint traces of his sandalwood and orange peel aftershave on the pillowcase prove to be very effective at keeping your anxiety under control.

You switch to a full alert state when you hear the entry door opening, followed by heavy footsteps. Seconds later Ram stands in front of you looking exhausted, his sleeves rolled up and the first buttons of his shirt undone, and collapses on his side of the bed.

“What happened? Are you okay?” you ask, still a bit nervous.

He nods in silent assent.    

“I tried to call you, why did you turn off your phone?” you ask again and he fumbles in his pocket to hold up the answer, shaped like an intricate spider web of cracks across the black screen.

“I’m getting in the car and this idiot does a swan dive into a puddle,” he explains, “fifteen minutes later I’m stuck in traffic in Madeenaguda. Damn road works!”

It takes a little bit longer than usual for your heart to stop pounding in your stomach and ears. He’s been late in the past but an hour of radio silence forced you to consider all sorts of horrible scenarios, and you need to clear your mind of their negative influence.

“In hindsight… not the best route choice,” he adds, noticing you’re being too quiet. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry.”

You shrug: during off-peak hours the NH 65 is the fastest way back, meaning he was trying to come home as soon as he could. And it’s not his fault his phone died on him. “You know me, I worry too much.”

You also care a lot about him, which is why he doesn’t need to hear you live in constant fear of being contacted by the notification officer of his department - a possibility he’s even less likely to discuss than you are.

“Are we good?” he replies, lowering his thick lashes and giving you an innocent doe-eyed stare.

You can see where this is going: the simple thought of it erases all the previous distress and makes you weak at the knees. You throw the pillow at him, practicing your best impression of a seductive pout. “Mister, you’re the Police Guy… why don’t you figure it out?!”

Ram props himself up on one elbow so he can tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. He brushes his thumb across your lower lip, his personal way of telling you he gathered all the evidence that the mere sight of his forearms always lights you up like a neon sign powered by libido. You’re not mad at him - you’re horny for him.

Cheeky bastard.

Needless to say, his shirt has to go; you unfasten the entire row of buttons in a heartbeat and help him take it off. ‘Mouthwatering’ is the word to describe his bare chest, and how on earth does he manage to still look steaming hot after spending a full day at work and a ridiculous amount of time in his car is beyond you.

You nibble on his earlobe before you lick him below the jaw, descending along his Adam’s apple, the muscles of his neck and the dimple between the collarbones. 

You could spend the whole evening teasing his nipples, forced to contain the urge to sink your teeth into his skin because he’s so sensitive he would scream in pain if you bit him; his petite buds harden at the lightest touch so you circle the areolas with the tip of your tongue and suck delicately, twirling a few dark hairs on his navel around your fingers.

“I’m happy you’re here,” you whisper.

His palm caresses your nape, then his mouth reaches yours and you both engage in a playful competition for dominance: now that he’s in your arms you only want to hold him tight and tell him everything’s alright, but he’s impetuous and clings to you as if you’re pure spring water, bound to tame the fire raging inside of him.

There’s no doubt he figured out ages ago the main reason why you wear his clothes or hug his pillow if he’s away: you crave his body, his presence, his weight on top of you, and it isn’t just a matter of lust. He’s not used to be open and vocal about his feelings, nevertheless he’s proven multiple times he’s the kind of man who looks out for the important people in his life and you’re willing to do the same for him; you’ve become each other’s fulfillment of a mutual request for affection and the many positive aspects of your physical relationship are a reflection of a deeper bond.

It’s Ram who wins in the end and traps you under him. He doesn’t bother to take the old tank top off and lifts the hem up to reach your soft belly; once he glides past your mound of Venus you squirm in anticipation, almost hitting him in the chin.

He smirks and you’re tempted to slap the living hell out of him: being so fuckable should be declared illegal.

“Don’t make me kick you for real,” you joke, and Ram smiles again.

Without breaking eye contact he puts both his hands on your hips and rolls down your panties while you lift your tailbone to help him; he pinches your left ankle and lifts your foot, placing your leg on his shoulder.

Reality fades in a blurry ensemble of the last rays of sunset behind the clouds, outside the window, and the hypnotic white noise coming from the a/c unit as you let your fingers run through his hair. Having it ruffled when he’s going down on you is a major turn on for him and you’re dying to please him in return, since you’ve never met another man who was this passionate about the idea of eating you out; he’s also into being praised as a reward for his dedication and you’re happy to oblige, cooing. “You’re so good at this, pandu.”

Ram glances at you, mesmerized. The gentle strokes of his lips grow more and more intense, then he starts to flicker his tongue at such a fast pace that your ragged breath turns into whimpers, to which he replies with low, throaty growls.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he hums, his head still buried between your thighs and his luscious beard, sprinkled with a little gray, rubbing so well on your clit.

You grab a big chunk of his hair at the roots and tug to draw his attention, careful not to hurt him. In your private system of non verbal communication it’s a signal to stop, so he rises to his knees and leans forward for a kiss. You love to taste your ‘sweet nectar’ (as it was referred to in many of the romance novels you read as a teenager) on his mouth; your adult consciousness knows it’s salty, tangy and it’s got a hint of musk to it - still, it’s you and he always enjoys it like you’re a delicious treat.

You also know another part of him is hungry for you, so you make him lay on his back to undo his trousers and pull them down, together with his underwear. He’s hard and impatient, aching to have you wrapped around him. Half of you wants to put you both out of your misery, the other half is determined to take full advantage of your position: you steady yourself on the headboard and straddle him, but first you tuck his leaking cock against his stomach.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you mumble as you slowly buck your hips, moving up and down his length.

This is plain torture for Ram and he clasps his hands at the old tank top, squeezing like a schoolboy who’s just discovered the amazing, silky roundness of your breasts. He’s adorable when his self-control begins to falter and soon his deep groans make you so wet it hurts.

“Jaanu…” he whines, desperate for release.

Using the headboard to keep your balance you guide him to the right spot before you lower yourself onto him. It’s your turn to fondle his chest and play with the dark trail of fuzz blossoming on his sternum and plunging to his groin; every time you separate you can’t stand to be apart and it’s not long before you grind on him to feel his coarse hair tickle your sensitive skin.

You look at him, his beautiful eyes closed and his teeth biting on his lips. He’s holding you so tight by the waist you’re sure he’ll leave a couple of marks and they’re all signs he’s trying to hold back. “I-I’m–”

“Do it,” you cut him off while you pick up your speed.

Ram throws his head backwards and it’s a sight to behold: his usual, brooding self disappears and all that’s visible on his face is peace and content, even if it lasts for a few seconds. You don’t stop rocking your hips until a familiar warmth flows inside of you, and moments later he wraps his hand around the back of your neck to pull you close.

He lifts his knees to dig his feet into the mattress and starts thrusting, set on a mission to give you one of the best orgasms of your life; he drinks the pure pleasure you’re pouring into his mouth with your loud moans, which he eagerly accepts as an incentive to pound you harder and faster.

“I want to make you come,” he mutters on your lips.

The power he has over you is unexplainable: his voice is what sends you over the edge in the end, gasping for air when a powerful jolt of ecstasy hits you and the tension leaving your body almost causes you to collapse on top of him. In fact you flop on your side, breathless and drained of the energy required to pass for a living and functioning human being; your brain is still engaged in the aftermath of the Big O and the single detail you’re able to process is one of your legs, resting across his lap.

Ram snaps out of the post-coital stupor first, in time to pick his shirt off the floor and help you clean your inner thighs - saving you both the trouble of dealing with a complete mess later. The pensive frown is back and you wipe away the shiny trickle of sweat running down his temple, but he’s so focused on what he’s doing he doesn’t seem to notice. 

Once he’s finished cleaning himself up he fixes his trousers in a hurry throwing the shirt back on the floor to snuggle against you, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders to trace the outline of his muscles using your fingertips.

“Excuse me… what?!” you laugh, since he’s got his face pressed on your bosom and the words come out muffled if he speaks.

“I think I love you, bangaaram,” he repeats, tilting his head up.

Your heart skips a beat.

He looks at you with his brooding expression again, so you find yourself lost in his dark, soulful eyes for the longest instant. Then you cup his face in your hands and rub your nose against his, kissing him so lightly that your touch is like April rain on his mouth.

“I love you too, Ram.”

@ramcharantitties, @nyotamalfoy, @taylorklaine, @bheemaxrama, @ladydarkey, @astrafangs, @ronaldofandom

»»»— read pinned post for taglist info —«««

[lockedtowers]

[contradictory-equivalence]

midbl@@dz will z@y they c@n't be c@zteist bec@uze the hem@zpectrum @pprezzez them t@@ @nd then turn around @nd call l@wbl@@dz the m@st hem@phobic zlurz kn@wn t@ tr@llkind.

[ahsokaisawesome]

Hey there (fellow Canadian I see!!) I saw your tags on my post and you'll be happy to know that I plan to upload my zelloyd paper to ao3 when it's marked! I'd do it now, but unfortunately because of my school's anti plagiarism scraping it might come up as me plagiarizing myself if I do 😅 I've gotten a lot of interest though so you bet that paper will see the light of day!

YEEEESSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Im so excited fuck yes yes yes

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Le Petit Mort

Summary: That period comfort fic.

Pairing: Lestat de Lioncourt x human!afab!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Content Warnings: Period Blood Flavoured Porn 18+!, Soft!Lestat, A Tiny Bit Angsty, Oral (F Receiving), Period Blood :), Comfort, A Little Somnophilia, A Surprising Amount Of Lestat's Musings About Human Biology

A/N: I just want to crawl into his ribcage and wrap myself around his heart.

No pressure tags: @notgilderoylockhart @queer-crusader @blueberrypancakesworld @theprettiesthead @midnight-mess

And it′s easy done

Our little remedy

And the reason comes on the common tongue of your loving me

- Moment's Silence By Hozier

Eventually, at the point where the latest hours of the night exchanged a brief shake of hands with those of the early morning, the city quieted down. Lamp-lit streets gradually guided fewer creatures of the night, or those who believed to be such, back home, and the spontaneous bursts of music after someone had swung a bar door open died out just like the plenty of colorful lights illuminating the window frames of the neighborhood; one going out after the other like a tiring sparkle of fireflies.

Lestat watched the city quarter slowly slip into a brief slumber, knowing that it would only take a mere handful of hours for the bustling on the streets to start anew, hungry bodies eager to fill themselves with hot beverages and takeaway sandwiches to soak up what was left from the night before. Daytime activities not meant to be entertained by him, however, much more so by you when you’d wake with him already gone, hiding away from the sunlight you were to let yourself bask in with every little stroll of yours to pick up flowers or enjoy some ice cream on the pier whilst he slept to pass the hours between being with and without you again. The pleasantries of being human.

With time, he’d forgotten most about it, had trained and taught himself not to care about the things so far out of his reach but that only lasted until you had come along, crossed his nightly path, slightly yet dangerously enough swaying on a pair of glittery high heels and black mascara running down your face, swept along the soft curve of your cheeks by a wash of heavy tears. Lestat had been out to feed and yet, your appearance that night had evoked a sense of pity inside the rotten pit of his ribcage that had thrown the hunger aside and instead led him to find out what this city had done to you on that particular night.

The undead tried not to dwell on this memory for too long for it wouldn’t bring him anything other than sorrow over something that wasn’t even lost to him yet, quite the contrary, still resting calmly in his embrace.

Exhaling a tender hum, you nuzzled your face against Lestat’s chest, slumbering away soundly whilst he watched over you. The vampire found himself perfectly content with that, having concluded that you couldn’t possibly entertain him at all hours of the night, especially not during the work week. The weekends, however, posed as the sacred frame of time you could actually spend time with one another without any overly negative repercussions. Not so seldomly, he felt a pang of guilt rumble through him for fucking your sleep schedule like that - yet another one of those things the vampire preferred not to sit in longer than necessary.

Shushing the unwelcome musings from his mind, Lestat placed a tender kiss to your hairline, one hand caressing down your back before coming back around your hips again, a hardly noticeable, miniscule tremble making his palm rest just above the waistband of your checkered pajama shorts; he liked them, enjoyed seeing you comfortable.

He had to double-take but it was there, right beneath his fingertips, pointed nails like stained glass barely touching your soft skin, a thrum going through your lower abdomen, a telltale pull inwards not yet strong enough to wake you. If he focused, he was able to feel the muscles tugging, preparing to shed and rid themselves of another months worth of lining and for a moment, he found himself flush with almost childlike wonder and adoration for the human body having well timed mechanisms for everything, be it antibodies to fight against an oncoming cold or an empty womb ready to start the cycle anew.

Sometimes, rarely but not less earnest, he missed it, missed that feeling of an itch scratching at the back of his throat as snow fell outside and he'd warmed himself in front of a fire that burned like vermillion and Amber whilst feeding from a bowl of soup. But then again, the longing withered with the remembrance of coughing his lungs out for weeks, bronchi ablaze with infection and rendered sticky with amounts of mucus that had left him wondering how he hadn’t drowned within himself. Lestat shook the memory with an accompanying, slight shake of his head, fingers still curiously following the pull and tear underneath your skin. It would render painful quickly and he wouldn't want you to wake up with this hurt ripping through your body like that, no, he much rather have you wake up gently and with enough time to take something to help with the discomfort before tucking yourself back in.

The hand that had been resting carefully dipped down, fingers slipping past the elastic easily before they curved and felt tacky wetness; a severe lack of arousal in the current amalgamation but he'd gleefully correct that in time.

A sheen of pinkish red glossed index and middle finger up to the knuckles as he withdrew again and he eyed it for a moment as you softly stirred in his embrace, you wouldn't wake just now, only a little turbulence that ebbed away quickly.

There was no second thought as Lestat raised his hand just enough to gingerly pop both fingers into his mouth to suck them clean. The traces of fresh blood were hardly even there and yet they gave him a brief head rush, fangs pushing through out of sheer instinct and the aftertaste leaving him craving more.

He sucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, dragging every last bit from between his taste buds as he pondered briefly and figured that you wouldn't mind as he slowly shimmy away from you just the tiniest little bit, enough to crouch down, shoulder against the mattress and fingers pulling at your shorts until they hung loose around your thighs. Lestat had to remind himself not to bite…only taste. There was no need for any harm in what he was wanting to do, tongue darting out to lap at you gently to pull from a source that came without violence and again, it egged him into a frenzy as the slightest taste of your blood swept into his mouth.

He hummed into you, palms splayed at your lower back and you groaned in return, subconscious eventually catching up to the careful ministrations.

“Huh?” Your voice low and sleep-drunk as your eyes fluttered open and dropped down immediately.

With Lestat's broad hands warm against your back, the dull sensation of pressure from within didn't come to you immediately, the battling pleasure so kindly donated by your lover spreading much more intense.

“Your bleedin’, ma belle.” Lestat mouthed against your throbbing cunt before pulling away just enough to look up at you, chin glazed with traces of red and fangs prodding against a glistening bottom lip.

If you hadn't been comfortable resting on your bed, you'd have probably just toppled over because the view from above rendered your knees weak in a heartbeat.

“Oh.” It trickled from your mouth, entirely content with what was happening and just in time before the air got knocked from your lungs as Lestat leaned back in, the width of his tongue snaking through soaked labia and eventually pushing inside, gently stretching you around the taut and nimble muscle.

Your fingers found his head, taking a fistful of honey-blonde curls to pull him flush against you as he coaxed a wash of little noises to feather from your lips and into the bedroom.

“You're impossible.” The words came breathless and slightly hoarse as the bridge of your lover's nose nudged against your swollen clit, flushed flesh pressing dangerously close to predatory jaws.

Lestat laughed into you, the vibration nearly sending you flying past the threshold already but you held back, kept tethering on the edge as he fed from you; each and every clench and throb of your cunt easing the growing discomfort whilst pulling the fresh red from you.

If it had been up to Lestat, he could've done it all night, for hours until the sun would come up, however, he was still attentively listening to your body and the way it reacted around him; tongue fucking into you, curling and curving against your insides. He felt how your muscles grew tighter, pressure growing and ready to snap in the very next moment.

He wanted you to let loose, to taste you coming all over his mouth and chin as your blood rendered sweet with the rush of release; a special delicacy. And for a few strokes of his tongue, he pressed in even further, nose rubbing against your sensitive clit. Lestat could feel the electricity jolting through your body, you practically vibrated above him, thighs twitching before the firework of blissed out sensations got set into motion.

A muffled Fuck got lost in fabric and feathers as you shoved your face into a thick pillow, the trembling if your body outside of your control as the contractions flushed any sort of pain right out of you and Lestat lapped at you like a feral animal, immediate overstimulation making you writh as he held you in place until he deemed himself sated.

He pulled away at last, the wet sound emanating from amidst your thighs making your face flush with heat.

“You French pervert.” You groan out halfway laughing.

“Je t'aime, aussi.”, Lestat looked up at you, grinning widely with his cheek pressed against your skin, “I reckon you get something to ease the pain, love.”

“But I have, don't I?” You smiled back, chest swelling with warmth and an overflowing gush of love.

“You sure do, but I was thinking about something that would actually let you sleep, no?”

[sereneres]

“ln yn forgetting she’s an idol f…” ⁰

le sserafim x lsfm 6th member!reader / 1.1k

summary. — “ln yn forgetting she’s an idol for five minutes and a few seconds (aka yn having no filter).”

warnings. — cursing / somewhat vulgar language / typical slurring from lsfm!yn / yn encouraging parasocial activities / video-format by @/jihyoruri

“unnie, stop touchin’ m’like that.”

chaewon blinks. yunjin freezes. kazuha promptly looks away from the camera, desperately trying–and failing–to hold back her laughter. eunchae was already snorting. sakura, in an attempt to do damage control, continued talking cheerfully to the camera, subtly shifting so that she could cover whatever was happening behind her with her head.

“practice has been pretty hard.” she says, sighing. “not because the dance is hard, though that’s a reason too, but because it ends pretty late into the night.”

“yah, ln yn!” chaewon’s voice is heard, followed by the sound of skin hitting skin–likely her hand slapping some part of your body–and a muffled yelp. “if you say things like that, people are going to misunderstand!”

“but unnie, you keep touchin’ me ‘n weird places.” the younger whines. “what else ‘m i s’pposed t’say?”

sakura, having given up, just slumped onto the floor, letting those watching the live see what was happening behind her.

chaewon was practically on top of you, shaking you back and forth by your shoulders. yunjin was snickering as she attempted to get the leader off of you with little to no success. eunchae was still laughing, her face red, and kazuha, at somepoint, had joined in on her laughter.

“ln yn!” chaewon screams, her cheeks reddening. “you’re an idol, for goodness sake, an idol! don’t say that kind of thing!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“‘where is yn?’”

“yn is currently preoccupied in the kitchen.” chaewon answered, eyeing something off screen. “both kazuha and eunchae are helping her which is why they aren’t here either.”

“they’re making cookies.” yunjin added, smiling. “erm, chocolate chip cookies, if i’m not–”

the sound of a door opening violently interrupts the american’s words, and the two girls on screen look to their left with surprised looks on their faces.

“chaewon’nie, the stove’s ‘n fire.” following your words is the high pitched beeping of what is undoubtedly the dorms fire alarms going off.

“what?!” chaewon stands up, with yunjin following suit. “what do you mean it’s on fire?!”

“‘s ‘n fire.”

yunjin, seemingly having remembered that the live was still going on, quickly ducked into view of the camera. “sorry, guys, we’ll be right back.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“ow, ow, fuck, ow–”

sakura, frowning, looked over to where you were presumably standing off screen. “ynnie, are you alright?”

she isn’t facing the camera, her head turned just enough so that those watching could tell she was worried by how tense her jaw was but not enough that they could see how her eyes had widened in alarm. you had cursed, after all, and in the middle of a live no less.

“m’fine, jus’ slammed the cabinet on m’finger.” you murmured, trudging into view with a hand wrapped tightly around your wounded finger. “it really hurt, ‘kura-unnie.”

oddly enough, you don’t seem all that worried about having potentially ruined your image as an idol by cursing. if anything, it seemed as though you hadn’t realized you had cursed aloud at all.

sakura, who is more than worried enough for the both of you, hums in response, absentmindedly checking your finger as she glanced at the live’s comment section. fortunately, it looked like no one was put out by your cursing, finding it more hilarious than upsetting.

“‘nnie, why’re they all laughin’? did somethin’ funny happen?”

“err… not exactly.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“unnie, wou’d you accept a kiss fro’me as a present?”

yunjin blinks, visibly stunned by your words. chaewon and sakura, both having realized just what you said, glance at the staff member standing behind the camera nervously. eunchae and kazuha, on the other hand, had quickly got over their shock and were giving you incredulous looks.

“oh my god-”

“…’s tha a yes or a no?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“ln yn, just what do you think you are doing?”

you freeze, giving sakura a panicked look–to which she responds with an amused smile–before slowly turning around to face your angry leader. “erm, h’llo, chaewon’nie.”

“hand.”

behind you, you could faintly hear yunjin and eunchae whispering about how chaewon sounded like she was speaking to a dog, ordering for it to give her a paw or something.

chaewon, unamused by your lack of response, both verbally and physically, raised a brow. “yn.”

you sigh, reluctantly doing as the older girl ordered and give her your hand, where a long cut glared an angry red on your skin.

“ooh~ unnie is in trouble~” eunchae murmured, smiling innocently at you when you turned to glare at her.

“yn, how did you get this?”

“…erm, i accident’lly stabbed m’self with scissors?…”

yunjin chortled, enjoying the scene before her all too much. “cut, more like.”

“not helping, unnie.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“‘kura-unnie’s basically m’ sugar m’mmy.” you mumbled to the camera, eagerly showing off the brand new pair of sneakers you had gotten–been gifted–earlier that day. “see? she bought m’ the shoes i was lookin’ at the other day.”

eunchae, who had been quiet until this moment leans into view of the camera, snorted. “unnie, you call anyone who’s ever bought you anything your sugar mommy.”

“sug-ar mom-my?” kazuha repeated slowly, tilting her head as she turned to look at chaewon, who sighed and shook her head with a look of disappointment on her face.

noticing how irritated the leader looked, the ballerina wisely decided to stay quiet and mind her own business.

“‘m not wrong though.” you point out to the unimpressed girl. “‘kura-unnie ‘s really m’sugar m’mmy. she buys me s’much stuff…” you giggle sleepily, turning back to the camera. “th’nk you, ‘kura-unnie~”

at that, chaewon, probably having realized just how… weird the conversation has gotten, clicked her tongue, drawing both your and eunchae’s attention.

“should i tell her to stop buying you things then?” she asked rhetorically, an eyebrow raised. “after all, we can’t have an idol, much less a girl group idol, being called ‘sugar mommy’ by one of her members…”

panicked, you sit up. “s’rry ‘nnie, i’ll ask ‘em to cut it out, ‘kay? don’t tell ‘kura-unnie anythin’!”

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“to those who’re sayin’ that they wanna marry me…” you start absentmindedly, staring at the screen of your phone before raising your head to look at the camera. “‘you bein’ serious? ‘cause if you are…”

[ lsfms#1fan: yes. desperatehoe: YES?!!! reasonableperson: uh no r u not a minor??? desperatehoe#2: PLEASE BE MY GIRFLRIEDNHSJQBWBS ]

reading the more or less desperate comments your fans were making, you smile lazily, though it looks more like a smirk than anything else.

“if tha’s the case, then,” you continued, clearing your throat as you kept your eyes on the camera. “please sign a prenup agreement.” from the corner of your eye, you could see a variety of confused comments. “then, and only then, will i consider being married to you.”

masterlist.

[agendabymooner]

☏ SNOOZING ON THE JOB, cl16 voicemail blurb (f)

☏ MOONY’S VOICEMAIL — a series in which formula one drivers send a voicemail to the reader. what about? prompts may vary. (maybe fluff or smut, idk)

voicemail summary: charles fell asleep watching his kids, so his eldest boys hervé and jules reported to their maman through a voicemail.

content warning: nameless mom!reader (maman), fluff, translated french dialogues, dad!charles x ocs (hervé and jules + mentioned baby pj), nosy kids but they’re cute so they’re valid, humour

note: i used the same kids from of long lines and names haha sorry— enjoy xx

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

somewhere in the background, the film toy story 3 was playing.

the microphone neared a soft breathing as a small voice spoke, “maman? hallo- maman? ‘s hervé—“

“oh herb, pourquoi est-ce que tu touches le téléphone de da?” why are you touching da’s phone, another voice rung out on the side. “‘member? no touching phone!”

“wanna say hi to maman! wanna say hi, jules?” the toddler, now identified as hervé, asked his twin brother jules.

“nah uh,” jules replied with a slight reluctance on his tone, “da va se fâcher.” da will get upset.

“hm, d'accord,” hervé hummed before speaking directly to the phone, “maman— da ‘s sleeping with sacha— look—“

the phone moved around and neared a soft breathing— assuming that it was coming from a baby — before a loud snoring erupted in the voicemail.

then the snoring had faded as hervé spoke, “da has his mouth open like this—“ hervé let out an airplane-like sound before his brother jules giggled alongside him. “da said we watch toy story together but da’s sleepin’!”

“da also said we nap,” jules piped up on the side, “but he and pj are napping. da is sooo sleepy, maman!”

hervé giggled hysterically, surprisingly he hadn’t woken his father up from his laughter as hervé continued, “da a dit que nous aurons de la crème glacée aujourd'hui - je pense que je vais prendre du chocolat!” da said that we will get ice cream today. i think i will get chocolate!

“ooh! good ice cream, h!” jules let out a gasp, “i think i will get uh… mango!”

“mango? bleh,” hervé stuck out his tongue. “i no like mango!”

“ooh- i think we should end call, herb,” jules told his twin, “maman’s no answer. stop call.”

“okay, bye maman~” hervé dragged his word out as he greeted the phone.

“bye byeeeee~” jules’ voice got higher.

“byeeee mamaaaaan— je t’aimeeee—“ hervé paused and let out an ‘oof’ before footsteps appeared in the background of the voicemail. “da— da…”

a deeper voice spoke hoarsely as charles stirred awake, baby pj still sounded asleep on the driver’s chest as charles asked, “mmgh— hervé? why are you not napping?”

“da, turn this off?” there was a long pause.

charles, still half-asleep, said, “hervé, jules— did you call maman?”

“yes— we say hi, da,” hervé and jules reasoned.

“oh mon dieu,” charles groaned quietly, “boys, we do not call maman when she’s worki—“

— beep —

[sirdindjarin]

The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader

gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here

Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.

WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.

A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.

"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids." 

A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.

Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.

Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.

"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"

"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."

The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.

"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.

Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.

As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat." 

"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.

You continue, “And you need something to relax.” 

At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.” 

“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow. 

The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face. 

“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”

Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze. 

The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.

As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.

“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”

 Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.

Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”

***

The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options. 

Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart. 

After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?

You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.

Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours. 

“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.

The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod. 

When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave. 

You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you. 

“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you. 

Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.” 

“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.” 

His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”

"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter. 

The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch. 

You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.

Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled. 

“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch. 

The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.

“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.

He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.

You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.

 But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.

“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.

“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”

Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.  

Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.

“Show me who did this."

Cold, calm, his words are a promise.

Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.

Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.” 

The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.

“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.” 

Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.

The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined. 

He gently flexes his hand, letting go.

____________________________________

As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.

But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.

The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.

It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself. 

Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go. 

Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.

Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”

He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.

“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you. 

Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.

“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.

Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell. 

The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster. 

“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.

You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”

The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.

Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy. 

“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.

Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.

“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.” 

You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.

Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”

Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.

Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning. 

"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”

The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.

Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures. 

Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid. 

___________________________________

“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.” 

On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.

The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away. 

The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much. 

For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.

Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you. 

Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him. 

All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.

It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.

Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing. 

At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.

You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.

Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.

A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.

"Oh!" 

The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand. 

"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."

Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.

"Do you not get cold?"

"I do." 

"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.

"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather." 

"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.

The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.

"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."

"The name is quite literal, then?" 

"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.

He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded. 

"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.

"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.

You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.  

“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur. 

Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.

Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.

"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire. 

You frown, "No one does." 

Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.

Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."

Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.

"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.

"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.

The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically. 

"I need to separate you two."

"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand. 

Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.

"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief. 

It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.

Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.

"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family." 

The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.

"I cannot teach you the methods of your people." 

“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.” 

Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”

Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about. 

“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” 

“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”

Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest. 

The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu. 

But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man. 

***

Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.

Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches. 

_________________________________________

Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.

You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning. 

“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.

“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.

“Why? He’s a baby.” 

Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."

“He's what?” 

Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father. 

“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.” 

“Uh, yeah. Fifty?” 

Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure. 

“Is fifty so terrible?”

Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull. 

Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?” 

The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.

“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.” 

You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.

Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.” 

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”

He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you. 

“I will teach you what I can.” 

***

Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same. 

“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks. 

“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement. 

Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.” 

You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”

Din closes his eyes in frustration.

You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”

Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you. 

Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”

Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod. 

“Of course. For the kid.”

__________________________________

Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy. 

An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder. 

The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts. 

Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.

Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.

__________________________________

Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin. 

While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling. 

Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best. 

“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front. 

“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.

The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.

Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.

“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.

“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”

Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.

He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor. 

Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.” 

Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air. 

“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”

That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.

“Tell me.” 

Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth. 

“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face. 

Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.

You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.

"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”

Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke. 

Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.

Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.

You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -” 

“What you thought was wrong.” 

Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.

“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse. 

You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.” 

The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted. 

Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.

“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.

Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation. 

Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.

His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.

“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach. 

“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time. 

He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.

His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?

His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.

Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end. 

Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches. 

“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”

He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time. 

Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.

Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria. 

Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.” 

He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble. 

The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.

You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.

“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp. 

He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.

“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.

“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.

He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.

He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.

Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability. 

Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting. 

“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”

He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this. 

“Turn over,” he orders.

Of course, you obey without hesitation.

His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief. 

“You okay?” He rumbles. 

Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.” 

He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.

The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.

Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.

***

In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.

“What is it?” 

“Your life is not the only one that has changed.” 

Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love. 

“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly. 

___________________________________

Tagging:

@morks-watermelon

[taesancore]

the playlist i never sent

woonhak x f!reader

(𝐈𝐈) OUR

a/n: finally pt.2 is here!!! this took quite some time to post and i apologise for the delay~ pt.3 might be the final one, i hope you enjoy this one and tysm for reading the series until now!!🫶🏻

🍦.ᐟ read part one here❕

🍦.ᐟ genre: f2l (idiots to lovers🤡), little angst

🍦.ᐟ warnings: idiots fr, PININGGG!!! lots of mutual pining and dumb characters, but hey nobody’s perfect :). mentions of TWS’s jihoon, Le Sserafim’s eunchae, NewJeans haerin, zb1’s yujin, IVE’s leeseo and Enhypen’s ni-ki.

wc: 4292, lowercase intended

“you kissed her?!” jihoon had almost shouted woonhak’s ear off in class. “say it louder won’t you? i don’t think the other building heard it” he snarked as jihoon still stood dumbfounded. “no i- so she kissed you?” the boy questioned further. “i don’t know! what am i gonna do” woonhak groaned into his palms. “did you like the kiss though?” jihoon asked, wiggling his eyebrows this time as woonhak scowled at him.

truth was, he had no idea. technically she had kissed him. but he had kissed back, he had no idea why he kissed back. and a part of him had no idea how he was gonna tell this to y/n, they told eachother everything.

she doesn’t like you anyways, what’s there to worry? rang out a small voice in his head as he sighed.

“are you going to tell y/n?” jihoon questioned hesitantly, he knew how much the boy liked y/n. “no…it’s better if i don’t jihoon” woonhak said softly. yes, she showed zero signs of liking him and probably never will, but a stubborn sliver of hope in him refused to die down. and then suddenly, a bulb lit up in his head.

“however…”

꒰ 🍵 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

you on the other hand were panicking as you should be. you couldn’t stop replaying the night’s events in your mind. somehow your mother had believed your lie of feeling sick during the event and returning home early, so staying at home and “resting” during the weekend gave you time to call eunchae over and spill everything.

“WHAT?!” she had shrieked when you told her everything. “I KNOWW THIS IS BAD” you had wailed. “no this is brilliant!! you can now confess to him!” she cried gleefully as you looked at her in disbelief. “of course not?! did you not hear a thing of what i said?? he likes someone!!” you huffed out loudly, heart sinking at the statement.

“…you seriously can’t be this dumb y/n” your friend said after a beat of silence.

“you’re right i can’t…which is why you won’t be telling him that it was me!” you cried out. ignoring eunchae’s absolutely done expression, you continued, “woonhak would never suspect me, and he did mention that he liked someone that night, so i’ll make it my mission to find out who he likes and make him believe that she was the dove girl!”.

“y/n…why would you do that?? you like him for fucks sake!” eunchae said with frustration.

“you don’t get it chae, if he finds out it was me…everything’s gonna fall apart” you replied lowly. you had already pictured his reaction if he discovered that you were the dove girl, the excitement in his eyes fading away into disappointment. you couldn’t bear the thought of losing him if he found out and your current plan was the best idea.

“besides, he’d probably have no intention of finding the girl from the ball, given the fact that he he likes someone”.

꒰ 🍵 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“y/n, i need your help” was the first thing woonhak had said when they met that day at his house. “sure but with what?” you had replied, puzzled at his solemn face and request. he then proceeded to fill you in about the night at the ball where he ran into the dove girl (you might have tried to hide a little grin at the nickname he gave you) and how she also abruptly left that night.

why he didn’t mention the kiss you had no idea, perhaps he really liked someone else from your class, and maybe the kiss meant nothing to him. as your dejected self let this thought sink in, you almost missed his next words.

“…so i need you to help me find her”

“you WHAT??”

woonhak ignored the way you choked on literal air as he continued to ramble on.

“—i’m thinking we’ll make an account on instagram like one of those cliche reels—“

“why do you want to find the ball girl so badly?” you interrupted him, trying to mask your anxiety. oh this was so not going your way. “because i have something that belongs to her” he said after a moment. what?

“…she dropped this while she left and it’s an important clue—“

your eyes widened to the size of golf balls as woonhak lifted a single pearl earring to show you.

fucking idiot, how did you not realise that you lost it that night?? you continued to silently hurled expletives of all sorts towards yourself as you felt your palms grow sweaty.

“you okay y/n?” woonhak questioned, probably noticing your panicky expression (you hoped he didn’t). “that’s a really expensive earring” you said in a small voice.

technically it was, your dad had bought it for you a year ago before he passed away. you really hoped you could somehow get it back but that seemed impossible as you couldn’t dare to reveal yourself.

“really? that’s the second clue! i knew you’d be good at this” woonhak beamed. “i still don’t get why you’re asking me to help you find her—or why you want to find her” you grumbled as he tsked

“because you’re my best friend?” ouch.

“besides, won’t it be a little fun too? to think of it as a secret mission of some sort!” he made a little ‘woah’ face at you with a huge smile as he flopped down onto his bed.

yeah…for you, you thought helplessly. yet you giggled at his antics as you fell onto the bed by his side, the topic of the ball lay completely forgotten as you two basked in each others presence as usual.

꒰ 🍵 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“kim woonhak likes someone?”

“haven’t you heard? he’s searching for the girl who danced with him in the ball!”

“he even put it up on the school page!”

“oh how i wish it was me…”

“right! wonder why she left though, such a cinderella story”

the words flew past you the minute you entered school the next day. seriously, you undermined how passionate your best friend could be as you took in the sight of multiple girls talking about what colour dresses they wore and what masks they picked. “kim woonhak you little shit” you muttered, musing over the effect he had on the freshman girls who continued to watch the reel he made, explaining the features and characteristics of the dove girl.

“seriously, at this point any of them could end up being his mystery girl” your classmate haerin scoffed as a couple of girls in the next bench looked up the cost of a peach dress online.

too bad they’ll never find the original one, you thought as you thought about your dress that your mom had taylor-maid for you.

the talk of the town, woonhak himself came to take his place behind you, booping your nose as he skipped towards his seat, casually sending butterflies to fly in your stomach. you turned around and glared at him to which he sent a cute little smile as the teacher called out for attention.

“hey, do you think she’ll come out?” came a whisper in your ear while mr. jung droned about the different clauses. “what?” you coughed out, trying your best to sound subtle.

“the dove girl, now that she knows i’m, you know, kim woonhak” he said with a cheeky tone. you sent a dry smile at that. “someone’s full of themself today” you replied as he made a sound of denial.

“woonhak and y/n! silence please” mr. jung barked out as you two fell silent. the class continued in silence as you thought about woonhak’s current plan. what if someone did step out and claim that they were the dove girl? would he believe it? if he did…it would make it easier for you won’t it?

“psst, you know she kind of reminded me of you” the boy behind you whispered again in your ear as you let out a choked noise.

“y/n is everything alright?” came mr. jung’s voice as you continued to cough into your fist. shit the whole class was looking at you.

you muttered an apology after you calmed down and shot your friend a glare, he sent you a confused expression in return. damn it, what did he find familiar?? “and how exactly did she remind you of me?” you hissed back at him as he shrugged.

“don’t know, she’s terrible at walking in heels, just like you” he snorted lightly as you held back an offended expression.

i literally ran down two floors in those heels! was what you wanted to say. obviously you couldn’t so you just rolled your eyes at him. “gee thanks hak—“

“that’s it you two! detention today evening!” mr. jung’s yell cut you off as the two of you winced.

you let out a silent groan as haerin snickered from next to you. great. just great.

꒰ 🍵 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“wait—what makes you think it isn’t y/n?” yujin, one of woonhak’s freshman friend piped up. “pay attention dumbass, she wasn’t at the ball” came hyunseo’s snarky reply as yujin let out an ohhh.

woonhak’s sighed as he sat up from the grass of the football turf. his friends continued to bicker as he packed up his belongings to head to detention. “enjoy detention hyung!” yujin called out as hyunseo giggled. “yeah, with y/n” she teased as woonhak smiled at their antics.

seriously, almost all their friends knew that he liked her, how didn’t she see it?

“what’s up shawty—oh i’m sorry mrs. moon” he mumbled with bright red ears as he scurried away to the seat next to you. mrs. moon let out an amused smile while you tried your best to stifle your laughter. “ah stop alreadyy” he whined as you continued to giggle.

shit your perfumed was so distracting today, it had hit him with its sweet scent today morning when he got them into detention too. he smiled to himself as they got to work with the detention essays.

an hour had passed already as woonhak lied down with his head facing yours, gazing silently at you who was fast asleep on your desk. he smiled to himself as you mumbled something softly in your sleep, rustling a little as some hair fell on your face. god, his hand yearned to move it away from your face but he held back.

“you’re practically shooting heart eyes at her you know” came the voice of mrs. moon as she observed the scene with great interest.

“it’s nothing new mrs. moon…she’s the only one who hasn’t seen them” he said softly, still not taking his eyes off the sleeping girl. his hand ghosted above your face, seriously itching to brush those stray hairs away.

ah young love, mrs. moon thought as she smiled at the scene. “try the back entrance near the turf, mr. lee is taking another detention near the front entrance” was all she said as she got up to pack her bag, shooting woonhak a small wink. his confused expression turned into a huge smile which he sent mrs. moon.

mr. moon truly was the best, he wanted to give her the biggest hug in that moment.

꒰ 🍵 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“psst—hey y/n!”

“….goaway”

“detention’s over dumbass”

you woke up to meet woonhak’s face inches away from yours. the last time he was that close to you was when you kissed—

stop. stop thinking about that. stop thinking about his lips—

he stepped back quickly, clearing his throat as you registered your surroundings.

“get up sleeping beauty, we have to escape”

you sat up with bleary eyes as woonhak grabbed your hand, pulling you up. well that definitely had you a little awake as you looked at his nonchalant demeanour as he casually interlinked your fingers. ok, you two were really good friends, this is normal, yeah.

“ok…now we run” woonhak said once you two were near the class door.

“what—“

you had no time to process as you found yourself dashing across the corridor with a hand in woonhak’s own. the wind whipped across your face as he laughed at your bewildered cry of “why are we running??”

“who’s there!” came a roar from the classroom you ran past. fuck, mr. choi. “shit!” woonhak yelled as he sprinted faster, nearly causing you to trip in the process.

“fuck your never ending spaghetti legs kim woonhak!” you hollered as mr. choi’s shouts faded into the background. the evening glow of the sun was nothing compared to his bright smile as he whooped, he was now running next to you as both of you started laughing at the thrill of it all.

“that was—oh my god!” you giggled as the two of you slowed down while panting and breathing in. his hand was still in yours, you realised, but you didn’t want to tell him that, in the fear of him pulling it away.

“should we get some food?” woonhak murmured, taking in their surrounding area which was the neighbourhood filled with eateries and stores near his house; a popular stop for your classmates who went on dates. you really hoped he didn’t realise that (though a part of you was hoping he brought you here on purpose).

“sure” you said as you led him to the nearest ice cream shop.

her hand is still in mine, whatamisupposedtodo.

woonhak hoped you didn’t notice how sweaty his palm was, how couldn’t it be? he was sure he’d been holding your hand for more than a solid fifteen minutes for now and just how were you so calm about it??? his insides were nearing combustion and here you were happily looking at the different ice cream flavours.

“one cookies and cream and a mint chocolate please!” you chirped as woonhak smiled at himself. you remembered his usual order—

of course you did, you two always had ice cream together, why was he so giddy about this?

“are you guys together? there’s a couple’s discount along with a cake on the house if you are!” the guy behind rhe counter who’s tag read ‘jaehyun’ quipped.

“ah actually—“

“yes we are!”

woonhak’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as he stared at you. you on the other hand squeezed his hand as you turned towards jaehyun with a smile.

“great! please have a seat over there!” he replied cheerfully as he shot you two a grin.

“what was that about??” woonhak said as soon as you sat down, his hand was unfortunately no longer in yours as he sat on the opposite of you.

“hey, you gotta seize the opportunity” you said while taking a bite of your ice cream.

moments like these, where you nonchalantly and so easily made his heart flutter, was the reason he was charmed by you. “you could’ve said that you wanted free cake” he grumbled, trying to hide his flushed cheeks.

“hey! does the idea of being my boyfriend sound that bad” you scoffed, causing his eyes to widen. you really had to applaud your acting skills because you were mentally screaming in your head, for when had you gotten this bold??

“t-that’s not what i meant! stop twisting my words!” woonhak cried dramatically, causing you to laugh. “by the way, how’s the search for your mystery girl going?” you slowly asked.

“i swear to god— the amount of people who obviously aren’t the dove girl are all up in my dms, i know that they aren’t her!” he insisted.

“how do you know they aren’t?”

“i’m telling you, they literally had pics of themselves in different dresses posted and yet they’re trynna tell me they were the dove girl!”

“never mind then” you said.

“but one of them seems suspicious you know”

he said suddenly. your ears perked up at this, this was a positive sign!

“who?”

“you know seowon right?”

know her? your insides deflated at his question. of course you knew her. woonhak’s dance partner for last year’s yearly festival. she was a trainee from STAR entertainment and honestly? she had always had a thing for woonhak, literally everyone could see it. you were sure he probably did at some point too, given the chemistry they had, maybe he still does-

“y/n?” you jolted as woonhak snapped his fingers in front of your eyes.

“ah seriously how are you sleepy already? you literally snoozed an hour ago!” he complained as you scowled playfully at him.

“as i was saying…seowon had a picture of herself wearing an orange dress on her profile—it isn’t clear enough but it looks…”

bingo.

“then it could be her!” you said in false excitement.

“i don’t know…it doesn’t feel like it’s her…” he said unsurely.

“tell you what, i’ll spy on her tomorrow” you said seriously. oh you will, you had a clear plan now and couldn’t wait to spill this to eunchae (you were a 100% sure she’d jus call you a dumbass but still!).

“you’re gonna look like a creep” woonhak wrinkled his nose.

“oh shut up hak”.

꒰ 🍵 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“you’re the most dumbest dumbass i’ve ever met y/n y/l/n” eunchae declared the next day as you two drove to school in your car.

“i don’t even know what she did but i agree” came mr. yoon’s voice from the drivers seat as you made a sound of betrayal.

“mr. yoon! how could you?” you cried as he snickered.

“no seriously y/n! you wanna talk to seowon and ask her to be the mystery girl? are you hearing yourself?” eunchae repeated your plan in disbelief.

“he already thinks it’s her chae, it’ll be the best way to close this case” you sighed.

“you could just tell him, that it was you you know, why are you doing this to yourself?”she questioned softly. she really hated seeing you hurting yourself while always placing others before you.

“because i know, he’d never see me in the same way again if i do chae” you said sadly.

“i’d rather be sad while seeing him happy with someone who isn’t me than lose him completely”.

AN HOUR LATER~

why you put yourself in these kind of places you had no idea. yet here you were, hiding behind a bathroom stall as you ‘spied’ on seowon and her friends who were busy talking two eachother.

“come on! it so was you seowon that night at the ball” one of the girls gave a little squeal.

“yeah! why don’t you fess up to kim woonhak?”

“you two are practically made for eachother you know” another swooned as seowon shyly exclaimed.

“stop it you guys!”

well. they seemed to be fixed on the fact that their friend was the one. no wonder woonhak was a bit suspicious. “but you know, he asked us if you were with us at the ball, and we said you weren’t” another girl replied.

your ears perked up at this, you could weave a story with this one that’ll seem convincing…right?

the bell rang at that moment as you heard the shuffling of their feet while they walked out of the washroom. you stepped out a minute later but stopped due to your phone ringing. oh it’s mom.

“hello—“

“y/n, we have to attend director min’s party next week.”

it’s like she only cared about you when you had to attend events like this. not once did she ever call to check up on you or ask you about your day.

“—so you’ll have enough time to find yourself a date, bring woonhak if you’d like” her voice came through the speakers.

“okay, love you mom” you said.

“hmm”. the line went dead.

you put the phone down, trying to ignore the tears prickling your eyes. seriously why were you acting up today? this was nothing new anyways.

but why did you feel like your heart was being crushed into a million pieces?

“find a date…shit”.

꒰ 🍵 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“put that phone away mr. popular, we have fifteen minutes left!” jihoon chided a busy woonhak, who was currently groaning at the number of dms in his account.

“i don’t get it…they all obviously aren’t the dove girl so why are they—oh?”

“what now?” jihoon said, exasperatedly as he peeked into his friend’s phone.

“kang seowon?” he added, puzzled as he read the dm she sent.

“what…the fuck” a hushed whisper came from him as woonhak stared at the message, expressionless.

꒰ 🍵 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

you walked back towards your classroom after lunch, discussing the ‘date’ situation with haerin.

“i’m assuming you’ll ask woonhak then” she said as you pondered. that could work.

“you’re right…i’ll check with him and return, save me a seat!” you called out as you made his way towards his class, did he have math or science in the next period?

“yo woonhak, i—“ you faltered as you saw him in a serious conversation with none other than kang seowon. she was smiling shyly at him while he had a blank expression on him.

“y/n hi!” she chirped at you. “i was just asking woonhak if we could meet next saturday, as a little get-to-know-eachother hangout!”

this was it. you had done all the spying for nothing after all. you should’ve been feeling happy, relieved even. yet, why did you feel like everything was crumbling down?

“r-really? that’s cool! you said with faux enthusiasm, missing the look woonhak gave you. “that’s a really good idea you know—“

“y/n can i talk to you?” woonhak cut you off with a serious expression.

“hak what happened?” you said once he pulled you to the corner near the classroom. you could see seowon peeking at your direction curiously.

“is it really cool? with you? he questioned with the same expression.

“think about it, it’ll make it easier to find out if she’s the dove girl or not!” you explained as his expression morphed into an unreadable one.

“is that really what you think?” he asked.

“yes woonhak” you smiled, ignoring the growing lump in your throat.

his eyes refused to meet yours. he had seen this coming anyways, yet it hurt like a thousand needles every time you sent him reminders like these. reminders that make his remaining hope want to extinguish itself completely.

“i’ll see you next week” seowon said while walking away, with a coy smile which she directed at him. he felt nothing though, just like how he felt nothing when he saw her message where she asked him to meet up. she might be dove girl though woonhak, he told himself, hoping to get some of his optimism back with the possibility. yet he couldn’t bring himself to.

“what were you going to tell me? earlier when you came here” he asked as you faced him.

“huh? oh—nothing really” you muttered, suddenly gazing at the ground beneath you with interest.

“okay then” he said, stepping away with hands in his pockets.

“have fun…next week” you let out, giving him a weak smile.

“thanks” he replied with a dry smile as he walked away to his class.

you stared at the direction where he walked off to with a whirlwind of emotions swirling in your mind. god your head hurt. everything made no sense right now, wasn’t this what you wanted?

yeah. this wasn’t the time to overthink.

you needed a date, and there was no way in hell you were going to ask woonhak now. not when he had a date on the same day.

꒰ 🍵 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

you had reached home a little later than usual, mr. yoon was visibly concerned at the change in your usually chatty behaviour after school but decided not to bring it up.

he was however, a hundred percent sure that it involved your best friend woonhak though, seriously everyone was able to see how head over heels you were for him.

your mood indeed was pathetic. all you wanted to go home and do was eat a heavy meal and sleep, to temporarily forget the events that took place today. however you had a terrible surprise waiting for you, as you were greeted by a face you absolutely detested, once you entered your house.

“y/n! it’s great to see you here, you look beautiful as usual” drawled eunbin, who shot you a sleazy smile. yuck.

“eunbin, i wish i could say the same” you deadpanned, ignoring his eyes that roamed over your frame. yuck again.

sung eunbin was the son of your mother’s senior at work, whom you often met at the events you accompanied your mother to. and every single time he attended, he made sure to let you know that he was single and ready to mingle.

seriously, he always managed to give you the ick whenever you met him.

“y/n! get ready and join us for dinner, meanwhile you can show eunbin your room!” your mom called out, further dampening your mood. seriously, today had to be one of the most annoying days ever.

“how’re you feeling about the party next week? i take it that you don’t have a date?” he jeered as he followed you to your room. jeez this guy couldn’t take a hint to save his life.

“it really isn’t any of your business you know” you shot back as you slammed the door to your room shut. if only you could skip dinner and be in here forever.

“seriously though, i don’t get why you never let me be your date” eunbin said the minute you stepped out of your room, dressed in formal attire.

“i mean, i’m practically doing you a favour, given you being single and all��” he smirked cockily at your irked expression.

oh he was really testing your patience today. scratch that, the entire world was testing your patience today.

“who said i was?” you snapped back, without realising the words that came out of your mouth.

“oh?” his eyebrows flew up into his hairline. “do enlighten me”.

“yeah, i’ve got a boyfriend”.

just what did you land yourself into?

a/n pt.2: im literally posting this at 1:30am rn so i’ll recheck for any errors in the morning! meanwhile do like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this! feel free to comment to be added to the taglist, and stay tuned for pt.3!!

🖇️: @woonagi-lemon @luvhanniex

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...  

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”  

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.  

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-” 

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.  

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.  

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.  

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well. 

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick. 

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him. 

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market. 

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.  

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years. 

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.  

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...” 

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”  

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.  

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.  

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret. 

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-” 

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.  

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned. 

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.  

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”  

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow. 

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.  

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.  

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.  

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-” 

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.” 

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.  

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.” 

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.  

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.  

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.  

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.  

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.  

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living. 

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.  

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.  

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.  

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.  

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world? 

No.  

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he? 

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials. 

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said. 

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.  

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.  

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.  

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.  

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.  

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake. 

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?” 

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.  

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.  

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.  

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back. 

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.  

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?  

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.  

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.  

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.  

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.  

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.  

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.  

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.  

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.  

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.  

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”  

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.  

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.  

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.  

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school. 

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.  

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.  

You wished you could live like that. 

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.  

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth. 

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?” 

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.  

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.  

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.  

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.  

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud. 

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-” 

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”  

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...” 

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing. 

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.” 

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this. 

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!” 

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!" 

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.  

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.  

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

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[afro-hispwriter]

SECRET

Ewan Mitchell, Tom Glynn-Carney, Matt Smith x actress!F!Reader(separate, not specified who, and they will only be referred to as He or his)

Summary- its a love behind closed doors

-

The premiere was huge, fans yelling, flashes of cameras and reporters trying to get the attentions of all the guests and cast. 

"Y/N OVER HERE!"

"Y/N GIVE US A SMILE."

“JUST ONE PICTURE.”

Your manager led you to a clear walkway where photographers were lining up. You posed for a few seconds, eyes searching the crowd, looking at only a few cameras.

You knew he was staring already. With those perfect blue eyes, the blue eyes that make making your skin burn, made your body burn. 

You locked eyes with him, but pulled away quickly.

You had to let him know you knew. 

Your manager then les you over to an interviewer.

“Hi Y/n how are you!?” She asks and you smiled.

“Im doing great thanks for asking.”

“So you’re officially a rising star and have been named one of the actresses with the most potential, how does that feel?” She asks and you take in a deep breath.

He was there, right out the corner of your eye and he was getting close. 

“Honestly it makes me feel really proud of myself, a lot of people said I wouldn’t make it but here I am.” You laughed awkwardly.

Closer

“Thats great to hear, now i have to ask. That kiss scene with-.” You immediately cut her off, feeling your body heat up.

“Oh yes, it was a very good kiss, my first on screen kiss, im quite happy it was him.” 

He was maneuvered past people and thats when he passed by you. Your heart started racing and you couldn’t help but turn around. That asshole was already smirking at you. But it couldn’t help but make you stammer.

“S-Sorry about that.” You giggle and she couldn’t help but give you a knowing look. Your manager pulled you away again for more pictures.

“Its time to take a picture with-.”

“Fuck.” You mumbled as you watch him adjust his jacket and set his hands clasped together in front of him. It didn’t take long until he saw you and opened a hand out in your direction. You slowly stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his waist, but he instantly pulled you into a friendly hug(from the crowds view at least). 

“You look absolutely gorgeous.” He whispered and you smiled into his shoulder. 

“Thank you and you don’t look bad yourself.” 

“Smile.” You turned and instantly posed with him. His hand that rested on your upper back had made its way down to rest on your tailbone, just above your ass.

“Careful.” You warned and he chuckled.

“I have always kept my relationships out of the media, I know what Im doing.” He says, having to lean down so you could hear. You walked together to another section. “Happy it was me?” 

“Hmm.” You say still looking out to the cameras.

“That I was the one who kissed you.” His hand snaked around to rest on your side making your breath hitch. “Lets go inside.” He led you inside, keeping a hand on your lower back. He guided you through the people inside, only nodding at them in greeting before pushing you into a more secluded area(that area being a storage closet).

“You sir are getting much more bold.” You smile and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can you blame me?” He pulled you in closely and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Let me kiss you.” He pushed his nose into your temple before starting to put kiss down your face, getting closer to your lips. He changed direction and kissed behind your ear, making your stomach flutter. You turned your head and he smirked before pushing his lips against yours. 

You missed his lips so much

“We cant.” You mumble. “Not now.” Your threaded your fingers into his well done hair and his hands slipped down to grab yourself ass. He pulled back, letting your lips make a loud pop. 

“We should leave right now to my hotel room, order in, got that movie you wanted to watch.” 

“Tempting, I have an idea what we can do while we wait for food.” You looked him the eyes, giving him a sultry look to tell him what you mean. He bit his lip and your heard a deep groan in his throat.

“I like how you think.” He sealed your lips again and pushed you into the walk. He pushed his tongue in your mouth and let out a small gasp. He grabbed your ass again before lifting his hands and delivering a not so soft blow to your ass, making a slapping sound. You squealed and pulled away.

“Okay lets go.” You giggled and grabbed his hand and grabbed the door knob. He dropped your hand as you made it back through the crowds, putting on the innocent facade.

Secret relationships makes everything interesting.

-

A/n- first time trying something like this, send me a Ewan request 

[sassy-stupid]

Sky High

Pairing

partydrugdealer!Sero x f!reader

18+ only please

Smut

Word count

3.1k

Content warnings

drugs (mostly weed but theres a mention of unnamed party drugs), dubcon (reader is under influence of drugs (weed)), fingering, oral (f receiving), vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, creampies

Everyone is this fic is 18+

Summary

You've never done drugs before and none other slimefest's very own dealer offers to show you the ropes.

This is my entry to the slimeball summer collab! I got the prompt "festivals"!! I'm super excited about this since it's my first collab but I'm also very nervous haha. @bastardblvd

"C'mon! It'll be fun!" Your friend's voice was loud and yet you could barely hear it over the murmur of the crowd.

You and your little group of friends had gotten to the first annual edition of slimetown's very own slimeball summerfest early. The original reasoning had been to get a nice place to pitch the tent. The "new and improved" reasoning, according to your friends, was to buy party drugs before their regular dealer started running low.

You'd assumed that was because the price would go up at that point but festival drug dealing wasn't exactly your area of expertise.

"Fine, but you guys gotta watch me okay? I don't want to be the person waking up in a hospital without any memories of their so called 'fun time'," you conceded, letting yourself be pulled along to a neat looking tent.

"This is the drug tent?" you voice your doubt as one of your friends tries to knock on the tent entrance.

She scoffs at you. "Yes it is, why don't you shout it out a little louder. I'm not sure every security guard here heard," she sneers and you hope the drugs will put her into a better mood. "See this?" your other friend taps on the "s" taped on the tent door. "That's our guy's business card."

You snort, the guy didn't even use ductape and the flimsy cellophane tape was already peeling off the tent fabric before the festival had even properly started. Before you can point any of that out to your friends though, the little zipper opens and out comes a lanky looking man who seems about the same age as you.

"As much as I appreciate my clientele ladies, can you either keep it down or come in?" he speaks, moving aside and gesturing you into his tent. The grin on his face friendly and inviting.

You attempt to follow your friends through the small opening but he stops you once you're in front of him. "Haven't seen your face before," he says, and you admit to yourself that his attention on you isn't unwelcome. He's attractive, lean muscles, tan skin and the sluttiest little waist you'd ever seen.

"Yeah, this is not usually my scene, I'm just here for them." You gesture towards your friends as you try to follow them once more. He lets you this time, the inviting grin having slipped into more of an amused smirk.

"I knew it, would've recognized a face like yours," he speaks. Both your friends shoot you looks, one distinctly more annoyed than the other. "And don't you worry. My customer's comfort is of utmost importance to me, I'll help you enjoy yourself." He shoots you a wink and your face heats up, your mind can't help but wander to the possible implications of his words.

"Sero, we didn't come here for you to flirt with (y/n)," your annoyed friend spoke up. She was waving around some cash and the man in front of you took the bait.

"Always so impatient," he says, getting up to rummage through his wares "I've got some new stuff you two may like, wouldn't recommend it for your friend though." He pulls out a bag with what, out of context, would've looked just like candy. Your friend hands him the wad of cash.

"Pleasure doing business with you two, as always, now why don't you two wait outside for a second while I'll teach your friend here the ropes," he requests, you're about to protest but he continues before you can, "awfully crowded in this little tent."

You beg your friends to stay through facial expressions but the fuckers just up and leave, your favourite of the two quickly adding on that they'll wait for you outside.

"So, how much of a first timer are you really?" You know he's talking about drugs but the way he suggestively wiggles his eyebrows implies something else and you realize he's teasing you. Your eyebrows furrow and you're about to give him a piece of your mind when he bursts out laughing. "Sorry, sorry. I always like to joke around to get the edge off a little," he explains. "Though, I have other stuff for that as well." He pulls out a bag of something, it's clearly not the same stuff he just sold your friends but you had no clue what it could be.

He inspects the look on your face and whistles. "Damn, that much of a first timer huh? No worries, I'll talk you through it all" his voice was incredibly smooth and it brought the heat back to your face, you hope he mistakes it for embarrassment.

"Do you always flirt this much? Is that why my friend was shooting me nasty looks?" you ask, trying to deflect. It only causes him to laugh more.

"It's a sales tactic I'm familiar with," he says shooting you another wink. "And not much of a friend, that one. If she's that upset over a flirty comment from her dealer? I can't even imagine the level of jealousy."

"But, you didn't enter my little paradise here to gossip. Let me let you in on how things work around here," he starts, and he does. He tells you all about the drug he's about to sell you, some type of weed called wedding cake? You liked the name if anything. How much it'll cost you and how to smoke it, even offers to show you.

"Can't have my cute little customer bumbling about, not even knowing how to use the stuff I sold her," he explains, nodding in approval as you hold the freshly rolled blunt. "Now let's light it up and I'll show you exactly how to do it." He moves real close to you now, and true to his word he teaches you. The proximity flusters you beyond belief and you think whatever you're smoking right now isn't exactly keeping you clear headed either. You catch yourself looking at his lips more than once and you might not realize it but he catches you too, it makes him chuckle.

"All right, that's enough for now, trust me on that," he tells you. Somewhere deep down you're happy he's doing all of this for you though, makes you giggle. His hand ruffles your hair in response and he speaks again, "let's get you back out to your friends, unless you wanna keep me company?" You're not sure if it's an actual offer or a joke but you laugh either way, already turning towards the exit to find your friends.

You leave the tent to find no one waiting for you, except for a small piece of paper stuck to Sero's tape on the tent entrance. "Hot guy, be back later. Stay safe," it read. Tears well in your eyes. They promised they'd look after you, that's why you agreed to all this in the first place. Now you were all alone, high off your ass, on festival grounds in what is known as the sleaziest town around.

"Aw, come now baby, don't cry." Sero's voice startles you out of your little moment, you'd forgotten he was right behind you. "I'd never leave a cute little customer like you in need," he promises, though you're not entirely sure what the promise entails. He gestures for you to follow him.

Maybe the weed is clouding your mind but you do find yourself following the relative stranger without further questioning, though luckily he comes out with an answer to the question in your mind.

"I'm taking you to my private tent, it's roomier," he explains, his arm around the small of your back now. You lean into it, his warmth feeling nice against your skin.

The crowd had grown since you guys had entered the tent and now there were people everywhere, you were starting to get anxious despite the high you were experiencing. Luckily for you, your ever vigilant dealer noticed.

"Baby, I'm here. You're okay," he says as his thumb strokes your cheek. You think about how normally you'd never let anyone this close but everything about him is just so nice and warm. You lean into his touch entirely and a deep chuckle escapes him. "Want me to really take care of you?" He asks, eyes flitting down to your lips and back up. Yours do the same, except you struggle to pull them back up. You nod nonetheless and he's on you instantly.

You'd kissed plenty of people before but Sero felt different, you wanted to consider that it might be the weed but all you could think of right now was him. The way his lips molded to yours. The way one of his hands dragged up your back and into your hair while the other moved down towards your ass. The way his tongue slipped past your lips and played with yours.

You couldn't suppress the moan that leaves you and and he groans. "Oh aren't you just the cutest, come on, we aren't far." He's pulling you along again before you can complain and you find yourself staring at his ass as he pulls you through a final part of the crowd.

You reach his tent, it does look bigger than the one you just came from but it's placed right in between a few more tents and there's people everywhere. In a moment of clarity you ask him, "but won't people hear?"

The laugh it pulls out of him is attractive but does nothing to ease your worry, and his words certainly don't either. "Sweetness, trust me, that is gonna be the last thing on your mind in a couple of minutes." As he speaks his guiding hand on your lower back slips slightly lower again but you can't find it in you to worry about it anymore, in fact it all feels kind of fun.

So instead you giggle.

The inside of sero's tent is nice, you didn't peg him as the type of guy to decorate his festival tent but apparently business has been good for him. You fawn at one of the cute pillows adorning his mattress. It was a bright yellow and you nearly squealed in excitement as you felt how fuzzy the outside of it was.

"You liking the place?" He asked, the hand that was guiding you from the small of your back had moved to you shoulder and was now pushing you to sit on his mattress. You turn around to face him, looking up at him from your place near the ground  and nod enthusiastically. "Good, I pride myself on my sense for interior design."

He's sinking down next to you on the mattress and only now do you realize it's an air mattress, his weight propping the side you're sitting on up. You stop yourself from giggling once more.

"C'mere pretty girl, I know you're just itching to get touched." His voice dropped into a seductive tone and you notice he's right, ever since he'd kissed you you'd wanted more.

You're nodding along as he reaches out to your face, pulling you into another kiss that feels like the centre of your universe. Though that universe expands the second Sero's hand slips into your pants.

Every place he'd touched you had felt hot so far but the sensation of his hand on your pussy nearly drove you wild.

"S-sero," you managed between frantic kissing. In response he just hummed, not letting your lips stray far as his fingers started playing with you.

"What is it pretty girl? Enjoying yourself? I knew you'd look even prettier like this," he says, his hand picking up speed. Your hands are clutching both his hair and his shirt, he's making you feel like you're floating and you're desperately holding on to something.

"Sero I can't-" you interrupt yourself with a moan, you can't keep yourself quiet. His touch feels divine, silencing yourself would be blasphemy and yet his unoccupied hand hands you the same pillow you'd been admiring before.

"Bite it princess, you wouldn't want everyone to hear now would you?" His words feel like they're meant to tease you but right now, you'd agree with anything he told you. And so you bite down, the fabric feels weird between your teeth. As you do so, he picks up the pace, fingers dancing around inside you as if they're as desperate to please as you are.

And please they do, in Sero's eyes you're practically begging him to let you cum. He's never been one to deny a pretty girl.

Before you know it your pants are off and you underwear is pushed to the side. You hardly even registered him moving you onto your back. You certainly did register his breath on your cunt though.

His tongue made quick work of sucking on your clit and his fingers never did light up on the pace from before so you're screaming into the pillow as you cum on his face in no time at all.

His fingers keep thrusting as he speaks into your pussy, "oh yeah baby, give me all of it." Though he lets up as soon as you start whining in overstimulation.

He chuckles as you start fumbling around with the buttons on his pants. Even though you just came you had to feel if his cock could send you into outer space as well. "Damn (y/n), you want it that bad, huh? Maybe I let you smoke too much," he says, petting your hair as you finally get his pants off. Your hands are teasing his rock hard dick through his boxers. Once both of you manage to get out of the last of your clothes, you lean down attempting to return the favor. He stops you, "Baby, no, I'm taking care of you, remember?" He explains, urging you to lay down on your stomach.

He props a different pillow from the one you're holding up under your hips. Facing away from him is a double edged sword, you couldn't see him, but every touch he laid on you was felt tenfold. You shiver as he drags a finger up you spine, other hand firmly holding your hips in place.

"You ready for this pretty girl? Remember your surprise tool for keeping quiet." He's referring to the pillow but all though leaves your mind as soon as the thick head of his cock drags through your folds. You bite down on the pillow and hug it to your chest tightly. 

He holds his cock up to your entrance and he finally pushes in. He moans quietly as he slips all the way into you, the sound would drive you mad if the feeling of him filling you entirely hadn't already. You'd had sex before but just as your kiss with Sero had been different, this was too.

He's only just pushed in and you already felt on the verge of climax. "Damn baby, you liking it that much? You're like a fucking vice," he tells you, both his hands coming up to your hips, pushing you down into the mattress so he could fuck into you.

You're making what you hope are small noises of approval and he seems to take it as a sign to really start fucking you, or taking care of you as he'd call it.

You hadn't been wrong, his cock was taking you to outer space if the stars you were seeing were any indication. You don't know how long he's pushing into you like that but you do know that before long he's pumping his cum into you with a deep groan, but not quite stopping before he feels you cum all over his dick again.

"See? Took real good care of you right?" He praises himself as he gets up. You're about to whine about him leaving when he comes back with a couple of napkins. "Sorry about this pretty girl, but I wasn't exactly prepared for this today," he apologizes. "I'd have at least brought wet wipes." He cleans you up as good as he can and the next hour or so is spent cuddling and snacking on whatever Sero puts into your hands. Before you know it you're dozing off.

You blink the sleep out of your eyes as you roll around on the air mattress, hands finding paper instead of a warm body next to you. You groggily get up, patting the bed until you found the note again.

Sleep leaves you quickly when you see the money taped to the note. You snort at what you read.

"Dear (y/n), my favorite customer.

Pussy too good to charge. Gotta go back to my small business now, keep the pillow you liked so much as a reminder.

And whenever you want more than just a reminder, call me.

xxx-xxx-xx"

You snort again at his antics before pulling yourself together and climbing out of his tent. You'd decided that it was for the best if you went back to your own tent for the night. Hopefully you'd find your friends there too.

You weaved through the crowd effortlessly now that you'd slept off whatever that stuff did to you. The walk over was giving you time to consider your night. It wasn't like you'd had a bad time, you bite your lip remembering it, quite the opposite actually. The only part that bothered you was the way you'd been ditched by your friends and left with a guy whose clear intent was to fuck you.

Your friends have quite something to make up to you, is the conclusion you come to as your arrive at your shared tent. You hear the commotion before you can even enter.

"How was I supposed to know that was THE slimetown freeloader?" your annoying friend called out. She had her hands buried in her face and she looked like she'd been crying.

"How about you just don't let random men BLINDFOLD you in our tent next time? That way they can't run off with our pillows!" Your other friend replied, obviously pissed off at the loss of the fluffy item.

The two of you take a bit to notice you but they gawk the second they see you hug the furry yellow pillow closer to your chest. "Where'd you get that pillow?" The question sounds more like an accusation coming from the pillowless girls but you're the one with a reason to be upset here so you just shrug and say, "Sero gave it to me, along with a refund and his number."

[satorugojowidow]

El Gobierno de Javier Milei anunció que modificará la ley de Educación con el objetivo de "penar el adoctrinamiento en las escuelas", lo cual es básicamente prohibir la enseñanza de la historia, ciudadanía y otras disciplinas humanísticas basadas en datos científicos porque puede contradecir su propio relato del pasado basado en mentiras.

Los artículos que se buscan eliminar son:

ARTÍCULO 11.- Los fines y objetivos de la política educativa nacional son:

a) Asegurar una educación de calidad con igualdad de oportunidades y posibilidades, sin desequilibrios regionales ni inequidades sociales.

b) Garantizar una educación integral que desarrolle todas las dimensiones de la persona y habilite tanto para el desempeño social y laboral, como para el acceso a estudios superiores.

c) Brindar una formación ciudadana comprometida con los valores éticos y democráticos de participación, libertad, solidaridad, resolución pacífica de conflictos, respeto a los derechos humanos, responsabilidad, honestidad, valoración y preservación del patrimonio natural y cultural.

d) Fortalecer la identidad nacional, basada en el respeto a la diversidad cultural y a las particularidades locales, abierta a los valores universales y a la integración regional y latinoamericana.

e) Garantizar la inclusión educativa a través de políticas universales y de estrategias pedagógicas y de asignación de recursos que otorguen prioridad a los sectores más desfavorecidos de la sociedad.

f) Asegurar condiciones de igualdad, respetando las diferencias entre las personas sin admitir discriminación de género ni de ningún otro tipo.

g) Garantizar, en el ámbito educativo, el respeto a los derechos de los/as niños/as y adolescentes establecidos en la Ley N° 26.061.

h) Garantizar a todos/as el acceso y las condiciones para la permanencia y el egreso de los diferentes niveles del sistema educativo, asegurando la gratuidad de los servicios de gestión estatal, en todos los niveles y modalidades.

i) Asegurar la participación democrática de docentes, familias y estudiantes en las instituciones educativas de todos los niveles.

j) Concebir la cultura del trabajo y del esfuerzo individual y cooperativo como principio fundamental de los procesos de enseñanza-aprendizaje.

k) Desarrollar las capacidades y ofrecer oportunidades de estudio y aprendizaje necesarias para la educación a lo largo de toda la vida.

l) Fortalecer la centralidad de la lectura y la escritura, como condiciones básicas para la educación a lo largo de toda la vida, la construcción de una ciudadanía responsable y la libre circulación del conocimiento.

m) Desarrollar las competencias necesarias para el manejo de los nuevos lenguajes producidos por las tecnologías de la información y la comunicación.

n) Brindar a las personas con discapacidades, temporales o permanentes, una propuesta pedagógica que les permita el máximo desarrollo de sus posibilidades, la integración y el pleno ejercicio de sus derechos.

ñ) Asegurar a los pueblos indígenas el respeto a su lengua y a su identidad cultural, promoviendo la valoración de la multiculturalidad en la formación de todos/as los/as educandos/as.

o) Comprometer a los medios masivos de comunicación a asumir mayores grados de responsabilidad ética y social por los contenidos y valores que transmiten.

p) Brindar conocimientos y promover valores que fortalezcan la formación integral de una sexualidad responsable.

q) Promover valores y actitudes que fortalezcan las capacidades de las personas para prevenir las adicciones y el uso indebido de drogas.

r) Brindar una formación corporal, motriz y deportiva que favorezca el desarrollo armónico de todos/as los/as educandos/as y su inserción activa en la sociedad.

s) Promover el aprendizaje de saberes científicos fundamentales para comprender y participar reflexivamente en la sociedad contemporánea.

t) Brindar una formación que estimule la creatividad, el gusto y la comprensión de las distintas manifestaciones del arte y la cultura.

u) Coordinar las políticas de educación, ciencia y tecnología con las de cultura, salud, trabajo, desarrollo social, deportes y comunicaciones, para atender integralmente las necesidades de la población, aprovechando al máximo los recursos estatales, sociales y comunitarios.

v) Promover en todos los niveles educativos y modalidades la comprensión del concepto de eliminación de todas las formas de discriminación.

ARTÍCULO 126.- Los/as alumnos/as tienen derecho a:

a) Una educación integral e igualitaria en términos de calidad y cantidad, que contribuya al desarrollo de su personalidad, posibilite la adquisición de conocimientos, habilidades y sentido de responsabilidad y solidaridad sociales y que garantice igualdad de oportunidades.

b) Ser respetados/as en su libertad de conciencia, en el marco de la convivencia democrática.

c) Concurrir a la escuela hasta completar la educación obligatoria.

d) Ser protegidos/as contra toda agresión física, psicológica o moral.

e) Ser evaluados/as en su desempeño y logros, conforme a criterios rigurosa y científicamente fundados, en todos los niveles, modalidades y orientaciones del sistema, e informados/as al respecto.

f) Recibir el apoyo económico, social, cultural y pedagógico necesario para garantizar la igualdad de oportunidades y posibilidades que le permitan completar la educación obligatoria.

g) Recibir orientación vocacional, académica y profesional-ocupacional que posibilite su inserción en el mundo laboral y la prosecución de otros estudios.

h) Integrar centros, asociaciones y clubes de estudiantes u otras organizaciones comunitarias para participar en el funcionamiento de las instituciones educativas, con responsabilidades progresivamente mayores, a medida que avancen en los niveles del sistema.

i) Participar en la toma de decisiones sobre la formulación de proyectos y en la elección de espacios curriculares complementarios que propendan a desarrollar mayores grados de responsabilidad y autonomía en su proceso de aprendizaje.

j) Desarrollar sus aprendizajes en edificios que respondan a normas de seguridad y salubridad, con instalaciones y equipamiento que aseguren la calidad del servicio educativo.

Básicamente el gobierno quiere eliminar los pilares de una educación entendida desde el derecho de las/os/es estudiantes, basada en saberes científicos, con una orientación integral, desde una perspectiva democrática y de respeto a sus identidades y subjetividades. Para ello comienza amenazando con perseguir políticamente a las/os/es docente que sostenemos con compromiso el derecho a la educación en un contexto de desidia y desfinanciamiento.

La persecución que se asoma en el horizonte ya la vivimos en este país durante la dictadura, sin importar las amenazas, seguiremos defendiendo la escuela pública. A la dictadura no volvemos Nunca Más!

[berryhobii]

Dessert(jhs x reader)

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x black!female!reader

Warnings: established relationship, Smut(18+ but I don’t control what you consume), exhibitionism, s*x toys(bullet vibe), bathroom s*x, unprotected s*x, oral(f receiving), panty stuffing in mouth, doggyst*le, creamp*e, pet names(kitten), a little aftercare

A/N: Hi friends! I’m back with a little sum sum for all my Hobi stans. I’ve been listening to Hope World lately and it really made me realize how much I miss Hobi🤧🤧I didn’t really explicitly describe reader in this besides them having braids so feel free to imagine anything you want! Hope you enjoy! Criticism is greatly appreciated🩵🩵🩵

~

“You okay, kitten?” His saccharine voice pondered from the other side of the table.

You squinted your eyes, eyebrows furrowing at that dumb ass question.

“I’m fantastic, sunshine.” You gritted through your teeth, hand curling into a fist on the tabletop. You were gripping your glass at first but you were scared you’d break it from how hard you were holding it.

Hoseok shot you that beaming smile, the same one that warmed your heart and made you fall a little deeper in love with him.

But now you just wanted to slap it off.

“Are you sure? You seem tense.”

Cheeky bastard.

You crossed your legs, immediately regretting it since that made the vibrator press harder against your clit. You sucked in a breath, biting down hard on your lip to keep yourself from moaning.

How did you even get here?

Oh yeah, you promised Hoseok you’d do whatever he wanted if he went to that haunted house with you. Honestly, you thought he forgot about that since Halloween already passed but then he brought it up today. You thought he was just going to have you do something stupid or simple; like doing his laundry or prank calling someone.

Really, you didn’t expect this from your sweet boyfriend but a promise was a promise and you didn’t break those.

Damn your morals.

Hoseok had brought both of you out for a nice lunch at your favorite restaurant. So far, you almost moaned when giving the hostess your name, almost moaned again while giving the waiter your drink request, and now you were dangerously close to cumming. And oh no…..

Was that the waiter coming back to take your order?!

Hoseok could see how you attempted to straighten yourself up, a diabolical grin spreading across his face. This would be fun.

“Are you two ready to order?” The waiter asked once he got to your table, taking out his little notepad and a pen.

Your brown eyes pleaded at Hoseok to go first. If you spoke now, you’d definitely moan.

Gratefully, he wasn’t heartless so Hoseok ordered first. “I’ll take your seared salmon with potatoes and brussel sprouts. And a glass of red wine.” The waiter nodded and jotted that down before turning to you.

“And for you, miss?”

You cleared your dry throat. The vibrations weren’t that strong. You could do it!

“I’ll have the a-ahhhh….” You moaned as the vibrators grew even stronger, pleasuring pulsing down your legs all the way to your toes.

Your eyes cut to Hoseok who was innocently smiling. Motherfu—

He had a hand under the table, his thumb moving around the little bar on his phone that controlled the toy. He moved it up, bemused by how your eyes almost crossed. He felt your feet kick at him under the table, your legs always went crazy whenever you were in the throes of pleasure. He loved holding you down and watching you fight against him, it filled him with a wild thrill.

The waiter seemed honestly concerned. “Are you okay?”

Your smile was strained, palms starting to sweat. You were so fucking close but you couldn’t cum. Both you and Hoseok knew you were loud. You were surprised you were staying this quiet and put together. Public shenanigans weren’t really your thing but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t exhilarating.

You choked on another moan when Hoseok turned the vibe all the way up. You moved your braids to cover your face, turning your head away and covering your mouth with the back of your hand to stifle your noises. Foot tapping rapidly against the ground and eyes clenching shut, you tried your best to push down your impending orgasm. Your clit throbbed with need and your belly turned from both nerves and desire.

You were about to lose it.

“Probably a Charlie horse. She gets them sometimes.” Hoseok interjected before the waiter could take a closer look at you.

The waiter took that excuse. “Your order, miss?”

Deciding to take pity on you, Hosoek turned it down a little. You let out a breath, forcing out a “I’ll take the same.” That seemed like the easiest route right now and to be honest, you weren’t really listening to Hoseok’s order so hopefully it was something good.

The waiter nodded and gathered your menus. “I’ll be back with that soon.”

Once the waiter was out of earshot, you let out a moan in your palm.

Hoseok could pick up on all your little tells—you were about to cum.

“About to cum, kitten?”

You clenched your eyes shut, unspilled tears ready to overflow. Frantically nodding your head, you hoped he’d turn it down.

No chance.

Leaning over the table, he murmured, “go to the bathroom.”

There was no way you could walk there like this!

Hoseok must have known that because the vibrator suddenly shut off. You gasped, actually a little flustered at your orgasm fading away but relieved that he wouldn’t make you walk through a slightly busy restaurant like this.

Taking a few deep breaths, you nodded and stood to your feet, wobbling slightly but keeping yourself upright with a hand on the table. You adjusted your skirt, casting your boyfriend a look.

“You better not turn this thing on.”

Reading your expression loud and clear, he shot you a smile.

“Go ahead.”

Huffing, you sped walked over to the corner of the restaurant where the bathrooms were. Your panties stuck uncomfortably to you and the vibrator rubbed against your clit with every step.

Angels must have been smiling down on you because the bathroom was for a single person.

You softly closed the door, turning the lock before leaning against it. Letting out another breath, you moved to pull your skirt up over your hips before slipping your fingers into either side of your panties and pulling them down.

You glared at the little bullet vibrator nestled in the pocket of the garment. How could such a tiny thing cause you to almost lose your mind?

Speaking of things that made you lose your mind…

4 knocks hit the door behind you and you immediately knew it was Hoseok. Shuffling to turn around, you unlocked the door and opened it.

Hoseok grunted as your hand flew out to grip the front of his shirt, yanking him into the bathroom. The door closed and the lock clicked and before he knew it, he was pressed against the wood, lips on his.

He smiled against the kiss, hands moving down to grip at your ass. Spreading one of your cheeks, his other hand rubbed at your slit, groaning at how wet and sticky you were.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so wet. Did this really get you that excited?”

You huffed. “Stop talking and fuck me already.”

Never one to disappoint, Hoseok sprang into action. In a blur, you were moved and pushed back into the sink. Hoseok lifted you up on the sink, wrestling your panties off your legs. He paused for a brief second, a thought popping into his head.

You were about to complain when your panties were suddenly shoved into your mouth. You made a noise of surprise around them, eyes widening at your boyfriend who was still smiling.

“Just to keep you quiet. We don’t want anyone hearing you.” He leaned closer, eyes darkening and octave dropping. “Unless you want them to. Dirty girl.”

Your pussy clenched around nothing, a shudder of lust going up your back. You’ve never felt so turned on before. Your boyfriend had taken a sharp turn and god damn, if you didn’t love it.

You whined around the gag to which Hoseok smirked, pressing a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you want.”

Crouching down, Hoseok pushed your legs up by the backs of your knees to display your dripping cunt, lips latching onto your clit. Your moan was muffled, hands gripping the sink under you.

Hoseok hummed against your clit, the vibrations sending shocks all across your body. You knocked your head back against the mirror, eyes clenching shut as Hoseok slurped at your clit.

He flattened his tongue, bobbing his head up and down in fast movements against your throbbing nub. You kicked your legs out, the heels of your shoes hitting his shoulders. He slid his hands up to your calves, holding your legs in a V position.

You almost fell into the bowl of the sink from how your hips jerked. You were already so close again, all that teasing earlier paired with the thrill of getting caught was pushing you to the brink faster than you thought. Saliva soaked the panties in your mouth, almost as much as your arousal did previously.

Hoseok could feel your calves shaking in his hold, heard how your breath picked up and how you tried to hump against his face.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, he hollowed his cheeks, sucking the nub harshly.

You screamed against the gag as your orgasm crashed into you, your toes curling in your shoes and whole body shuddering in pleasure.

Hoseok delivered little kitten licks to your clit, guiding you through your orgasm until you were shaking and curling away from him.

He stood to his feet, hands fumbling with his belt to pull his pants down to his ankles. His hard cock sprang out, the tip wet with precum and those delicious veins pulsing. You wanted it down your throat.

Hoseok noticed your hungry stare, wrapping a hand around himself to pump his cock a few times. You moaned at watching the action, not so secretly loving when he did that.

He rubbed the head of his cock up and down your folds, slapping it against your sensitive clit. “Want it, baby?” He teased.

You frantically nodded, eyes pleading for him to fuck you. You reached out to wrap your arms around his shoulders, silently asking him to pick you up. He obliged, gripping your thighs and hauling you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

He lifted you a little bit higher to be able to grab his cock, lining himself up with your entrance. You took it upon yourself to slide down his cock, groaning as he split you open.

He threw his head back as your slippery walls wrapped around him, the rings on his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, the slight burn only turning you on more.

He didn’t even have a chance to get himself together before you started bouncing up and down on his cock. He grunted out a strained moan.

“Fuck. That desperate, huh?” Taking control, he started moving his hips, meeting your bounces with his own thrusts. The head of his cock brushed past your sweet spot, that pressure building quickly in your belly again. Hoseok moaned as your walls sucked him back in every time he pulled out. “Bout to cum already? I love this greedy cunt. Always so wet and ready for me.” His teeth bit into your shoulder.

Your pussy gushed around him, your arousal dripping down his balls and causing a wet slap to sound off. Anyone walking past would definitely know what was happening behind these doors.

Hoseok could feel his own orgasm approaching. This little experiment had turned him on more than he thought it would. Seeing you so vulnerable, having your pleasure in the palm of his hand. Fuck, he wished he would have thought of this earlier.

He’d brave a thousand haunted houses if he could do this again.

“Fuck.” He cursed, unwrapping your legs from his waist and turning you around. You made a noise of surprise that shifted into a moan as his cock penetrated you again. You bent over, spreading your legs and arching your back. “I’m gonna cum. You want it? Want my cum deep in this tight cunt?”

Your hand slammed against the mirror, throwing your ass back against him, orgasm building higher and higher. You snaked your other hand between your legs, pressing two fingers to your clit to rub it in quick circles.

You moaned his name, muffled by your gag but he could understand it. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Cum on my cock. Cum all over it.” He groaned, pushing his hips into you one, two, three more times before his cock throbbed and his cum spilled into your clenching walls.

You screamed as your second orgasm hit, sending waves of ecstasy all the way down to your toes. Your legs shook, almost buckling but his grip on you kept you from falling.

Moments passed as you two caught your breaths.

You pulled your panties out of your mouth, your tongue feeling dry and heavy.

Hoseok slowly pulled out of you, his cum dripping out of your spasming hole and making a little puddle on the floor. He felt his cock jump again but any longer in this bathroom and people would really start getting suspicious.

Hoseok tucked himself back into his pants. “Are you okay?” He asked as he went to grab some paper towels to wipe you down.

You nodded. “That was intense. I came so hard.”

“I felt it. You gripped me tighter than usual. I didn’t think you would like this. I was a little nervous honestly.” He admitted.

You adjusted your skirt, checking yourself in the mirror to make sure you didn’t look too fucked out. Obviously you did but hopefully no one would notice.

Turning around to face your boyfriend, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders again to pull him close. Pressing a loud smooch to his lips, you flashed him a bright smile.

“Let’s just hope we finished before the food got to the table.”

You walked out first. Luckily, no one acknowledged you, everyone still absorbed in their meals and conversation.

Once you got back to the table, you sat down, noticing the food and wine were already there. You sipped on your water, sighing as the refreshing drink wet your dry throat.

Hoseok came to sit down a few seconds later. “I’m starving.”

“I didn’t even hear your order but it looks good.”

You both picked up your forks, digging into the food before you.

Your eyes slowly lifted to meet Hoseok’s before laughter erupted between you two.

“It’s cold.” You giggled.

“Should we just get it to go?”

“Sounds good.”

Hoseok spotted the waiter, motioning for him to come over.

“Can we get the check and some—“ He cut himself off at the feeling of your foot running up the inside of his leg. The table was small enough so that your foot could reach his inner thigh, right where his cock rested in his pants.

He glanced over at you, a teasing grin on your face.

Oh you were gonna get it when you got home.

“Can we at least get dessert?” You fluttered your eyelashes. While that sounded innocent enough, he knew better.

“Of course. Can we get that to go too? I have to go home and feed my kitty.”

[thegreatestsandwich]

I was watching endgame the other day and I was wondering how would Namor react if he witnessed his s/o dissapearing in front of his eyes? Can you add a lot of angst? I really want to be destroyed :)

I reached and you were gone (Namor x f!reader)

Masterlist

Pairing: Namor x F!reader

Word count: 544 words

Summary: Thanos's snap not only affected the surface-dwellers.

Warning: Angst because Infinity War and Endgame destroyed me to the core

A/N: I went to see black panther again and let me tell you! I fell in love with him again and I'm not ashamed

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received! I love to read your lovely coments :)

It started with an abrupt wakening and sweat covering your body. You didn’t knew what was happening, your body felt strange, like something wanting to claw its way out of your body with choking desperation. But you couldn’t place what was wrong.

You tried to put it away from your mind as today was an important day, you were designated by the elder to bring K'uk'ulkan his food for the week, it was a great honor, something you never thought you would be in charge of.

It felt good to believe that the elder see you as capable enough for this duty, so when they gave you the basket full of different kind of fruits and vegetables, you knew you couldn’t mess up. You were confident.

But that strange feeling was still inside of you, deep, deep down, there it was, that strange electricity that wanted to wash over your body with something, something you still couldn’t place.

You shook your head, trying to bring yourself back into reality.

It was quiet in his room, you noticed him painting on one of his murals, you couldn’t help but smile at his art. You carefully walked into the room, trying your best to not disturb his peace, you knew how stressful he has been after the several attacks the surface-dwellers had been made to each other, all of you could feel the vibration of the waters with their wars.

You stumbled with your next step making you frown so you stopped.

“Je'el u páajtal a p'atik te'elo'.” You can leave it there. He told you without taking a glance at you, his fingers taking a bit more of paint before touching the wall. “Níib óolal.” Thank you.

You carefully place the basket on the floor, you wiped your forehead, your hand coming away slick with sweat and you began wondering why your body was betraying you this way. This wasn’t the first time you had asked to bring something to K'uk'ulkan, why were you acting this way? You tried to move but you couldn’t the sensation was becoming stronger, you lifted your hands to your face when the numbness was starting to affected them. That’s when you saw it.

You gasped, tripping on the basked and falling to the floor. Namor quickly turned around, his dark eyes watching you crawling back towards one of the walls, he stood up quickly and made his way towards you.

His hands grabbed your arms, trying to keep you in focus. “Ba'ax le jéelo'?” What is it. Namor’s eyes searched yours and found only confusion. “(Y/N) t'aan tin wéetel.” Talk to me. He could see the fear on your eyes, your hands quickly grabbing his arms and he felt you shake in fear.

You opened your mouth to answer him but the only thing that came out was his name, your eyes becoming unfocused before everything turning to black.

Namor’s eyes widened when you slowly disappearing in a pile of dust, his breath quickened as he stood up, turning around his cave, trying to find you but he was completely alone. He felt a soft breeze and his eyes saw how the dust that covered his floor softly dispered.

You were gone.

And he didn't know what to do.