#already have a graphic in mind and i wanted to make a long sleeve top for the lil collection ive been working on

[loverboybitch]

seditionaries top i wanted but could not afford </3.//.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Dark Shades of Innocence Lost Part 6: Keep Me From Falling✨

Club Owner! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I have been writing this one on and off for a little over a month, and it was a lot! Be prepared for an emotional rollercoaster and please pay attention to those tags. This one gets dark. Thank you to @lotusbxtch for being the best beta and making this chapter shine! 🥰 I would like as much feedback on this chapter, so don’t be afraid to reblog or comment because your comments are what sparks my writing 🩷

Chapter Summary: After fighting your feelings for weeks, you decide to go back to the club. Back to those dark shades of red where brown eyes pull you under and feelings become much more than you bargained for.

Word Count: 14.1k

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Tags: A lot of angst, jealousy, so many feelings, yearning, anxiety, toxic ex, flashbacks of physical abuse and trauma, soft Joel, protective Joel, no use y/n, a lot of tears, fist fight, I don’t want to put any spoilers so I will omit some of the tags, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  The flashing red lights outside Club Inferno shine bright against the glow of the full moon. A brisk breeze cuts through the humid air, blowing through your long waves and kissing your bare shoulders. It sinks underneath the dark blue summer dress that clings to your figure. Your body hums with nerves, with need. You want Joel. 

   Joel, Joel, Joel. 

   He’s all you think about, he’s all you want to think about. Even at work, when you should be focusing on organizing bookshelves and paperwork, your mind always goes to him. 

   Sure, maybe at first you didn’t want a relationship, didn’t want to blur the lines. But you liked him, you really liked him. And you’re not sure when that line got crossed, but you were ready. Ready to take it to the next level. Needed to. You needed more. More of him. 

   So, now was your chance to make that happen, to tell him exactly what you wanted from him. A relationship. It was what you always wanted. You were just so scared to let your walls down again, but for him you would. For Joel you’d do just about anything.

   If you didn’t… well, you’ve already lost him once. You’re not sure if you can lose him again.

   When you reach the glossy black doors and step through after getting your ID checked, you see the club is buzzing with crowds of people tonight. The music is loud and blaring, even upstairs is jam-packed with bodies. But you only came here for one thing tonight: Joel Miller.

   You stop at the corner of the bar, brushing your hand against the sleek bar top and run your hand against the cool material. Scanning the crowd, you look for the handsome man that stands out amongst the rest. The man with the dark brown eyes that makes every single nerve ending vibrate inside you every time you set your eyes on him. That smoldering, captivating, charming man that sets your heart on fire. 

   A couple of girls in skimpy dresses get up from their bar stools and leave you room to see the rest of the crowd at the bar. Fresh faces of men and women you haven’t seen here before cross your sight until you get to the very end of the bar. Your heart gets stuck in your throat when you see it. 

   Right there at the very end of the bar top sits Joel, all muscle in a button-up crimson flannel with the top three buttons undone to expose his broad chest, dark hair peeking out of the open shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, accentuating the defined veins that wrap around his forearms, and the black watch clasped on his left wrist just sets it off even more. But what paralyzes you is the fact that he’s sitting at the bar with another woman. Someone who isn’t you.

   Her big, blonde curls fall around her pink blush-filled cheeks, and her tight red dress exposes large breasts that spill from the top of the low cut design. Red lips purse and laugh as she beams at Joel every time she brushes her hand against his fist that’s clenched around an amber glass of whiskey. 

   Two weeks without him and he’s already wrapped around another woman’s finger. Go fucking figure. You told him it was all just for fun, but it never really was that to you, was it?

   Your blood runs cold and you feel as if you just got hit with a metal bat against the back of the head. You tightly dig your manicured nails into the bar top. It feels as if a sharp knife slices deep into your back, slowly carving against your spine as it splits you in half. 

   Another light touch to his hand as she leans over to whisper in his ear sets your nerves on fire. You watch him laugh; that crooked smile that makes you dizzy every time you look at it now eats away at your insides. You can’t watch this. You can’t fucking do this tonight. He was supposed to be yours, but you’re too late…

   You feel a hot prick against the back of your eyes as your vision blurs, fiery tears bleeding into your eyeliner as you back up, your hand still clutching the bar top. You don’t watch where you’re going, and an entire glass of some kind of alcohol slides off the bar top and onto the floor, shattering and sloshing liquid as it splashes against your black high heels. 

   The crowd around the bar goes silent as they all turn to face you, but what stuns you into place is when Joel looks up and sees you standing there looking like a lost puppy. Your bottom lip quivers as you blink back tears, staring between him and the blonde girl that can’t keep her fucking hands off him. 

   His eyes grow wide as he looks at you stunned, immediately standing up from his bar stool as he pushes back the woman’s hand that reaches for him once again. His broad shoulders roll back as his full attention is on you, and then he’s moving fast, calling your name over the loud music as his voice gets washed out by the blaring noise. 

   You turn and push through the crowd, clawing your way blindly to a safe space where maybe you can breathe air that isn’t polluted again. You feel nailed to the wooden floor, chains ripping into your ankles as you force your legs to keep going. Joel calls your name, but you don’t stop to turn back around. You’ll break down in tears if you stop now. So you keep going, dragging your heavy feet until you reach the double doors and barrel your way outside. 

   The night air stills around you as the full moon shines bright behind fluffy clouds. The quiet parking lot is filled with parked cars, but everyone is inside. Not a soul stands outside besides you. That is, until Joel comes crashing through the double doors and calls your name again loudly. 

   “Hey, stop!” Joel yells out of breath as you hear his boots scuff across the pavement. “Didn’t you hear me callin’ your name?” 

   You turn around, crossing your arms over your chest and putting on a brave face, not letting him see the tears that scorch behind your sad eyes. “Guess not,” you mumble as you look down at the dusty cement. 

   “Hey, will you jus’ stop?” he asks with furrowed eyebrows as the lines on his forehead scrunch together intently. You shake your head and don’t answer, but he doesn’t like that at all. “Angel, talk to me.”

   “Don’t call me angel,” you mumble as you retreat a step back from his advances. 

   He takes a step forward and reaches out an arm to try to catch you. When he curls his calloused fingers over your wrist, you pull it out of his grip and shake him off. “Don’t,” you warn sharply as you turn your head the other direction. 

   You hear Joel huff out in frustration as he fights to compose himself. “It was that girl, wasn’t it? Is that what you’re so worked up about, huh?” 

   You bite your lower lip to keep from screaming and whirl back to him as you fight with yourself not to lose control. You purse your lips and then spill yourself to him. “Oh, I don’t know, Joel. Maybe you should go back to your little date.”

   “It wasn’t a date,” he expresses as his jaw clenches up, “it was jus’ a drink. She came up to me first, and all I did was offer to buy her a drink. She’s an old client of mine, nothing more.”

   “An old client, huh?” you scoff and feel your cheeks burn hot.

   “Yeah. Tommy and I did a job at her company’s site.”

   “I’m sure you did.” You roll your eyes and scrape your heel against the concrete.

   “Angel, I didn’t ask her here tonight. She jus’ showed up unannounced. What you saw was nothing.”

   “Oh, yeah? Then why was she all over you? Did you buy her a drink so you could sleep with her just like you did with me?!” Your voice comes out louder than you wanted it to, but you’re so worked up that you can’t control your flaring nostrils and watery eyes. You can practically taste the stench of regret in your throat. You should’ve never come here, should’ve never messed with a man like him. Tall, dominant, charming, and so goddamn handsome. What the fuck did you think was going to happen?

   “Whoa, easy there, darlin’. I wasn’t gonna sleep with her,” he says carefully as his voice stays even. Almost gentle enough to calm you down a bit, but even that makes you more uneasy. 

   “No? It sure looked like you were enjoying yourself, and she seemed to be all over you,” you spit out venomously, kicking the end of your heel into the hard cement. 

   “Why are you actin’ like this?” he asks, exasperated, his eyebrows knitting together into a hard line. 

   “Acting like what?” You seethe as you entwine your fingers tightly together, desperately trying to anchor yourself.

   “Actin’ jealous! All I did was buy her a drink. If I would’ve known you were comin’ I wouldn’t have even…”

   “Wouldn’t have what? Offered to eat her out on your fucking pool table!” you screech.

   “Jus’ stop!” he growls, making your eyes go wide and your heart hammer impossibly fast in your chest. “Is there somethin’ you want to say?” he asks as his jaw ticks and arches an eyebrow, his dark eyes meeting your gaze. 

   Your voice is suddenly as small as a mouse as you reply, “Say something? No, I…”

   “You’re the one who said you didn’t want more. Remember? I asked you, was willing to give you more. I wanted to give you more. All you had to do was say the words, angel. That’s all you had to do.” 

   He stands there staring at you, eyes locked with yours as you dig your long nails deep into the fabric of your dress, nervous sweat pooling at the edges of your soft curls as you bite your tongue in agony. 

   All you had to do was say the words. Why couldn’t you say those fucking words back in that little diner? What was so goddamn hard about that? You wanted him. You fucking wanted him. So badly that it actually felt like your heart was shattering in your chest. 

   “But you… after that night at the diner, you gave me the cold shoulder,” you finally reply. “You practically iced me out, didn’t ask me to come back to the club, couldn’t text me back, didn’t even…”

   “I was givin’ you space,” Joel interrupts. “I didn’t think… fuck. I didn’t think you wanted to come back!” He rakes a hand slowly through his silver threaded scruff and sighs, cursing under his breath as he stares at you with pure turmoil in his hazy eyes.

   “But I did want to come back! Isn’t that what I showed up for tonight? To see you?” you ask, appalled, eyes red with tears pooling across your glassy irises. 

   “I don’t know, angel, why don’t you tell me!” His voice sounds so angry, so gravelly, so very hurt. And you see it in the flared nostrils and wide eyes. He’s just asking questions which you should’ve answered a long time ago.

   “I didn’t… I didn’t want space. I never did…” Your eyes gloss over, and your bottom lip quivers as you fight to keep yourself in one piece. You want to say something, anything to make this stop, but your words run dry as he stares at you carefully. 

   He looks at you fiercely another moment as he licks his bottom lip in frustration. “Tell me somethin’, will ya? What is it that you want from me?”

   The question comes out almost like a snake just bit your ankle. Alarming, unexpected. “I… uh…” You can’t even formulate a coherent sentence as the words rush through your head. I was willing to give you more. I wanted to give you more. But they remain stuck in your throat, unable to escape.

   He takes two steps forward, adjusting the rolled up sleeves of his red flannel. “What. Do. You. Want?”

   The question taunts you, words building as you try to unjumble them. You can’t think straight, not when his mahogany cologne is burning your nostrils, not when his dark chocolate eyes are honing into yours, not when he’s so close that you want to drop all pretense and jump into his strong arms. But you can’t. It’s not that simple. 

   This is all getting too complicated, and you don’t know how much further you can go without putting yourself into a vulnerable position. You already are in a vulnerable position, so why can’t you just say exactly how you feel?

   After your silence, Joel rakes a hand through his dark, greying scruff and sighs again. “Goddamn it, angel. Jus’ tell me what you want.”

   “I… I….” You fidget and keep your eyes locked on his in a panic.

   For fuck’s sake just tell him what you want! 

   Joel pinches the bridge of his nose as he huffs in defeat. When he looks back up at you, he takes a long, slow breath and nods his head. “I can see this isn’t easy for you. But darlin’, if you don’t tell me what you want then I can’t give you that. Now, do you want me to go walk back into my club and go back to that girl, or…?”

   “No!” you plead as you reach your arm out and grab his wrist, holding it like it’s the only thing that’ll save you from falling to your death. Joel looks down at your hand gripping his tanned skin and looks back up with a mix of grief and hope in his eyes.

   “No?” he asks with eyebrows raised in question. “So, tell me. What is it that you want? Is it me you want? Do you want more, need more? Because I can give that to you, angel. I can give you so much more… if you’ll jus’ let me.”

   “You… you left me alone on the curb after I tried asking you about the guitar lesson…” you stammer out.

   He sighs and runs a hand swiftly through his hair, blowing out a long breath as he finds the words he wants to say. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I jus’... I was confused and angry and hurt because I thought… I didn’t think you wanted to be with me, and I really fuckin’ liked you.” He stops to correct himself. “Well, like you. And I apologize for jus’ icin’ you out. You didn’t deserve that. You never deserved that. I was jus’ sorta hopin’ we could be more, ya know…”

   His words leave you standing with your jaw dropped and eyes wide. “I thought… I thought I could be more than jus’ someone you hooked up with,'' Joel continues. “I wanted… I wanted to give you the world...”

   Jesus. He’s just as wrecked as you are. Holy shit.

   Your hand drops from his wrist as you fidget with the hem of your dress, nerves rushing through you like a raging river. He reaches his long arm out and glides calloused fingers gently down your jawline, pushing a curl behind your ear. And it feels so good. So good that you just want to melt inside his warm touch.

   Say it. Say it right fucking now before you ruin everything all over again.

   “I want… I want… y—”

   Your sentence is interrupted by the loud slamming of the front door of the club and then the pounding of feet on the pavement as you hear keys jangling from jeans and mumbling of gibberish you can’t understand. You jump out of Joel’s reach from the fright and compose yourself to act normal in front of a stranger coming out of the club.

   When you look up to see who so rudely interrupted your confession, your eyes go wide and the breath gets knocked from your chest as you take in exactly who stalks toward you. 

   Jason. Your ex. Holy shit…

   He says your name in surprise, calling out to you as you freeze up in place. This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking real. Your stomach drops at the sight of his large figure, and your mouth drops open in shock.

   “Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he smirks as his murky green eyes stare coldly back at you. “Hi there, babydoll. Remember me?”

   You blink once, twice, but he doesn’t disappear. This isn’t a dream. He fucking found you. 

   “J… Jason?” Your eyes go as wide as an owl’s, your palms sweating as you take in his figure. Tall, tattoos covering his entire right arm, muddy green eyes that could kill, blonde shaggy hair that falls to his neckline, strong muscles that could snap a man in half, a gold chain glinting around his neck, and worn hands that could tear into your flesh. 

   “Miss me?” he smirks as you see nothing but coldness in his swampy eyes. 

   “I thought you were in jail…” you say quietly, just loud enough for him to hear as he moves toward you slowly, his strides wide and terrifying as he scuffs clean sneakers against the cool pavement. 

   “They let me out on good behavior,” he laughs as he shakes his head, pieces of blonde falling into his eyes as he pushes them away. “Didn’t know I’d run into you here. But I’m sooooo glad I did,” he chuckles, stepping closer. 

   Joel stands and watches the two of you, a conflicting look filling his face as his eyebrows furrow together in concentration. He looks so confused, which he should be. You didn’t tell him about Jason, never even planned to. You thought all memories of Jason were gone as you worked so hard to forget, but now they’re back with a vengeance, and you start to remember everything. 

   “You… you’re not supposed to be here,” you gulp nervously as you take a hesitant step back, but he keeps stalking towards you. Getting closer and closer until he’s only a couple steps in front of you. 

   “Baby, I can be anywhere I want to be,” he croons sickeningly. “And looks like I picked a good night to come out to the club.” You can smell the alcohol falling off his chapped lips, can see how drunk he is already with the way he sways and slurs. This isn’t good, none of this is good. 

   You take one more step back, but he grabs your wrist hard and holds out your left arm as he drags a predatory finger over the faded scar that sits on the inside of your wrist. “I see this hasn’t gone away. A keepsake to remember me by, huh?” he teases as he yanks you closer to him. 

   “Let go,” you demand with a desperate plea in your voice as you try to shove away from him, but he only jabs his nail beds into your wrist as you wince in pain. “I said let go,” you whine as hate fills his cloudy eyes.

   “No, I don’t think so,” he chuckles, holding you in place. 

   “Get the fuck off her,” Joel growls as he pushes Jason away with barely any effort. Jason almost falls off the edge of the curb. 

   Joel looks at you with concern laced in his gentle brown eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks as he looks at the way you hold the inside of your wrist. The faded scar comes into his view and Joel stares at it, his jaw clenching as realization caves in. “Did he… did he do that to you?” 

   You don’t answer, but the way your eyes start to water tells him everything he needs to know. 

   His eyes turn from concerned to full-on burning, rage taking over as he flexes his fingers into a tight fist and ticks his jaw up. He’s not just mad, no. He’s furious. Something inside you clenches up as you see how wrecked he looks; he looks like he wants to eat Jason alive. 

  “Hey, fucker! Step away from her. She’s mine,” Jason warns as he shoves Joel hard in the shoulder as Joel stumbles back a few steps. 

   Joel snarls at Jason, and you swear you’ve never seen him look this feral before. They’re going to fight. Oh, god. No. This isn’t what you wanted. They can’t just…    

   “She ain’t your girl, asshole.” Joel snaps. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

   Jason doesn’t listen; he just hounds Joel and pushes him hard against the brick wall as he runs over and grabs the collar of Joel’s crimson flannel. “The fuck she is!” Jason yells aggressively. “Who the fuck are you to tell me she’s not, hmm? Have you been messing around with her? Yeah you have, I can practically smell you on her.” Jason slams Joel’s head against the hard bricks. 

   No, no, no, not Joel!

   “Jason, stop!” you scream as you run over and try to intercept. 

   “You have no right bein’ here on my property, putting your hands on me or her. So, I’m gonna tell you one more time. Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops,” Joel snarls as he grabs the front of Jason’s shirt and pushes him hard out of his grasp. 

   Jason’s jaw clenches, and his eyes grow impatient. “NO.” The next thing you know, Jason is throwing his fist in the air, and it comes down like lightning against Joel’s jaw. Your eyes grow wide as you hear just how hard the punch hits him, and you’re gasping in horror as you watch, stunned in silence. 

   This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening. 

   Joel takes a few seconds to recover, then he’s moving fast as he shoves Jason against the rough bricks and throws a punch to his nose. You hear the snapping sound of broken bones, but Jason just keeps going. 

   Jason grabs a hold of Joel’s collar and throws him hard while another punch lands against his face. You can’t stand it, can’t watch them beat each other to death. You don’t want any part of this. You just want all the loud, violent sounds to stop. You have to do something.

   Before Jason throws another punch in Joel’s direction, you step between them and try to push Jason away. “Jason, I said stop!” 

   Before you know what happens next, Jason slaps you so hard across the cheek that it nearly makes you see stars. He pushes you roughly and watches you lose your balance on the concrete. Cupping your cheek, you fall to the ground with a thud as it all comes back to you in a flash. You hear Joel scream your name in the distance and see him throwing Jason to the ground out of the corner of your eye, but you’re barely even there anymore. 

   Your vision goes spotty, and all you can hear is the white noise as your ears start to ring insufferably loud. Your palms burn as you dig your fingers into the cold concrete, feeling smaller and more invisible than you’ve ever felt in your life as your heart rate kicks up as the adrenaline rushes out. Your scar aches, your eyes shutting as you remember everything that happened all those years ago. You remember, you remember it all. 

   You remember how drunk Jason got that dark, rainy evening. You remember him cussing you out as you fixed dinner for him, remember him demanding you to bring him another bottle of beer, remember him chewing you out because you didn’t twist the lid open for him, remember him throwing the glass dinner plate across the room as sharp glass littered the soft carpet. 

   And that’s when he snapped. 

   He shattered the glass bottle against the edge of the coffee table as broken glass and alcohol spilled everywhere on the cream carpet. You remember him pushing you down into the shards, the sharp edges cutting into your skin; remember him hovering over you as he dug a piece deep into your wrist and called you a filthy whore, dragging the glass deeper into your skin. Remember all the blood that was spilling out, staining the carpet crimson as he made you look him dead in the eyes and threatened to do worse to you. You remember the police barging into the small apartment as they body-slammed him to the ground and cuffed his hands behind his back. You remember the ambulance taking you away. You remember how close you were to dying, how you almost didn’t make it out alive, how you woke up shaking and scared in the hospital bed, afraid he’d come back to finish you off. You remember it all, you remember everything. 

   Your cheek burns hot as you cup it with your palm, feeling the scrapes on your hand bleed into the pain as wet tears spill down your face. It’s like it’s happening all over again. The pain, the screaming, the drunk mess of a man, the accusations, the absolute sheer terror you feel seeping through your thin bones. You feel so fragile, so torn, and you feel as if you're slipping through the concrete cracks, dying a little inside. 

   The faint noise of thrown punches and bodies slamming to the ground reaches your ears again, but you don’t have the strength to look up. You can only sit still, fade away with the noise, try to piece yourself back together when you know you can’t. It’s too much. It’s too fucking much. 

   All of a sudden, the front doors of the club slam open, and you hear that familiar warm drawl. “That’s enough, Joel. You got him good,” Tommy says firmly.

   You hear the faint grunts of Joel sending punches right and left to Jason who lies on the ground just taking the hits, too drunk now to even comprehend what’s happening. You wince at the noises, the punches reverberating through your body just like you were lying on that floor passed out cold, only the echoes of policemen and the ER workers picking your lifeless body up off the glass covered floor. 

   “Hey, I said enough,” Tommy repeats. You hear the throws of punches die out into silence, only hearing quiet shuffling that echoes in your ringing ears. 

   Suddenly, you feel someone’s hands on your shoulders, shaking you to get up. You shy away, screaming no, but then the hands are back on you. They’re warm, welcoming, comforting. A ray of sunshine you need to pick you up off the ground because you don’t have the strength to do it yourself. 

   “Hey, look at me,” he says adamantly, but you pull out of his enticing grip that begs for you to hold on to him. 

   “No,” you say sternly as you fall back on your palms and wince in pain. You’re so cold, so weak, so broken. How did you ever pick yourself up off the ground that first time?

   Joel reaches for you again, and this time it’s more careful, delicate. “Hey, hey, sweetheart. It’s me, it’s Joel. ‘S okay now. ‘S okay.” This time you let him help you off the cold ground, turning you around to face him as you sit on your bruised knees, staring down at the hollow ground. 

   “Hey, can you look up for me?” he asks quietly as you shake your head no and keep your eyes glued to the ground. You can’t do it, you’ll surely break if you see even the tiniest scratch on his face. 

   “Baby, look in my eyes. Please, jus’ look at me. C’mon, sweetheart,” he coos as he cups your chin and lifts your head. 

   Your breathing is erratic, your pulse quickening as you try to focus on him and him alone. You lock eyes with him, seeing those concerned flecks of dark brown swirl in your vision as he breathes out and sighs. “There ya go, nice and slow. Jus’ breathe for me.”

   Your eyes go wide as you see the deep red and purple bruises covering his strong left cheekbone, a tinge of crimson blood covering his knuckles he used it to avenge your honor. He got hurt. He’s hurt because of you. 

   “Joel, you… you’re hurt,” you stutter out as you place a hand gently over his bruises as he winces back in pain. 

   “I’m fine. Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. You’re the one I’m worried ‘bout. Are you… okay?” he asks cautiously as he traces his calloused thumb over your jawline. You pick apart the question, going over the events that had just happened in the span of ten minutes. You weren’t okay, you were far from okay. 

   “I… I’m…” Your mumbling stops as you hear Jason yelling and stirring up trouble as he rambles on about how he’ll be back. You catch him saying “slut” and calling you and Joel vulgar names as security calls the cops. 

   “Sweetheart, say somethin’,” Joel pleads as he drops his large hand over yours and squeezes. 

   The wave of shock hits you like lightning as your scar burns, and the memories flood your mind in the present. This time you see Joel lying there in the puddle of blood, wrist cut up with Jason standing over him with a bottle of alcohol and a smug smirk tugging at his cheeks as his dark eyes stare down at your and Joel’s dying bodies. It’s too much, it’s too fucking much. 

   You feel hot tears swarm your vision as you throw your arms around Joel and sink your face into his warm flannel. The one that smells like him, his musk, his warm scent. The tears don’t stop pouring, your sobs echoing in the distance as you feel your body completely melt against Joel. You hear him call your name, feel him try to talk to you as he tries to get your attention, but you’re too far gone, too broken to feel anything. 

   “Tommy!” Joel screams as you hear Tommy’s footsteps scuff quickly over the cement. “Make sure that fucker never steps foot in our club again, and make sure the cops lock him up. Fucker assaulted me and her tonight. I’m gonna take her home. Jus’ make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble.” Joel snarls as you feel his arms snake around you.

   “Don’t worry, Joel. I’ve got it. Motherfucker is gonna pay for what he did,” Tommy spits as he storms off to the front doors. 

   Joel tries to stir you from his grasp, but you just hold onto him as tight as a koala. “Sweetheart, hey. We need to get up. Do you think you can get up?” Joel asks carefully as he tries to pry you up. You don’t budge, don’t even make a sound as tears blur your vision. 

   “Alright, c’mon,” he sighs as he stoops down and picks you up, cradling you in his strong arms as he carries you to his truck while your eyes soak the front of his flannel. “I’ve got you, babygirl. It’s gonna be okay,” he coos as he brushes his lips over the top of your head and sets you down in the passenger seat.

   He fastens the seatbelt over your lap until it clicks and lingers his fingers against your cheek. You pull away from him, leaning your head to the opposite side as tears begin to soak the fabric of your soft dress. You hear him sigh and listen to him back up, gently closing the passenger door while he shuffles to the driver’s side. 

   He gets himself situated in the seat, and you can feel that hovering gaze over you as he runs his fingers down his clipped scruff. You sink into the edge of the door, curling yourself into a tight ball as you feel his stare smother your insides. 

   You don’t want him to see you like this, all broken and torn to shreds. He wasn’t supposed to know this side of you. The part you keep closed up in a tight glass bottle that drifts off to sea, where no one will see the mess you keep hidden away. 

   This wasn’t supposed to fucking happen, but it did. It did. 

   You close your eyes tight and lean against the glass window, throwing up your shields as you drown out the sounds of the low vibrations of the truck, keeping Joel's concerned, prying eyes from your glassy stare, even blocking out his gravelly voice as he whispers soft words under his breath. 

   This is too much, it’s all too much. You just want to disappear, let shadows envelop you in darkness, fade away so you don’t have to keep living those horrible nightmares night after night.  

   This was all Jason’s fault, all yours for falling for a man who never loved you. The only thing he did was shatter your world completely and keep you from forming intimate relationships. And now you were permanently scarred, just like the mark against your wrist. 

   You’re a fucking piece of work, and nobody deserves that burden now.

   Joel locks his fingers around the leather steering wheel, gripping so tight that his knuckles are painted white as concerned eyes flick to your fragile form in the passenger seat. His thoughts fly wild, his breath quick, his teeth bared as he thinks of what that fucker did to you.

   He’ll drive down to the county jail this weekend, make sure Jason’s locked up tight, make sure he will never place another finger on your beautiful face. He fucking slapped you, knocked you down, and shed violent threats over your crouched body. He’s a dead man.

   Joel ticks his jaw, snaps his teeth together as he thinks of the asshole that hurt you. He swears to god if Jason ever lays another hand on you, he will personally kill him himself. He’d snap his neck, would make sure the fucker was ten feet in the ground, would fucking destroy the man that assaulted you. He’d burn everything, if only that meant he could keep you safe. If only that meant you were his…

   He rakes a hand heavily through his scruff, takes another long glance at you as you shake and whimper against the glass window, folding yourself into the smallest shape you can possibly get yourself in. And it fucking hurts him to see you like this, all fragile and broken and bleeding. He wants to take all the pain away, but he doesn’t know how, doesn’t exactly know what you need, but he’ll be gentle, delicate, whatever you need. He would be that for you. He’d be anything you needed him to be. 

   He gently drops a hand from the steering wheel, reaching out until he stops himself when he sees the jagged scar on your left wrist. How had he never seen it before, how had he not noticed? How was this the first time he’s looked at it?

   God, he’s such a fool, a fucking asshole. The way he iced you out, the way he didn’t reply to your texts, the way he fucking flirted with a woman tonight when he damn well knew all he wanted was you. How could he be so reckless with your feelings? He fucking knew better, and look where that ended.

   He should’ve figured out the signs sooner. The way you always widened your eyes and turned your head before he could sink his lips down on yours, the way you were so hesitant and careful about everything you did with him. Why didn’t he just stop after that stupid question in the diner, when he asked you what exactly the two of you were doing? He should’ve fucking known the way you tried to change the subject, the way you lost all form of words, your breathy stutters. He should’ve fucking saw your wrist and knew someone had hurt you. But he didn’t, and now he was the biggest asshole for falling silent and leaving you thinking he didn’t want you. And he fucking hates himself for that. Because he wanted you the entire goddamn time.

   God. He’s wanted you from the first moment he saw you in his club, sitting there all doe-eyed and looking up at him as your smile took his breath away.

   He’s such a goddamn fool, and he just wishes he could take it all back and start over. He’d be so careful with you, and now you’re sitting there scattered in broken pieces of glass, but he’ll try to put you back together the best he can. He has to try, he just has to because you’re all he really wants anymore. 

   You’re a living, breathing angel, and he’ll set himself on fire if that’s what it takes to win you back.

   The truck stops in a dark driveway, one that’s lit with dim lights glowing against a tan garage. You don’t look up, not even when the hum of the engine cuts off and Joel frantically slams his door closed and practically sprints to the passenger side.

   When he opens it he hesitates a second, assessing your tear-soaked face as you turn away from him. You don’t want him to see you like this, but it’s too late. So why are you shying away from him?

   He carefully unbuckles you and gently lifts you up, cradling you against his firm chest as you sink against it, inhaling his fresh soap smell, the pine scent dripping off his silvery scruff. You smell it then: the scent of safety, of your knight in shining armor.

   Joel carries you into the house, taking you up the creaking stairs and what you assume to be up to his bedroom. You don’t lift your eyes, only squeezing them shut so you can forget the aftermath of showing up to the club. You try to block out the blonde woman, Jason, the fight with Joel, the absolute monstrosity of the events that led you here to Joel’s house. You try to forget, but you can’t. You just can’t.

   You hear a door swing open as you make it to the top of the stairs, his fast beating chest breathing rapidly as you cling to his warm flannel. You could stay curled up against his chest for hours, as long as you don’t have to open your eyes, as long as you can just breathe him and forget the rest of the world.

   Those thoughts are short-lived when you feel the back of your thighs brushing against a soft comforter, and then he’s unlatching you from his flannel. You unwind your fingers and fall against the bed, allowing him to take a step back as the numbness seeps back inside you. 

   You tug at your dress, the room feeling both too overwhelmingly sweltering and also as cold as ice chilling down every single nerve in your body. You just need to get out of this tight thing; the fabric is suffocating and squeezing you like Jason’s rough hands are still wrapped around your throbbing wrists.

   You jump when you hear Joel sliding a drawer shut, your fingers still tugging against your itchy fabric. You want it off, need to get it off, but you can’t seem to make your hands or body work.

   As if Joel senses you struggling against yourself, you see him carefully walking over to you in your periphery, his polished boots scuffing against the dark grey carpet as you take a deep breath to calm yourself.

   Your fingers fidget against the tainted material, and you just want it off now. He slowly, ever so delicately stills your hand, his palm flattening over the top of yours as he whispers quietly. “Here, let me help you out there, sweetheart. ‘S alright, easy now.”

   He slowly tugs your zipper down, ever so slowly pulling the summer dress off your body, and then unclasping the buckle of your heels as he frees them from your aching feet. 

   He gently helps you lift your arms as a long dark blue t-shirt envelops your body, the soft material hitting just below your knees as it clouds you in whiffs of summer breeze and Joel all together. It makes you feel safe, like he’s surrounding you in just him. And it feels so damn good.

   He grunts as he lifts himself off the floor, and then he treads into his bathroom, throwing the bright light on as water starts to pour from his sink.

   Drip, drip, drip. The sounds the water makes as it crashes into the sink makes your heart slow, makes you think about the entire night, makes you cringe as Jason’s face comes into view. You see red eyes, hear slurring curses, feel the glass cutting straight through your fragile skin.

   You grab hold of your wrist, embedding your nails into the skin as you wince at the memory. No more, not tonight. You can’t bear to think of it, so you block it out as the numb feeling tingles down your spine and surrounds every single bone in your body. You shut your eyes tight and count to ten in your head, hoping the voices will go away, but they never do. They’re just… ghosts.

   A few seconds later you hear Joel pad back into the room, his footsteps so slow as he takes step after step until the floor stops creaking. You open your eyes and find him kneeling in front of you, his eyes so lathered with concern that it makes his chocolate irises lighten just a little, and it makes your heart skip in your chest.

   He looks at you like you’re so broken, fragile, but you are. He hesitates as his right hand flexes up with a tan soaked washcloth in his grip, like he’s afraid to touch you, like you’re made of glass.

   “Is this okay? Can I…” His gravelly voice fades off, and his brows knit together as he studies your somber features slowly. 

   Permission? He’s asking for permission to touch you? Of course he is. After tonight he figures you don’t want to be touched, and he’s right. You don’t. But Joel, you’ll allow him the honor. 

   He slowly reaches his arm up, brushing a strand of hair delicately behind your ear, and then he brings the cool washcloth up and runs it over your stinging cheek. You wince a little at the pain, but you quickly lean into the cold material and let it soak your heated skin.

   He’s so careful with you, brown eyes flicking every few seconds to assess your face, making sure you’re okay, making sure you won’t just slip like sand into the cracks of the floor. That’s what you would be doing, if it wasn’t for Joel taking care of you. 

   You didn’t ask him to do this, didn’t imagine this being your weekend night with eyeliner running down your face or your eyes swollen and red. You probably look like a giant mess, but isn’t that what you are? 

   You flick your gaze up to his and spot the colorful bruise that flashes deep purple and crimson on the side of his left cheek, the exact same place as yours, and it makes your heart drop in your chest.

   Guilt spirals through your head, your chest, and then drops to your stomach. This is all your fault. Joel is hurt because of you. He wouldn’t have swollen knuckles and discolored bruises on his fingers and cheek if it wasn’t for you. 

   Your vision starts to blur, your fingers twisting into the soft sheets, and your body starts humming with vibrations as you begin to shake. 

   Your fault, your fault, your fault.

   Joel’s eyes widen, and his free hand lands on your thigh as he looks at you as if you’ll shatter into a million pieces. “Hey, hey, hey. What’s the matter? Did I hurt you?” he asks as his mouth twitches into a hard line.

   You shake your head and whimper out, “No, you didn’t. I’m just…” You freeze up and almost lose your words. “You got hurt. You’re hurt because of me. This is all my fault,” you whine as another tear escapes your eye.

   “No, sweetheart. Not at all,” he murmurs as he reaches up and brushes a tear away from your cheek before it can fall to the floor. 

   He cups your face with both hands, his calloused fingers feeling like warmth, and then he gazes at you with so much intent and sorrow in his eyes that they start to glisten. “Don’t you dare for one second think any of this is your fault. None of it is, you didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.”

   Your eyes fill with tears as they start to spill over, your body trembling as you finally release it all out of your system. “Then why does it feel like it is?” you cry out, the room temperature dropping fifteen degrees as you shake with guilt and hurt.

   “Oh, sweetheart. No. C’mere.” He throws off his boots and scoops you up, landing in the soft sheets as he cradles you to his chest while he pulls the dark blue comforter over your shaking body. “‘S’okay, babygirl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he coos, folding his broad arms over your back as he takes one hand and gently runs it down the back of your scalp, soothing you of everything you’ve held pent up inside that you never got the courage to let slip out. 

   “Joel, the reason I didn’t tell you…”

   “Shhh. Not now, sweetheart. You can tell me in the mornin’. Right now I jus’ want you to relax, breathe, sleep. Jus’ focus on deep breaths. I’ve got you, sweetheart. Nobody’s gonna hurt you anymore. I’ve got you, sweet girl. I’ve got you,” he soothes as his thick fingers stroke tenderly through your hair, easing you of the tension that you hold in your shoulders.

   “But I… he… you…” You just can’t make sense of your jumbled words.

   “Easy now. Easy,” he whispers, pulling you closer into him so you can nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck where it’s warm and safe and smells like the middle of an autumn’s day.

   You breathe him in, grasping on to his woodsy scent, sinking as deep as you can go against his broad chest, fingers curling possessively against his white undershirt, steadying your breaths to the slow rhythm of his heart, reaching for him and only him as your panicked mind starts to ease into calm waters, Joel the anchor that keeps you from drowning.

   You keep latched tight to him as you start to let your body get dragged into darkness where no one can hurt you, where only Joel keeps you floating into a deep, serene place where your body stills, your galloping heart starting to slow to quiet footsteps as you hear the deep sighs slip from his lips, letting it lull you to sleep as he holds you tighter.

   The last thing you hear before you drift off to sleep is the sound of his deep, gravelly Southern drawl where you feel most relaxed at. “You’re safe with me, angel. Always.” And then you slip into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

   The fan blows overhead, his head resting up against the headboard as he stares at your sleeping form that clings to his white t-shirt. His hand repeatedly strokes your soft locks, as if the motion will make the panic ease from your mind, as if he can make you feel safe, where no one else can touch your delicate form again.

   He brushes his lips against your forehead, caressing them over every perfect line that makes up your gorgeous face, needing to give you everything he can. He thinks you’re so perfect, the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, and now all he wants to do is take care of you, the way you should’ve been taking care of long ago.

   He slips a hand under the material of his t-shirt that splays over your body, carefully dragging his fingernails over your lower back in slow, meticulous circles as he soothes you from the panic. 

   “Nobody’s ever gonna make you feel unwanted again, baby. He’s never gonna hurt you again, will never lay his eyes on you because I’ll keep you safe. You’re so perfect, so beautiful, jus’ like the rarest flower in the world. That’s what you are. Rare, my love. You’re so rare,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, dragging his lips over your soft skin as he closes his eyes and breaths in the lilac perfume that envelops your very being.

   You stir beneath him, nuzzling closer as you groan and curl your fingers against his neck, getting as close as you possibly can. He almost thinks you’re awake, but your deep breaths and fluttering eyelashes say you’re in a deep sleep, somewhere far away.

   He hugs you closer and rests his chin on your head, fingers scraping softly against your soft skin, exactly how you like it. He’s always wanted to keep you safe, but now it’s his mission, like his life depends on it. He’ll spend his entire life convincing you if he has to. You’re his now, and he’s never going to let you go.

   He lets his eyelids shut as the fan hums him to sleep, keeping his arms wrapped safely around you, his lips pressing once more to your forehead as sleep drags him under. And for once in his life, he sleeps the rest of the night because you are safe in his arms.

   You wake to the chirping of singing birds as the sun shines brightly through the sheer curtains, your eyes slowly peeling open as you feel deep, slow breaths underneath you. You quietly stir, groaning as you tug his t-shirt against your fingers, suddenly very aware you stayed the night at Joel’s in his bed, in his arms.

   You feel Joel readjust beneath you, lifting your chin as you’re met with the most beautiful sleepy brown eyes you’ve ever seen. And the drawl of his sleep-ridden gravelly voice doesn’t make it any better. “Mornin’, sunshine. You sleep okay?” He curls a lock of hair behind your ear and lingers his calloused palm on your skin, making you warmer than you were before.

   “Mmm, I did,” you smile sleepily as he chuckles, making his brown eyes crinkle as the crow’s feet pull at the corners of his eyes. God, he’s always so handsome, especially in the morning, fresh from a long night’s rest with tousled bedhead curls that you want to run your fingers through. 

   “Good, that’s good,” he murmurs, a crooked smile curling over his lips as you seem to get lost in his beautiful face.

   You almost nestle back into the crook of his neck, but when you look over you realize it’s a quarter past 10:00. Your eyes go wide and you jump up, realizing you’re probably messing up his entire day. “Shit, Joel. I didn’t know it was so late. I’m sorry, you should’ve woke me up earlier.”

   You’re nearly frantic, but he places a palm softly on your face and turns you to look straight into his sleepy eyes. “‘S alright, angel. Jus’ calm down. I took the day off. Tommy’s got me covered, don’t you worry.” 

   “Oh.” You look at him with wide eyes while his thick fingers trail down your jawline like velvet. 

   “Wasn’t gonna jus’ leave you alone after last night. Needed to make sure you were alright. Figured I needed to take care of you.”

   Oh. Take care of you? No one has ever… done that. Taken care of you before. And yet again, he leaves you completely speechless. “To… take care of me?” Your voice is barely a whisper as you stare up into gorgeous flecks of chocolate eyes.

   “That’s right, sweetheart,” he smiles, a hand slowly smoothing down your messy locks as he comforts you.

   All you can muster up is a pathetic thank you as you nestle back into the scruff of his neck, hitching your leg around his hip as you hold tight to his broad chest. His fingers trail soothingly up and down your back, his nail beds scratching softly along your exposed skin as he soothes your growing panic. 

   After a few minutes of cuddling, he shifts his weight and drags his lips across the shell of your ear. “You wanna take a bath?” You nod your head and allow him to unravel you from his comforting hold. “Alright then, c’mon.”

   He carries you into the bathroom, flipping the light on as he goes. He carefully sits you down on top of the ceramic countertop, dropping his thick fingers from your sides so he can start the water in the tub.

   The faucet squeaks and turns, shooting out warm water. You lean against the mirror and close your eyes for just a second, letting the hum of the water calm your stirring tides, letting the sounds of Joel brushing past you soothe you as he sets out some clean towels from the polished cabinet. 

   You start to drift off again, trying to forget the horrors of last night. You start to slip into darkness, but Joel pulls you right back out as you start to fade to black. “You ready?” he asks, standing right in front of you with his thighs meeting your knees, one hand softly grazing along the jawline of your face.

   “Yeah,” you mutter out pathetically, and then he lifts you off the counter and sets you on flat ground.

   “C’mere, pretty girl. Let’s get you out of this.” He cautiously lifts the hem of his shirt and carefully drags it over your head. You place a hand steadily on his veiny forearm, slipping out of your panties until you’re completely bare and shivering like you’ve just walked out into a snowy blizzard. 

   He quickly throws his t-shirt off, shedding himself of his jeans and boxers until he has nothing left covering himself. The bubbles fizz at the top of the tub as he cuts off the water, slipping his fingers through yours so he can help you in the tub. 

   “In you go, angel. There ya go,” he murmurs, letting the warmth lap against your skin as he settles behind you, pressing your back into his broad chest while his thick arms envelop you in comfort.  

   You close your eyes, press your fingertips into his hot skin, and soak in the smell of his rich mahogany scent that always seems to calm you down. You shut out the violent events of last night, only thinking about how Joel swept you up in his arms and took care of you, making sure you were safe and heard, promising you that you were safe. And you were safe, you’re always safe in his strong arms, arms that claim you as his now, hopefully. 

   “Easy now, you’re alright,” he hums in the shell of your ear, caressing his lips against your jawline, slowly taking the soft washcloth over your arms as he bathes you in lavender soap. You lean into his broad body, groaning each time he glides the washcloth over your delicate skin, drowning in the attention and care he’s giving you.

   He didn’t run, he stayed. 

   He picks you up gently and cradles you over his lap, your legs splayed over his thighs while your face nuzzles cozily into the crook of his neck, his calloused fingertips gently skating down the edge of your jawline. You relax every muscle in your body because you feel safe; Joel makes you feel safe.

   He trails his hand down your forearm and pauses at the dip in your wrist, where the scar is visible. His fingertips feel like fire as they hover over the marked area that still feels fresh from years ago.

   “You wanna talk ‘bout it?” he asks shakily, like you’ll break if he’s too loud or if he presses too hard on the scarred skin. You jump when he touches your wrist, and he quickly releases from that spot like he just burnt you more.

   “I…” There you go choking again. When will you ever learn?

    “You don’t have to talk ‘bout anything you’re not comfortable with, sweetheart. Jus’… I wanna know what happened to you because I want to understand you, want to make sure I don’t set off any triggers. I jus’ wanna know how to make you feel safe, babygirl.”

   Babygirl. There’s that word again. The one that makes you think you’re finally his.

   You flick your gaze up to him, staring into concerned brown eyes that draw you in like a moth to a flame. He always did know how to calm you down with just those soft, syrupy eyes. You look down and trace your index finger along the damp, wiry hairs along his chest, and then you take a deep breath.

   Here goes nothing.

   “No, I… I want to tell you everything. So let me try.” You take a shaky breath and breathe out slowly, numbing your body enough to where the adrenaline isn’t filling your lungs, and then you lay it all out like you should’ve long ago. “I went through a lot in my past, Joel. With Jason. He was… he wasn’t always terrible. At least not in the beginning. He picked up drinking after he was in the service. He wasn’t always home, but when he took an early retirement from the military and came back he was a horrible alcoholic. I mean, drowning a whole six pack or more a day. And it just got worse and worse. And he… he…”

   You have to take a breath and close your eyes for just a second, focusing on not falling apart as you feel hot tears well in your eyes at thinking back to the past you so desperately want to forget.

   Joel puts a comforting hand on your lower back, giving you that nudge you need to continue your story. “He got really mean, especially when he was drunk. And I wanted to get out so bad, but he’d just suck me right back in. Promising he’d change, that he’d do better, but he never did. He never even tried. And then I tried to leave one night because he had me so terrified that I packed a bag and ran, but he got me before I was able to make it out the door. And he… he threatened me. Had me pressed up to the door with his hand wrapped around my throat. And he… he told me if I ever left he’d find me. So I felt trapped, and I couldn’t even talk about it to anyone because I was so fucking scared that he’d come after them, too.”

   Joel’s eyes are wide, and his nostrils are flared, his hand drawing slow circles across your back in a soothing motion. You can see he’s fighting to keep his mouth shut, and he nods for you to continue.

   “And then one night, Jason got really drunk. It was a rainy night, and I was cooking him dinner. There was something he didn’t like or something about how I was out too late the night before. I can’t exactly remember, but he was so fucking angry. His eyes were bloodshot red, and he was screaming for me to get him another beer. And I just remember thinking he was going to do something terrible to me. He was… abusive and manipulative… and he was so damn good at talking me down. I still… sometimes I still have nightmares.”

   Joel’s fingers curl against your skin, and he presses you tighter against his chest, like he’s trying to soften the blow for you. He’s so good. 

   “But when I handed him the beer, he slapped my face hard and he broke the bottle on the coffee table, even smashed his dinner plate and sent the coffee table across the room. There was so much glass and noise and chaos… and I remember… I remember he pinned me down against the carpet and started lashing out at me, like I was the problem, like I was the reason he was so angry. And I tried to push him away, tried to scream for help, but he took the edge of the broken bottle and slashed my wrist open… he tried to kill me…”

   The bathroom goes completely silent as Joel stares at you with a hint of terror flashing through his eyes. You feel the hot pricks of teardrops cascade down your cheeks, and then you’re a blubbering mess again. “I remember the sirens, the police, how I blacked out and woke up in the hospital. And I was alone, didn’t even remember what happened. All I knew was that I was in a strange place with IVs hooked to my arms, and I could barely see straight because I lost so much blood. And I… I was… I was so scared, Joel. They said… they said I was almost dead. If they would’ve gotten there two minutes later I wouldn’t be sitting here telling you this…”

   Joel wraps his arms firmly around you, cupping the back of your head with a strong hand as he sends a wave of comfort around you, holding you while you cry your heart out and lay out everything just so he knows why you’re so messed up and broken.

   “Oh, babygirl. I’m so, so sorry you had to go through that. That’s… my god, that’s traumatizing.” You wrap your arms around his thick back, burrowing your face into his warm chest as you soak up his warmth.

   “And he… he always said how nobody else could love me, that I was worthless, that I was nothing. And that’s why… that’s why I am the way I am. Because of him.” Your voice cracks as more tears roll down your face. 

   Joel tips your chin up and rubs the tip of his thumb under your eyes, catching big tears as he brushes them away. “Oh, no no no, sweetheart. Don’t you believe him for one minute. You’re so beautiful and you’re strong and you’re worthy of love. Don’t think for one second on it, darlin’ girl. You’re worth it all.”

   You’re worth it all. The words make your eyes glassy as you stare wondrously at the man that saved you from it all. “Thank you for… for making me feel safe,” you whisper against his chest.

  “Always,” he murmurs as his thick fingers run through your hair calmly. “Thank you for trustin’ me with that information, angel,” he whispers against your ear. “You’re such a brave girl, you know that?” He gently presses his lips to the top of your head, and you sink deeper against his warm, welcoming chest. “The bravest girl I know.”

   You’re such a brave girl. The words make you choke back a sob. “You really think so?”

   “Mhm. I do, angel. I do.” His voice is so warm, almost like a brassy baritone sound that glides through your ears, like you could listen to it for forever.

   You melt into his firm chest, eyes glistening up at him as you swallow your tongue and force more explanations out that he probably doesn’t need. “It’s sometimes hard for me to ask for what I need. After so long of that, I kinda lost my voice on things that matter to me,” you mumble shyly as if he’ll draw back from you, but he only pulls you closer.

   “It’s okay, sweetheart. I can be patient,” he coos into the shell of your ear, sending a wave of relief down your body.

   “That’s why at the diner I couldn’t… I froze up when you asked me what I wanted. And I… God, I knew what I wanted. I just couldn’t say the words,” you stutter out, jumbling the words as they seem to blur all together.

   “Hey, s’alright, angel. I should’ve… fuck. I should’ve been better. The way I acted after the diner. I jus’ can’t tell you how sorry I am, sweetheart. I know I hurt you by what I did. I jus’ wasn’t thinking, and I should’ve picked up on the signs the first night I met you. The way… you were so hesitant, and each time I even got close to your lips… Shit, I’m jus’ real sorry, darlin’. There’s not enough apologies that I could give to make it up to you.” He sighs and drags a large hand through his tousled curls, letting another sigh of frustration catch in his throat. “I’m sorry for leavin’ you on read for two weeks. I jus’… I was a wreck myself, but that’s a sorry excuse for bein’ an asshole, and right now I don’t even deserve redemption after the trouble I caused.”

   You shake your head as if he shouldn’t be apologizing at all. “No, Joel. It’s okay. I should’ve just… I should’ve been better by now. About my feelings, about asking for what I need. I tried to bury my past, but all it did was eat me alive.”

   He cups your chin and lifts your face to where your eyes meet his, and he looks so soft and sincere. You think you could just drown in those syrupy eyes filled with warmth. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t apologize. Not after what you’ve been through, my brave girl. Don’t even think about it for one second.”

   My brave girl. The words send a splash of hope pulling through your veins at the word my, like maybe you are his.

   “Joel, I…”

   “Angel, s’alright. I’ll be whatever you need me to be, alright? Jus’ know that you’re so fuckin’ special, and I swear to god I’ll strangle myself before I ever hurt you again. And if someone even thinks of messin’ with you again, jus’ know I’ll kill ‘em with my bare hands. Because you are one of a kind, angel. Never met a girl like you before…”

   “Joel…” You drag your fingertips across his greying scruff, your eyes glistening with longing and need, and then the word block comes up. You push and push, until you have nothing standing in your way anymore from telling him how you really feel. You take a deep breath and let the words fall off your tongue like you’re free falling, and somehow you know he’ll catch you. “I just… what I wanted to say back at the diner is that… I want you. God, I’ve wanted you for so long. And when you didn’t talk to me for almost two weeks… well… it was just… it was the worst thing ever, but I knew I messed up and probably deserved it and…”

   He cuts you off, muttering a soft apology as he looks at you stunned for half a beat, his eyes raining with a look of longing and relief as he pulls you flush against his chest, letting the bubbles float around your entwined bodies. “Oh, sweetheart. No, you never messed up and you absolutely never deserved that. Listen to me very carefully. You have me. I’m all yours, sweet girl. I’ve been yours since that first night we met. And this is me askin’ for forgiveness, and I pray to god you’ll accept it because I don’t think I can see you walk out of this house unless it’s with me standing by your side.”

   Your eyes go wide as you stare into gentle brown eyes, eyes that say they want you. “You… you still want me? Even after…”

    He pushes back a piece of loose hair and grazes his knuckles softly down your jawline. “Angel, I’ve never stopped wanting you. And now, I want you even more.”

   “You… want me…” you repeat in a hushed whisper, afraid that your ears are deceiving you. No one’s ever wanted you, so how could this perfect, gentle man want you?

   “I want you every minute, every second, every breath of every day, sweetheart. I always want you. And if that asshole or any other fucker ever made you feel like you weren’t wanted then let me show you that that’s not true. Because I want you, angel. You’re worth everything, you beautiful, sweet girl. You’re worth it all.” 

   Your eyes blow wide as you feel a warm teardrop roll down your cheek. Joel brushes it away carefully with the pad of his thumb and lingers against your skin, making you feel warmth you’ve never felt in your life. 

   The bubbles splash around you with every shaky breath you take as your fingers graze his patchy beard, delicately tracing each strand of grey that threads through the dark hair, memorizing each fleck of onyx brown that glitters under the bathroom fluorescent lights. Your other hand pushes back a tousled curl off his tanned forehead, lingering your fingers in his messy hair like it’s your favorite shade of color that you want to lace your fingers through forever.

   This man, this sentimental, extremely sweet hunk of a man is yours. He wants you, he really wants you. And for the first time in your life you know what it should feel like to be cared for, to be wanted, to be loved. At least it feels like love. The slow, sensual way he says your name, the longing gazes from his deep hazel eyes that make you blush like a silly girl with a school crush, the way he takes care of you, listens to you, the way he makes you feel safe like no one else has.

   Safe. He makes you feel so safe, so seen, so loved. That’s it. Love. You love this man, and you really just want to fucking kiss him because he’s looking at you all doe-eyed and like you’re the only thing in the world that he wants to look at. And that’s it. You’re finished, smitten, done. 

   This is it.

   It’s like the world stops spinning on its axis as you carefully lace your fingers through his curls, your other hand sliding along his chiseled jaw as you push yourself higher onto his lap and let your forehead connect with his.    

   He breathes in deep and hooks one arm around your lower back, his other hand skimming underneath your chin, letting the tip of his thumb graze along your lower lip. He lets it sit there, memorizing each crevice, every line that connects your smooth lips, and it’s like fire that tingles down your body, like no one has ever touched you before. Not like this, not like he’s mapping out every single trace of your soul, reaching in and stroking your heart like he’s putting together every broken piece of your shattered past.

   “Do you know what my favorite thing about you is, angel?” He whispers with a deep, gravelly tone, shaking your very core as he continues to explore the lines of your lips.

   “What?” Your voice is so scratchy that you almost don’t recognize it. You’re just very aware of how close his lips are, how intimate this moment is in the bathtub, on his lap while he tells you how much he wants you. And it’s so much, so very paralyzingly too intimate, but you don’t care. You don’t have the strength to deny him any longer when you want him just as badly as he wants you.

   “How brave you are. You’re the bravest, strongest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. And the best part is how you wear your heart on your sleeve even after everything you’ve been through. And I’m so lucky to have had the honor of meeting the prettiest angel in the room the first night I met you. And I’m so happy that I can call you mine, pretty little angel. You’re mine.”

   You lean into Joel’s broad body, threading your fingers through his hair, gasping at the beautiful words that fall off his tongue so easily, mesmerized by the incredible man that keeps you breathless with every word he speaks.

   You breathe in his rich mahogany scent, clinging to every word that wraps around your mind. You brush his nose and feel the warmth that heats off his skin, his lips, his very essence that seems to crash into your own body. And it’s like every single sound in the world stops as your lips brush his, like this is what you’ve waited for your entire life, to kiss him. 

   The slight tug of his large hand that cups the back of your neck is all the motivation you need. You let your hand fall against his slacked jaw, and then your lips are on his.

   Warm. His lips are so warm, soft, perfect. Like they were molded just for you. You lean into his chest and hum against his plush lips as you circle your arms around the back of his neck. It’s like earth stops and gravity isn’t real, even the bubbles in the bath seem to come to a standstill as the kiss permeates throughout the room like sparkling firecrackers filling the warm air.

   You part your lips, allowing him to slot his tongue into your mouth, and then he’s surrounding you in complete warmth as you melt as his honey-like tongue explores your mouth slowly. The kiss is nothing like you’ve experienced before. It’s warm, slow, inviting, and it’s written with Joel all over it.

   Joel doesn’t rush, only takes his time as he delves into your mouth, swallowing his cinnamon taste as you drown in the very essence of him. Your bodies move in unison, fingers threading against one another’s hair, hearts beating impossibly fast against each other’s chests, a slow staccato rhythm that lights hearts on fire. You’ve never experienced anything this romantic in your life.

   The kiss eventually ends as his lips disconnect with yours, and all you want to do is get wrapped up in your favorite lips again, but your breathing is ragged and you need some air as the stifling feelings start to fill your chest.

   Joel laces his fingers through your hair and looks down at you with the most beautiful shade of deep brown eyes you’ve ever seen in your life, and you swear he looks completely smitten with you, almost like he’s in love. “You’re tellin’ me I had to wait that long to kiss you?” He smiles, resting his forehead down on yours.

   “Sorry,” you apologize with red cheeks.

   “Don’t gotta be sorry, angel. That was one hell of a kiss. The best damn kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life,” he purrs, lightly stroking slow circles against your jawline.

   You gently laugh as you curl a finger down his broad chest. “Still, sorry I made you wait so long.”

   He shakes his head and smiles warmly. “I’d wait forever if I had to, angel. You’re worth it.”

   Your lips part and your eyes glisten as you stare at the man who has your entire heart. And god, you want to tell him how irrevocably in love you are with him, and that’s exactly what you do. You just let it float through the bathroom, completely aware of every single thing that could go wrong, but you can’t hide your feelings for him anymore. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, so you’ll have him. “Joel, I think… I think… I’m in love with you.”

   His eyes soften into molten chocolate, and his smile is absolutely radiant as it curls over his plush lips. “And what would you say if I said I was in love with you, too?”

   “What?” You freeze, thinking you heard that wrong. He loves you? Oh. Oh my…

   “I love you, my sweet little angel. I’ve been in love with you since I saw you across the bar. I jus’ knew you were the one. They always say you know. Didn’t know what they meant until I saw you lookin’ over at me with those beautiful eyes of yours. I knew from that moment you’d be mine.” 

   Your mouth parts open as you suck in a breath, all your guarded walls and insecurities dropping on the spot as you play the words again and again in your head, until you can fully comprehend what he just said to you.

   He’s in love with you. With you! You don’t know how, you don’t know why he did, but you just know you feel it as much as he does. And your skin is absolutely glowing as you grin mesmerizingly up at his brown starry eyes. “You really love me?”

   “Oh, my little angel. Yes, I love you. You take the breath out of me.”

   You map out every fleck of amber in his eyes, every crevice of pure syrupy colors that call your name like a magical siren, and then you’re falling, crashing into his lips until you can only breathe him. There’s no oxygen left, there’s only him and his cinnamon taste that drips off your tongue.

   Your body molds to his, fingers lacing through messy curls, chest flush to his, climbing him like you can’t get close enough, can’t touch his tanned skin enough, can’t be satiated when his tongue is circling yours, marking his taste where you think you need him the most, so it can slip down and wrap around your heart, marking you as his own.

   After a few minutes of heated tension and messy kisses, you untether from each other and just sit there in the warm, bubbly water, just breathing each other’s air like it’s the only oxygen you need. It’s just you and Joel, your own little safe space, a space he carved out just for you.

   He turns you around and brings your back flush to his chest, wrapping a protective arm around your hips while his lips trace the top of your head until you can only close your eyes and breathe him in. Coffee, cinnamon, a fresh forest with chopped firewood. A warm fire, burning just for you. 

   After another half hour Joel helps you out of the tub, wrapping a soft cotton towel around your soaked body. He uses his large hands to help you dry off, taking slow strokes to your skin as the towel dries the water off your skin. He’s so gentle, careful, even delicate with every move he makes, every touch, every breath. He’s just… perfect. 

   “Here, you can wear some of my sweats. And I’ll get you a clean shirt.” 

   “Oh, okay,” you smile. He brushes his lips over your forehead softly before wrapping a towel around his waist and taking off to his closet, searching around for clothes that you get to wear. 

   You lean against the bathroom doorway and stare mesmerizingly at this beautiful man, watching him toss a long white t-shirt over his bare shoulder as his hands move hangers out of the way to find his sweats. You laugh at the way he tosses hangers to the side, muttering under his breath that he knows he put them right there. You tilt your head back against the bathroom door, assessing him while he works to find you just what you need.

   Your eyes flit to the center of the room where a large mirror hangs and shades of soft cream fill the walls. You freeze when you see it, jaw dropping as you take in what sits on the edge of his mahogany dresser, right where the sunlight catches from the open window. There, right on the crevice of the dresser is a shiny hardcover Iron Flame book. “You bought Iron Flame?”

   “Mhm,” he smiles, turning toward you with a fresh pair of grey sweats in his hand.

   “But why? I thought…”

   “I bought it because it was the closest thing I could get to havin’ you near me when all I wanted was you in my arms.” 

   You look at him wide-eyed, a small smile curling over your mouth as he comes and stands in front of you, trailing a hand slowly down your jawline. “Joel… you finished Fourth Wing?”

   “Two days after the diner, that’s all I did was read. Finished it in one night because I could smell you on the pages. You smell like freshly printed books on a warm summer’s evening, and it had your scent all over those pages, angel.” His lips brush over yours, just long enough to breathe in his fresh cologne, and you feel as if you’re free falling in thin air, but Joel’s right at the bottom, ready to catch you before you collapse. 

   “Joel… I… I’m speechless. You read because it reminded you of me?” you whisper out.

   “Mhm. That’s right, sweet girl. Jus’ for you.” His fingers lace with yours, lips caressing your knuckles as if he’s drinking you in.

   “I… God, I love you.”

   He lifts his eyes and smiles at you as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. “I love you, too, my beautiful angel…”

   Then his lips are on yours. Soft, gentle, magnetic, electric. And there you go, floating off into a fluffy cloud as his taste and touch send you into a euphoric trance.

   “Are you hungry?” he asks as lets his hands slide from your waist.

   “Mhm.”

   “How ‘bout I cook you come breakfast? But, I have a condition.”

   You raise your eyebrows and playfully smirk at him. “And what’s that?” you giggle.

   “Read to me.” It’s not a question but an ask. He wants you to read to him.

   “You want me to read to you?” Your eyes flick up to his, and those gentle brown eyes are searing into your soul.

   “Yes. Wanna hear that beautiful voice of yours. Read me Iron Flame.”

   You let the words simmer for a few seconds as he slips on a pair of casual jeans and a black t-shirt that clings to his broad chest, making the sculpted muscles flare against his strong build. And his messy curls are still wet and slicked back and so beautiful. This man is more than perfect, he’s yours. Just as you are his.

   “Okay,” you smile, feeling your cheeks blush red as he sends a crooked, adorable smile your way. 

   God, you’re never going to get enough of this man.

   After breakfast, you and Joel end up in his favorite leather recliner. He laces his arms around you and brings you flush against his broad chest, circling his hands with yours as you hold up Iron Flame and quietly read it together. His warm breath blows down the nape of your neck, and you lean into his space, letting the scent of coffee and pine cones envelop the air. You think this is how it always should’ve been, what you’ve been looking for your entire life. It’s Joel. It’s always been Joel. You just had to pave your way through the bad guys to find your knight in shining armor. The one you were always meant to fall in love with.

   “I love you, pretty girl,” he whispers in the shell of your ear, holding you tighter like he never wants to let you go.

   “And I love you too, Joel Miller.”

   “Think these two are endgame?” He’s referring to Violet and Xaden in the book, but you really think he’s talking about you and him.

   “Still got three books to go, but I see it like the ending is right in front of me. They’re so endgame.”

   “Think you’re right, my sweet angel. I think they’re infinite, like you and me.” His lips brush against your forehead, and his fingers lace through yours as you let the next page fall away from your grasp.

   “Infinite, huh?” you whisper.

   “Infinite,” he confirms.

   You tilt your head up and let your lips capture his, saying your feelings as you tug him closer and run your fingers through his thick curls, giggling as he cradles you in his arms and slots his tongue against yours, letting the coffee serenade you with the taste of Joel on your lips.

   You think this is how it should always be, you and him. Right here in his recliner, reading books together, entwined fingers, lips on each other’s as if you both can’t get enough of one another. 

   You were always meant to find him. And he turned out to be your knight in shining armor. And maybe your forever.

   This was just the beginning. You still had a lifetime to go.

[onlymingyus]

Tied to your Body (Patreon Exclusive Teaser)

pairing; kim mingyu x f reader

genre; smut (minors dni), fluff (somehow)

warnings; TA!Mingyu, University Student!Reader, Camboy!Mingyu, Professor Joshua Hong (that's a warning), eating/drinking, alcohol, masturbation (m & f), lots of dirty talk, masturbation on stream, pictures taken and sent of dick/pussy, talk of sexual health, aftercare, Dom!Mingyu, sub!reader, Dom/sub dynamics, color system, subspace, dumbification, praise, pet names, degradation, crying, spitting on pussy, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, cum eating, some light impact play -- I think that is everything.

w/c; 13.3k and some change (1.4 k this teaser)

a/n; I love camboy love sick Mingyu. thank you to @onlyhuis for betareading this for me! a huge thank you to @onlyseokmins for making the instagram graphics for me! thank you for your patience in waiting for this one. I really needed this break.

this fic is a Patreon Exclusive subscribe to my Patreon and click here

Running the back of your pen along your bottom lip, you sigh, finally leaning back from your desk. You had been looking at the same page of your physics textbook for an hour. It felt like your brain was beginning to feel like jello. A familiar ding from your cellphone made you bite down on the end of your pen as you reached for the phone, the corners of your lips pulling up into a slight smirk. 

ariespic_46 is live

You tried not to waste your money. It was hard enough to be a college student and to share an apartment instead of living in a dorm but sometimes spoiling yourself was important. It was hard enough trying to balance a part-time job and a full-time course work schedule; you rarely found time to go to parties and the relationship pool was limited. 

You had dated during your time at the university but it had been brief and no one had ever kept your attention for longer than a month. Over time, classes became more important and you found other ways to find pleasure, even if it cost you a few extra bucks a month to indulge in. 

Opening your laptop, you find yourself entranced by the man on your screen as he smiles, leaning back in his chair. He never showed anything above his nose. You wished you could see his entire face. With as handsome as he was from the nose down, you were drooling over this camboy almost daily. 

As ariespic_46 lets out a breath, you find yourself doing the same as you lay on your side on your bed in the dark. He was dressed in some tan dress pants, a white button up that was already unbuttoned down to the top of his abs, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looked like a dream. You couldn’t help but look over every detail that you were privy to. He had the cutest freckle on the end of his nose and sharp canines that he bit down into his bottom lip with when he was especially horny, like now. 

“Hi pups. I missed you.” 

A small squeak slips from your lips when the man finally talks. He was such a tease. He would sometimes just sit there for minutes while the chat went crazy, asking for things, just his biceps flexing as he stretched out his fingers in clear amusement at how needy the chat was. 

“Aw, you missed me too, didn’t you? That’s cute.” 

The man leans his head back and you try to move your head so you can see more of him but as usual, it's in vain. He had his camera set up for this. He didn’t want his face fully on the screen and while you could respect it, you were still curious. 

“It was a long day. You have no idea. I’m all wound up... Having to be this professional in front of others while I think about doing this later. God…” The man grins, his canines on display, as he lifts his hips, undoing his dress pants. “And then the teasing I put up with on a daily fucking basis. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it.” 

You furrow your brows. He talked about some girl on his streams sometimes. You didn’t mind; no one seemed to. It got him even more excited to think about this girl who teased him during the day. You wondered what it would be like to be her—to be the one on his mind all day and night. The one that made him want to wrap his hand around his thick cock and stroke it until he came so hard. You imagine you are her sometimes; he makes it easy for you to, with how he talks to the stream. 

“Wanna put you on your knees in front of me for teasing me like that?" 

Watching ariespic_46 closely, your eyes follow as he kicks his pants somewhere off the screen. The man smirked, leaning back in his chair, knowing eyes were on him. He could see the viewer count and it never disappointed him. Your eyes were moving over the bit of his chest that was exposed as his fingers undid the rest of his shirt, leaving him in his dress shirt and briefs as a long, sighing groan slipped from his lips. 

“Can’t help but think how pretty you’d look if you were. So fucking pretty every day and acting so innocent like you don’t realize I’m looking at you.” 

You sigh, your bottom lip jutting out, as the man talks to the girl through you and the other viewers. You feel a bit of shame as you run your fingers along your stomach and play with the tie of your pajama pants but it’s not enough to stop you. 

Glancing at the comments, you can’t help but agree with a few of them, saying they’d never ignore him. You couldn’t imagine ignoring someone like ariespic_46, not on purpose. There was no one who went to your university who came close to looking like him. 

When the man wraps his fingers around his cock for the first time, you have to close your eyes to the sound that slips out between his pretty lips. You loved the sounds he made. He never tried to keep them quiet or to himself. He just let them be as erotic as possible and it made you drip around your fingers that were now slowly sliding through your folds. 

“Are you being a good girl for me? My pretty little pup? Are you gonna cum for me when I cum tonight?” 

Whimpering, you nod even though he can’t see you. You weren’t one who took the time to comment while he touched himself and spoke. You knew he wouldn’t recognize names from chat anyway. He did, however, acknowledge tips and that you did when you let yourself think with your pussy more than your brain. 

“Mm, thank you, Nabi.” 

Hearing part of your username on ariespic_46’s lips as he moans, pre-cum slipping over his fingers, makes you press your lips together. You hadn’t sent him much—just $30—but for a student, that was more than you should be spending on porn. 

Pressing your nose against your arm, you adjust yourself on the bed, watching the man groan louder as he got closer to his climax. You had started to be able to tell when it was going to happen. The way his mouth fell open, the way his groans got more urgent and drawn out, his fingers of his right hand gripping the arm of his chair for dear life as he stroked himself through his climax with his left. 

Most nights when you watched his streams, you would end up doing exactly what ariespic_46 wanted and cum soon after he had but other nights, like tonight, you would end up panting as your thighs pressed together out of need. You knew there was always more, even as the man on the screen laughed, stretching his fingers out to show the camera all the cum dripping from him. 

"Fuck, that was good. I have to get cleaned up. Bye, baby. See you next time.” 

The stream stated it had ended, and you find yourself on your back with your phone in one hand, waiting for what came next. Not only did you tip because it made you feel good to hear even your username on the man’s lips but also for what he would give you. A notification stating you had a direct message from ariespic_46 pop’s up at the top of your screen and you find yourself giggling like a teenager getting a message from a crush. 

ariespic_46: have a good night, nabi 🦋 thank you🖤 [picture attached] 

Staring at the message for a moment, you bite at your bottom lip before your thumbs move over the keyboard to reply. You knew you didn’t have to, and that he probably didn’t check replies but it felt important to you. 

nabi.wings: anytime, thank you for the stream ❣️

Taking a breath, you finally press down on the link for the picture, only to moan at the sight. It was one thing to see his cock and fingers covered in cum on the stream but it was another entirely to see it in a picture like this. Now was when you couldn’t help but let your fingers wander lower. Now you could let yourself let go of any shame you were feeling before and just let yourself pretend for a little while that he had cum this much for just you. 

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[penguinwriter24]

Chapter 15 : My Happy Ending? [ EN ]

TW : mention of torture ( no graphic, tho ) should be it. If I forgot something tell me.

--

Dahlia

Dahlia had attended Edmund's coronation. She had been in the front row and without really knowing why, she had cried throughout the coronation. She was just so happy for him and she had to express it somehow.

“His Majesty King Edmund the Just.” announced Glenstorm.

Everyone bowed to the new King of Narnia. Edmund smiled when the Narnians present straightened up, then he sat down on the only throne present. Dahlia could tell from her attitude that Edmund found this really strange. She could easily guess why, the last time he was in this room, Peter, Lucy and Susan were with him going to be crowned and there he was all alone on the dais.

After the ceremony, there would be a reception, like a ball. It had been Dahlia's idea to change everyone's minds a bit. For the time of an evening, the Narnians would forget the horrors of battle and return to some semblance of normalcy. All the people had been invited, not a single person or creature had been excluded.

Dahlia was locked in her room, she had washed up and she just had on a long white shirt whilst she was searching for the perfect outfit to please Edmund.

“No, not the pink one. Edmund doesn’t like pink.” she was thinking aloud.

The dress was a light pink color, it fell slightly to the shoulders with a thin fabric, the sleeves came to the elbow and the same thin fabric completed the rest of the sleeve. The bodice was different from other dresses she owned, this one had buttons down the front to close it. She had a simple petticoat that reached to the floor. There was a small train behind. The dress was simple but beautiful. Besides, it was Dahlia's favorite dress.

“In fact, Edmund doesn't like pink when it's on anyone other than you. When it's sure you, on the other hand, Edmund really likes it.”

Dahlia jumped and turned when she heard Edmund's voice echoing in her room. Dahlia put her hand to her chest, as if doing so would help her heartbeat slow down.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry.” Edmund laughed lightly.

So Dahlia took the pink dress and put it in front of her to make sure it still fit, that the dress was still perfect. For that evening, Dahlia wanted everything to be perfect, from the beginning to the end of the evening.

“So…the pink one?”

“The pink one.” comfirmed Edmund.

Dahlia put the dress on her bed and walked over to Edmund. She wrapped her arms around his waist and she rested her head on Edmund's shoulder. Edmund hugged her to his body.

“What are you doing here, by the way?”

“I came here to hide. Barely crowned and already being asked for my opinion on things where I clearly have no opinion. I'm asked to sign a stack of documents as tall as I am and asked if I prefer ruby red or wine red for new paint when all I see is just red.”

“You already went throught all of this, it should be easier. You have the opportunity to do better than the first time. I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

“Perhaps. Plus, I wanted to see you. We didn’t really get the chance to spend much time together.”

“That is true. But we’ll got all the time in the wolrd to spend time together tonight.”

Dahlia felt Edmund nod, she felt him kiss the top of her head too.

“I need to go back.”

“I know but do you really have to?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Dahlia reluctantly pulled away, she smiled tenderly at him before watching Edmund back away until he collided with a wall, then he walked normally.

Dahlia closed her bedroom door before starting to get ready. She did not want to be late for the ball.

The ball had started, the orchestra was playing lively music and almost all the guests were dancing. Dahlia was chatting with Narnians her own age, she cast furtive glances in Edmund's direction. She had said that they would have "all the time in the world" to hang out together, but in the end, they could barely share a smile. She was sad but she hid it behind a pretty smile to avoid arousing suspicion.

Dahlia had dreamed night and day for months that Edmund would come back to her and that they could live their little idyll in peace, but that had been far from the case. She didn't blame Edmund, she had been kidnapped and the day after her rescue Jadis had started a war, they barely had time to see each other. And, she knew that now that Edmund was King again, they were going to have even less time to see each other.

However, that did not matter to her. She was willing to take the risk if it meant spending a few minutes with Edmund at the end of the day. A few minutes was always better than none.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dahlia saw Edmund exit the Ballroom. She apologized to the girls she was "chatting" with and then followed Edmund.

“Didn't you plan to leave a ball given in your honor? And without dancing at least once with me?”

Edmund turned to her slowly; Dahlia found Edmund's gaze strange, it was something she had never seen in him before.

“I think you should find someone else to dance with tonight, Dahlia.”

Dahlia frowned, that was definitely not how she had imagined the evening would turn out.

“What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” Dahlia asked shyly.

“We both know what it means.”

Dahlia finally understood what Edmund meant. If she was right, then she would not let him off the hook so easily. She would make him say things out loud. He had to suffer the consequences of this decision seeing the sadness and disappointment on Dahlia's face. And, she hoped he would see her facial expression every night before he fell asleep for the rest of his life.

“No, no, Eds! I don’t know what it means. Say things clearly.”

“Dahlia, please. Dont make me sy it out loud.”

“You’re about to break my heart, why should I make things easier for you?”

Edmund sighed in frustration before running his hand over his face then he looked up into Dahlia's dark brown eyes. Dahlia noticed that Edmund's eyes were filled with tears.

“You should find someone else to dance with because…because me and you, we should stop seeing each other. It’s for the best.”

“It’s for the best for whom exactly?”

“Dahlia, please…you know it's best for both of us. For you.”

“Oh, so now you know better than me what’s best or not for me?”

Edmund ran his hand through his hair and he sighed again in frustration. He then nodded to Dahlia to follow her. Dahlia followed him without saying a word. They entered an empty room, Dahlia closed the door behind them.

Edmund wasted no time before speaking again.

“We have to face the facts, Dahlia. I don't want your life to be ruined. If we continue like this, you…”

“‘I’ what? Hm?”

“You'll end up taking a back seat or wallowing without you and I even realizing it. There will always be a mountain of documents, meetings, trips to the most distant regions of Narnia and hundreds of people who will come between us. Before...before we know it you'll become a neglected woman and you deserve much better than that, Dahlia. And…”

Dahlia heard the sincerity and the sadness in Edmund's voice, she understood the reasons that had pushed Edmund to take this decision and a part of her loved him even more to want to protect her from a possible misfortune, but a more much of her hated him for making that decision without considering her opinion or how she felt. Even if in itself, her opinion would have been far from rational, she also had a say, whether their relationship was official or not, there were two of them in this story and Dahlia felt that Edmund had no reason to take the decision without consulting her first.

Dahlia chooses, for once, anger and selfishness. She was tired of waiting for her turn, she was tired of seeing all the women around her taste happiness while she, each time she approached, was denied the right to do so. Dahlia would not let her chance pass. Not again. Not if she had the chance to avoid it.

“And what? Go through it, Edmund! C’mon! Finish your sentence and break my heart once and for all! Go on!” she screamed the last two words. “I didn't survive the torture Jadis inflicted on me for three months, I didn't cling to the hope of seeing you again one day just to hear you tell me that you don't want me anymore!”

Edmund looked once more into Dahlia's. Dahlia held his gaze, she wouldn't lower her eyes. Not this time.

“I'm not sure I can love you like you deserve. I…I'm not the ideal, perfect man you imagine. I thought that after her death everything would be settled, that I could start a new life because the wounds of the past would finally heal and disappear, but that is not the case. I still have so much hate in me, I still have so much self-hate, and the weight of guilt still keeps me up at night. But how am I supposed to love you when I don't love who I am? And how could I give you all of me when I'm only half a man? I'll drag you down with me and…”

“And I deserve better, yes I know, you already said that. But you see, Edmund, I’m the one to decide what I want or who I want in my life.”

Dahlia's heart broke under the weight of Edmund's words, but not for the reasons she believed. It had broken because Edmund was in pain and all the while he had suffered in silence, all alone in his corner. Her heart broke thinking that Edmund would rather suffer alone than ask for her help. He loved her so much that he did not want the darkness that had taken over his heart to stain Dahlia's.

Dahlia took a deep breath before moving towards Edmund, she slipped her small hands into Edmund's.

“You will listen to me carefully, Edmund Pevensie.” her tone was both soft and firm. “You're not alone anymore, okay? I am there. I am here and I will be by your side until the end. You don't have to pretend with me, I know all about it, let me share this pain with you, Ed. Together, we can get through this. We have already proven it, together we are stronger. I'll be there to hold your hand, I'll be there to hug you on the nights you can't sleep. And, if we put enough effort into this relationship, neither of us will be neglected. We can make this relationship work, while taking the time to mend in you what was broken in you when you were still a child. Don't push me away, Edmund. I know that together we can achieve this. I'm convinced. But…”

Dahlia let go of Edmund's hands and put some distance between them. It tore her to do this but she knew she could not force him to do something he did not want to do.

“But if you don't want to, if I haven't managed to change your mind, then I will respect your decision. You want the best for me and I want the best for you too. The final decision is yours and I will respect it.”

Dahlia left the room before Edmund could answer. She closed the door behind her before returning to the Ballroom. Dahlia went to get something to drink, then stared at the open door, patiently waiting for Edmund to return.

[samuraikunexe67]

Prompt 3

The blond, angered and heartbroken, ran his fingers through his hair, and then looked at his crew, then at the debris all over the city. He needed to get the job done, but he also wanted to clear his head. He misses the Villain, he misses his lover’s warmth and how bad this separation anxiety was killing him on the inside..

A hand was gently placed on his shoulder, and that’s when he snapped back into the real world and glanced over to see a friend of his, staring at him with concern. The blond brushed the hand away, gesturing to the said friend to go home, but they refused to even move a muscle.

“I know you miss him.”

The Hero slightly glares at his friend, but couldn’t fight back the tears as both started to walk away from the messy part of the city and then be watched by the people of the city he lived in. The same city the Villain destroyed as well..

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, you’ll get him next time..” They commented with a small smile.

“Everyone knows.. They know that I’m.. In love with the Villain.. We were supposed to keep it a secret but I didn’t see him for almost a year or so..” The blond explained, making millions of attempts to not choke on his own tears once again.

“Don’t you know him personally? As friends?”

“We’re more than friends.. We’re lovers..”

The Hero slowly shifted out of his heroic attire within the snap of a finger, wearing a light blue long sleeved shirt with a graphic design on the back, having a few sets of jewelry, mostly having rings on his fingers, dark blue jeans and low top tennis shoes. The friend sighs as they bring the blond closer to their side, order for the paramedics and firefighters to come passing by.

News spread like wildfire, seeing the aftermath and recordings of the Hero and the Villain’s interaction with each other, the Hero screaming at his group about the said Villain. Hero this Villain that, it was all too much information and unneeded drama that the blond didn’t have time for.

The friend knew this, so what better way to cheer him up was to bring him to a local Starbucks in the area where he lived close by, immediately, he felt eyes staring at him, he wanted to go home. He wanted the Villain right by his side to comfort him. He just wants to go home..

“Hey, tell me what you want before you go sit down.” The friend whispered to him.

“Just a caramel latte.. Please.” He ordered with a plea.

And with that, the friend jogged into the waiting line, as for the blond, he took a seat near the closest exit possible, bouncing his leg rapidly as the news just kept going for hours and hours.. Why wouldn’t anybody shut up about the Hero and the Villain already.. Move on.. He was growing impatient, looking around to see his friend ordering a massive drink-feast fit for a queen and her subordinates, he growled and decided to scroll through his social media with an annoyed glare.

There was nothing new about social media, however people were now talking about the situation that’s happening currently and it couldn’t get anymore frustrating, he then went to his posts, seeing that of course, he didn’t post much about his personal life..

“Do you mind if I sit next to you, firefly?”

The Hero’s eyes widened to the sound of a familiar voice, his head turned around as swiftly as he could see the Villain’s normal attire. Those soft brown eyes, his raven waves of messy bed hair, and his all-black “bad-boy” outfit, black boots, ripped up jeans, torn up jacket and a white t-shirt. He was also wearing a face mask, something new that even the Hero noticed because his lover never wore such a thing, but why today? The blond male looked over to see that outside was his red and black motorcycle, the same one that he always rides every day. The Hero sighed in relief but then looked over to his partner.

The Villain seemed fatigued and not his usual self, he seemed in extreme disarray, he slightly shifted but grunted from a pain he felt on his side, however, the raven just brushed it off and smiled at his lover.

“Star..” He whimpered softly, going up to the man as quickly as possible and almost wrapped his entire body around him. The tears falling down his cheeks as he couldn’t even fathom the pure pressure the news and press was towards the Villain.

[the-only-ace]

Hey I know you are really busy with all the request and job and all that but can you do shinee's reaction to s/o stealing their t-shirts and hoodies?? You can make them one shots of you want too😁

shinee reacts: their s/o wearing their clothes

heyyy~ i really liked this request because i personally love to do this. for this request, i want to try something new since you gave me an idea with the one-shots part. so instead of describing their reactions, i'll convey it in a form of a short story. it will still be per member! i hope you will like this one (heads up though, the posts is a bit longer than my usual shinee reacts) <3

p.s. if you guys can, kindly let me know if you like this kind of format for shinee reacts. thank you!

send in your requests here!

onew / jinki: you sighed for the nth time within just 10 short minutes. you were staring and pouting in front of your closet for you can't find the perfect clothes for your brunch date with onew. it was a hot day today and you just wanted to wear something cute but comfortable. however, it seems like your wardrobe doesn't offer that kind of outfit.

your eyes slowly traveled toward onew's part of the closet. his side was full of quirky graphic tees which you always find adorable. you don't usually borrow his clothes but you can't help but to take a peek at them and take the one that caught your eyes.

it was a white oversized shirt with a cute box cartoon drawn in front of it. you tried it on and it stopped perfectly on your thighs, making it look like a cute dress. surprisingly, it even matches the pair of sneakers you were wearing.

before you can even decide whether you were keeping it on or not, onew walked into your room. his hair a bit damp and he was only wearing a towel considering that he just took a shower.

"oh, is that my shirt?" he pointed at you.

"uh... yeah. do you mind? i just wanted to wear something that is yours." you sheepishly replied.

"no problem!" he beamed his big bright smile before proceeding to get his own outfit.

you muttered a thank you then went to your vanity to finish touching up your makeup. afterward, you grabbed your phone and wallet and placed them inside your shoulder bag.

"alright, I'm ready to go..." you trailed off as you saw what he looked like. "what the hell are you wearing, lee jinki?"

"your shirt?" he raised an eyebrow, clearly feigning ignorance.

he was wearing your favorite grey t-shirt and it looked pitiful on him, it was as if it can tear at any moment. it barely covered his abdomen and was stretched to its limit.

"no shit, sherlock." you facepalmed at his usual weirdness. "what i want to know is why... why are you wearing it?"

"i thought we were doing a thing wherein we wear each other's clothes." he shrugged as if his response should be expected.

"what? no! please have mercy on my shirt and put on your own clothes." you can't help but laugh at him as you pushed him back to the dresser.

"alright, alright! i just wanted to make you laugh and look, it worked perfectly." he playfully pinched the tip of your nose before taking off the top he borrowed. "also, you should keep that shirt since it looks a hundred--no, million--times better on you."

"thanks, love," you whispered as you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a warm hug.

key / kibum:

after the long busy months, you were finally having a girl's night with your best friends. you stood in front of the full-length mirror in your room to give yourself a final check. your hair was styled into textured waves and your lips were colored with the boldest red lipstick you can find. your nude heels matched the little black dress you were wearing. your outfit looked almost perfect and you just knew what you were missing. you quickly snatched key's gold leather jacket and put it on. ah, perfection.

this was the norm for you. your boyfriend's wardrobe was beyond incredible especially his outerwear collection and you just had to wear them every chance you can get. to be honest, key was very stubborn in letting you borrow his clothes... at first. after all the compromising, begging, and crying you made, he eventually budged and gave up. of course, it does not come for free. he practically made you sign a contract that once you stained his clothes, you have to shoulder the bill of the laundry and the shop will be chosen by him. however, if you damaged or god forbid, lost his clothes, you have to replace them. you immediately said yes to all of the conditions in a heartbeat. so far you only paid for 2 incredulously expensive laundry bills.

now, you were finally ready to leave. you walked out of the bedroom and made your way down the living room. there, key was sitting on the couch watching one of his favorite tv series.

"I'll be going out now," you announced as you grab your car keys near the front door.

"hey, hey, hey!" key clicked his tongue upon seeing your clothes. he was now looking behind his shoulder and giving you a stink eye. "is that my jacket?"

"um... maybe?" you gave him an awkward smile.

"of course, it's mine." he shook his head disapprovingly. "only i can pull that off, by the way." he sassily added.

"wow, i didn't know the fashion police was here. you should have given me a head's up, babe ." you bit back with a scoff. the last time you checked, you looked damn fine in it.

"just stating facts, baby," he replied in english.

"alright, then why don't you take me shopping then? so you can buy me a new set of clothes that will satisfy your standards." you challenged and if he said yes, you were clearly the winner.

"excuse me, i do call you 'baby' but i am not your sugar daddy. go now, you'll be late." he shooed you off.

"okay bye," a playful smirk appeared on your face. "daddy."

this made key rolled his eyes before turning his back on you. he would very much rather ignore you if you keep on acting that way.

"it's bye now, for real." you giggled as you open the door. "love you!" you called out before stepping out.

"love you too, brat." key mumbled with a small smile.

minho:

winter was approaching and the air was slowly becoming colder than usual. it was the best time to stay in the comfort of your warm home and enjoy hot cocoa with your loved ones. a perfect time to wear your sweaters and hoodies indoors. however, this was not the case for minho for his favorite hoodie was missing.

"hey, babe?" he called out from the bedroom. "have you seen my black hoodie? the one with the white writings on it."

"what's that, i didn't hear you?" you went inside a few seconds later.

and there it was, his favorite hoodie being worn by his favorite person. you looked smaller while wearing it since it was way too big for you. the hem almost touched your knees and your whole arms were lost inside the sleeves. he can't help but smile at the sight.

"nothing, i was just looking for my hoodie but it looks like i found it." he gestured at the clothes you were wearing.

"oh, shoot. sorry, i didn't tell you that i borrowed it." you hit your forehead with your palm.

"it's okay. you're free to use them anytime, anyway." he patted the top of your head.

within the last few weeks, minho noticed that you sometimes wear his clothes. it was not a daily thing though and you even asked for his permission. slowly, it became every day and he would just be surprised to see you walking around the house parading his jackets and sweaters. he didn't mind it though, he was just curious about what you do to your own clothing. also, he hoped that he still had some remaining tops for himself during the cold season.

well, guess luck was not on his side.

his eyes were staring at his closet wherein there was only one jacket left, one. you followed his gaze and you promptly felt the warmth raised to your cheeks. you were surely red from embarrassment now. you were happily wearing his clothes that you didn't have the time to count how much was left.

"oh my god, i'm sorry! i didn't--" you cut yourself off as you watched him put on the lone jacket from his dresser. "i'm sorry, i didn't notice it. i just... can't help myself. your jackets are so comfortable and warm compare to mine." you tried to explain yourself. also not to mention that they all smelled just like him.

"don't worry about it." he reassured you as he placed his arm around your shoulder. "just be mindful next time. i might end up half-naked someday, you know."

"how can you be so sure that's not my goal?" you teased before sticking your tongue out.

he laughed at your silliness and then pressed a soft kiss on your warm forehead. you decided to make a cup of hot cocoa for him as a peace offering.

taemin:

it was past midnight and it was raining cats and dogs outside. you visited taemin in his apartment for a stay-at-home dinner date but a storm came before you can even go back home. taemin then convinced you to spend the night there instead. it was not a big deal anyway since you stayed over a lot of times already. you just didn't bring your sleepover bag with you and the dress you were wearing was definitely not comfortable to sleep on.

your caring boyfriend of course promised to ease your worries. the two of you shared a warm bath after dinner and he lent you his clothes for you to change to. so that was how you ended up on his couch, fighting off sleep because the show you both were watching always had a cliffhanger ending per episode. you two needed some answers before you can drift off to sleep peacefully. it was the weekend tomorrow anyway so staying up late won't hurt that much.

your head was laying on his lap while his right hand was playing on the locks of your hair and his left one was comfortably resting on the top of your hip. his hand would occasionally rub circles on the exposed skin. as much as you hate to move from your cozy spot, you had to or else you might end up dozing off right there and then. not to mention, him playing on your hair does not help at all.

you slowly got up from the sofa as you tried to stifled a yawn. "i'll just go get some cold drink." you pushed yourself up from your seat.

you then raised your arms and stretched with a satisfied groan. your shoulders and back were sore after laying down for more or less 3 hours. you can even hear your joints cracking from stretching out. also, you felt the shirt you were wearing raised up.

taemin's shirts were not overly huge for you whenever you wore them. the hem barely covered your behind and right now you were sure that a tiny portion of your buttcheeks was peeking through the white tee. you weren't conscious about it, taemin saw much more than that anyway.

suddenly, you felt a slap across your behind which made you freeze on your spot. you looked behind and saw your boyfriend confidently leaning on the couch with his legs crossed.

"did you just slap my butt?" you inquired.

"uh-huh," he nodded with a cocky grin. "want me to spank you again?"

you frowned a little as you processed the sudden change of mood. taemin won't deny it though, seeing you in his shirts always made his heart skip a bit and his breathing ragged. you always looked effortlessly sexy in them.

"sure, why not?" you replied wickedly after a few seconds of silence.

taemin processed your answer in a split second and he hastily grabbed you by the waist and threw you on his broad shoulders. he did not forget you give you another smack on the ass when he made his way toward the bedroom, the television was completely forgotten.

[therenlover]

Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

A/n: In the wake of recent life garbage, I have neglected to write a whole fic, and I’m sorry. In the interim, please enjoy this writing exercise I have put together in the hopes of nailing some characters I haven’t written for in the past in time for a larger project I’m working on! Cheers!

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, and Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Mild Misogyny, Mentions of Alcohol/Alcoholism, Mentions of Mental Illness, Non-Graphic Mentions of Death, Minor Spoilers for The Alienist Season One, Minor Spoilers for Goodbye, Lenin!, Spoilers for Rush (2013), Minor Spoilers for The Cloverfield Paradox maybe??? I haven’t actually seen the whole movie, blame Wikipedia if things are wrong. 

Laszlo Kreizler

NO

As the first of all of the Dannys to be put through the ringer, Laszlo Kreizler unfortunately would not survive a holiday with my family.

First of all, this man does not like massive huggy kissy crowds, so he’d already be off his game the second he walked into the packed house. That’s not why he’d die though, surprisingly.  

His downfall would be his status as an Alienist. 

There is simply so much mental illness and childhood trauma present at my family holidays that he would combust within 15 minutes of sitting in a room with all of my relatives.

Even if he were to somehow make it past the introductory phase, my family is nosey as hell, so they’d be grilling him about his arm and his own childhood trauma within the first hour. 

Laszlo, for all of his strength, simply wouldn’t be able to withstand it.

His death wouldn’t come from the initial combustion though. No, it’s not that simple. 

Knowing Laszlo, once he had combusted and entirely lost his composure the first time, he would become extremely intrigued about the interconnected nature of everyones issues with each other and he would start asking questions. 

That’s where the problems would begin. 

Because it’s one thing if my drunk great aunt starts badmouthing her sister at the table for abandoning her 90 year old mother for a lake house with her new boyfriend. That’s fine. 

But when Laszlo hops in and starts picking apart the mommy issues and underlying reasons for their decades long sibling rivalry? 

Oh it would be over for him. 

The yelling would never end. 

And, I have no doubt that Laszlo would start to psychoanalyze whoever started to yell at him, which would only lead to more yelling. 

In the end, someone would throw a probably full and probably fresh out of the oven casserole dish at his head and he’d be unable to defend himself because of his weak arm. 

We’d have to cart him out in a wheelchair and even if he were to technically survive, he’d never come back. 

Therefor, Laszlo Kreizler would fall victim to my family and die before we even got to dessert. 

Alex Kerner

YES

Ah, little baby Alex! A great contender here for holiday survival.

He seems relatively young in comparison to most of the Dannys on this list, though I don’t actually know how old he’s supposed to be. 

Based on his relative youth, he would automatically get points with the fam for not seeming like a creep or sugar daddy. Instead, he could be just about any dude I brought home from college. 

His skillset as a semi-skilled laborer would also earn him some points, seeing as several members of the family are in similar professions.

Alex might get lost in some of the more complex conversations about the local organic scene or the fine details of running a fine art gallery, but he would fit right in with the majority of the younger members of the family, smiling and nodding his way through the conversation. 

His enthusiasm and optimism would brighten the room and leave everyone excited to see him around again. 

There’s also the semi-small detail of him caring for his mother, which would earn sympathy from the older members of the family as they are in charge of caring for my deaf, blind great grandmother. 

Now, all of these aspects have already set Alex up for a successful survival of a holiday dinner with my family, but the real secret weapon he has up his sleeve is what really cements him in place as a survivor. 

What is his secret weapon, you may ask?

Lies.

Alex Kerner is really, really good at lying, and is even better at figuring out increasingly convoluted ways to keep his lies straight. 

If he managed to hide to fuckin’ Berlin Wall coming down from his mother for as long as he did, he could keep a couple of white lies up for appearances if he was asked any potentially embarrassing or weird questions that would make him look bad. 

He could also lie about enjoying my great aunt’s cooking, which is a vital skill for holiday survival in my family. 

Therefor, at the end of the day, Alex Kerner would not only survive a holiday with my family, but he’d probably enjoy it and get invited back for every subsequent holiday he could possibly attend. 

Niki Lauda

NO

Niki is another Danny that falls very firmly into the category of characters that would absolutely not survive a holiday with my family, for many, many reasons. 

First of all, just like Laszlo, Niki is not huge on going to big huggy kissy parties. 

Both adults and children would be all over him the second he walked in the door, which would probably make Niki get very uncomfortable and cagey. 

Little does he know at that point that people aren’t just all over you when you get in the door. 

No, no, no; from the moment you show up to the moment you leave, if you’re at a holiday with my family you are being basically accosted with questions and hugs and conversations that get weirdly personal. 

It doesn’t help that the whole entire house is packed and there are eyes on you at every moment, so he wouldn’t even be able to sneak in a break for air or a cigarette. 

If my own mother can’t sneak out for a smoke when she’s been going to these events her whole life, the new guy who’s still being vetted by the family sure as hell won’t be able to either.

Needless to say, Niki would start to get really, really tired of it all in an hour tops. I’ll give him until dinner at most. 

That’s where things would start getting really sticky.

See, a lovely little fact about the Niki Lauda that lives in my brain, as portrayed by Daniel Bruhl in Rush (2013), is that he’s just a little bit misogynistic. No more than would be period typical, but a little misogynistic.

Another fun little important thing to note is that my family is entirely matriarchal in nature. 

There are only 4 reoccurring male guests at family holidays out of about 20 to 25 guests at each event; My great aunt’s husband of many, many years, the two male siblings my mother has that live in the area, and the young son of one of those siblings. 

Men, specifically boyfriends, simply do not last in my family. They are considered pretty disposable and easily banned from family events after breakups or small mishaps. 

So, not only would Niki not have any other manly men there to chat about sports with over a scotch and a cigarette, he would be surrounded by so much estrogen that he would definitely struggle with his inner asshole even more than usual. 

In fact, we never have sports on, even on Thanksgiving. Poor Niki would be stuck hearing conversations about artisanal candlemakers and how to hand felt a woodland elf puppet.

Back to his downfall, the second he made a slightly sketchy joke about women in the kitchen at the dinner table to my great uncle, his fate would be sealed.

If you thought the yelling at Laszlo would have been bad, this yelling would be ten times worse, because he would be surrounded by like 20 very angry, very defensive, and very strong women waiting to beat the shit out of him and I would not be any help. 

He dug the hole, so he can climb out of it. 

In the end, his death would come when he tried to light a cigarette and calm himself down at the dinner table while trying to rescind his earlier statement, because smoking inside around all the precious textile art? Thats a big no no. 

My great aunt would grab the lighter right out of his hand, light up whatever cocktail she had at the moment, and throw it all directly into Niki’s face.

It would be like crashing his car all over again, only this time he would be surrounded by people who would rather he burn than try to get him out of the situation. 

Moral of the story, Niki would die within the first few hours of a holiday with my family because he made an asshole comment to a room full of women who don’t put up with that shit. Don’t be like Niki, even if you think you won’t get killed for it. 

Andrea Marowski

YES

Andrea is pretty much the polar opposite of Niki here, and I love him for it. 

He is very soft, very kind, very pure, and would never dare to say something rude at the dinner table like a certain racer we all know.

He couldn’t even say something rude if he tried to, because he probably wouldn’t have the English in his vocabulary to say the things he wanted to say even if he intended to say them out loud. 

But let’s be honest here, Andrea would never. 

Even with his limited English, Andrea would appreciate being surrounded by a whole bunch of people who think he’s the sweetest little thing since the invention of cake. 

My great grandmother, despite being almost entirely blind and deaf, would say he looked darling and he would immediately be a member of the family from the moment he stuttered out his thanks. 

Andrea, like Alex, is also relatively young, so he would get points for not being old enough to be my father. 

I feel like, because Andrea was shown living happily in a tiny village by the ocean with two old ladies, he would have an appreciation for craft, so he wouldn’t mind sitting quietly as my great aunt pawns off a handmade blanket from my great grandmother to him. 

He would also happily sit with the younger children and do whatever craft or simple game one of my aunts brought for them that time. 

The cherry on top with Andrea is his skill with the violin. 

My family is one that appreciates fine art a lot, but more than anything we appreciate music. 

I wouldn’t say that any of us are anywhere close to Andrea’s proficiency, but we definitely aren’t terrible, and we all can appreciate the effort, practice, and talent that goes into getting truly good on an instrument like Andrea is on his violin. 

He would be encouraged to play, of course, and he would happily oblige. 

If he felt comfortable enough, I could even see my great uncle grabbing his guitar, my cousin sitting at the piano, and my sister bringing out her own violin to do a little quartet with some simple song they knew as everybody else sang along. 

By the end of the holiday evening, once dinner was served and people were heading to the cars, Andrea would definitely be considered a member of the family. 

Needless to say, he’d survive and pass their tests with better than flying colors, even despite the language barrier. 

Ernst Schmidt

NO

Now, Ernst was probably the most difficult one on this entire list to put into the living or dying category. In the end, though, there were a few things that couldn’t be overlooked that send him into bad territory. 

To be fair, though, he would last the longest out of everyone who would die tragically at one of my family’s holiday gatherings. 

He, like the past two victims, would not be exactly suited for the mushy crowding that’s inevitable when it comes to my family. 

That being said, I think he would deal with it a little bit better than the other two did and would make polite conversation with the family when he could. 

The fact that he was trapped in a packed house filled with drunk people who have several generations worth of beef with each other, though, would start to get him eventually. 

If we consider all of the shit that happened while he was in space to be canonical minus, you know, the earth getting really fucked up, he would probably start to go a little bit nuts while packed together with that many passive aggressive people.

The second someone burst into tears on the way to the bathroom he would start to lose his shit. 

Still, I think Schmidt would probably be fine-ish until dessert was served, because that’s about the time where all the adults are absurdly drunk, so insanity ensues. 

They would start poking at him about his credentials and experiences as a physicist. 

He would answer their questions at first, but, unfortunately for him, the questions would turn more and more personal and uncomfortable as time went on. 

Did he ever still think about what happened up in space? Did he blame himself for not getting things to work correctly? How much did he miss his old world and old life? Did he ever have nightmares about what he saw? How much did it hurt to get shot?

They’d poke and poke and poke in their drunken state until poor Schmidt would snap at them, flying into a slight rage at their insistent probing. 

From there, he would be swiftly asked to leave and then “accidentally” run over while calling an Uber to take him to wherever he’s staying as my drunk great aunt tries to back out of the driveway to drive down the block to her house. 

In the end, Schmidt and his wit would be really close to surviving a holiday with my family , but he would, unfortunately, let his anger get the best of him, and it would be the last thing he ever did. Literally. 

Helmut Zemo

YES, BUT ONLY BARELY

Okay, so my earlier comment about Ernst being the most difficult out of everyone was incorrect. Zemo was, by far, the hardest to put into one category or the other. 

His wit and charm won out in the end, though, and I determined that he would survive one single holiday with my family. 

If he ever came back for a second he definitely wouldn’t make it, but he would succeed in living past the first one. 

Helmut’s problems start, surprisingly, not with the fact that he is a criminal. In fact that doesn’t even cause any problems for him. 

No, instead they start with the fact that he is 43.

I am 99% sure that my mother is 43, and I know for a definite fact that he’s older than one of my uncles who would be present. I, at the time of writing this, am 18. 

Needless to say, literally everyone would be massively suspicious of him and his intentions the second he walked through the door. The amount of money in his bank account definitely wouldn’t help in this situation either. 

The family would warm up to him eventually, though, because if there’s one thing Helmut is good at besides killing people, it’s making people like him even if they absolutely shouldn’t. 

With his expansive knowledge of what feels like literally everything rich and niche, he would slowly win over the older members of the family. Who knew the strange old man Jac brought home was so well versed in the American pottery scene, or that he could name specific jewelry artists from across the world that my family had done business with for years?

My family definitely wouldn’t. At least, not at first. 

Oh how they’d learn, though. 

Another nice thing about Zemo that would allow him to survive is his aggressive politeness.

No matter how many weird glances or dirty looks he got over the course of dinner, he would simply continue to be the best version of himself in the hopes of impressing everyone. 

He would even pretend to enjoy my great aunt’s cooking and get himself seconds, because I’m sure it would be easier to scarf down than whatever he and his EKO Scorpion squad had to eat while serving in the Sokovian special forces. 

On the tail end of reasons he would be accepted, Helmut Zemo drinks alcohol like it’s water, so he would fit right in drinking white wine and cocktails through the night with the rest of the adults. 

((I think he’d totally tease me about not being able to drink with him, but that’s a story for another time. Anyways...))

His slight downfall would come from something entirely uncontrollable by him or anybody else. 

And that something would be my flirty aunt. 

I love my aunt. She’s wonderful in her own special way. 

That being said, I know if a hot Sokovian baron with a nice smile and a fat pocketbook showed up to one of out holidays, even if he was introduced as my partner, she would be going for the kill all night long. 

This would make Helmut more and more uncomfortable as she got more and more drunk, because lets face it, he’s probably not very comfortable with being touched by near-strangers anyways, and being touched by a drunk member of his partners family who is very obviously coming on to him? 

That’s even more difficult to deal with. 

That being said, Helmut is a man who has been shown to be extremely in control of his emotions. 

He would swallow down whatever awkwardness he felt, make it to the end of the night, and, once he had escaped her clutches, he would politely say that he was never going back to another holiday function with my family again, though he would be happy to facilitate me still attending them. 

So, in the end, Helmut Zemo would survive one holiday with his sheer stubborn politeness alone. 

I will say that his patience would absolutely wear thin if he attended a couple more holidays and he would eventually die of a stress induced heart attack after being unable to politely decline my aunt’s advances. 

For now, though, he’s safe.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Sick Day (Demon x Reader)

Pairing: Gender Neutral Reader/ Non-Binary Demon

Genre: Urban fantasy, Domesticity, Established relationship

Warnings: Mentions of sickness (fevers, body chills, headaches), but nothing graphic

Word Count: 2008 words

Summary: Your demon partner isn’t sure how to play doctor

A/N: Based of this prompt by @monsterkinkmeme

“It’s the first time you’ve dated a demon and it’s also the first time you’ve gotten sick since you’ve been together. A fever paired with a throbbing headache has you hiding in bed for most of the day, trying to sleep whatever bug you caught, off. Your demon lover, on the other hand, is beside themselves and has turned to Google and WebMD on how best to take care of you. They now think you are dying because of your symptoms and are devising a way to save you.”

The minute I saw this prompt I was immediately awash with PINING for a large demon partner to cuddle with and I knew I had to write it.

A week after finals, 7 months into your relationship with Motholg, your immune system gives up.

You had been leaving work, thinking the heat in your cheeks and the ache in your bones was a product of a 6 hour shift, walking to Motholg’s apartment for date night. The past two week had you cooped up, anxious and studying, meaning you barely were able to make time for your partner.

You probably should have expected it, it’s happened every finals week since high school; A couple days into break you get a high fever and are stuck in your bed for a solid 48 hours. But you thought that, perhaps, this year was the exception. After nearly passing out when handing Motholg their fresh-made lasagna, you knew you weren’t so lucky.

“Darling?”

You groan from your blanket burrito, eyes and sweaty forehead barely peeking into the dim light of Motholg’s bedroom. The thought of forming a coherent thought makes your brain pound, so you don’t even try.

“I’ve made you some...uh…”

The door creaks open, Motholg automatically ducking their head so their long horns don’t hit the frame. Their red, slitted eyes narrow at something steaming in a teacup. “Yas-mine? Jasmeen? Uh-some herbal remedy I ordered from your virtual shopkeep. It was touted by several women named “Brenda” to  be the best thing for human illnesses.” Motholg’s hooves tap against the floor, just below the line of “too loud” for your migraine. You give another non-committal hum as they sit down on the bed. Despite being custom-made for their 7-foot stature, the bedframe still creaks under their weight. The top of your blanket sarcophagus is pulled back, revealing your disgruntled face.

Motholg helps you prop yourself up and hands you the teacup. You take a sip, quickly realizing it’s still quite hot, but power through anyway. The scalding water melts from your mouth down to your toes, abating your shivers, if only temporarily.

As you drink, Motholg’s fingers card through your messy hair, massaging your skull before resting their palm on your cheek. Their hand covers almost the entire side of your head, spotting a glimpse of a frown between their fingers.

“You’re even hotter than before and still quite sweaty. Would you like me to take the blankets?”

You shake your head, setting down your cup of tea.

“No, it’s probably just my fever breaking. It’s actually a good sign, despite how shitty I feel.” The warmth of your cocoon is beckoning you, your exposed chest and arms already shivering. “The blankets are good for my chills, but a big glass of ice water would be nice.”

Motholg raises an eyebrow, clearly perturbed by your backwards human symptoms. But they pat your head once more before sitting up.

“Of course, dear.” Motholg leans down to kiss your forehead, but is intercepted by the palm of your hand.

“Uh-uh, I don’t need you getting sick too.” Motholg scrunches up their face, then blows a raspberry into your skin. You retaliate by pushing away their face feebly.

“As if your human illness could fell me darling.” The sigh dramatically, pushing your hand away. “Though you are very sweet to think it could.”

You stick out your tongue and shove them. Motholg relents, blowing a kiss as they back out of the bedroom.

Your brain is beginning to drift into sleep when a glass clinks on the nightstand. Not bothering to open your eyes, far too tired, you mutter a “Thank you.” Motholg whispers a “You’re welcome,” as they lay on the bed once more. Their warm fur tickles your neck as they cuddle up behind you, arm thrown around your side and nuzzling their face into your hair. A hot breath and a slight nip of their extended canines only wills you to dreamland faster.

Motholg won’t go to sleep, only needing a full 8 hours every 4 days, but are rather content to lay beside you. They lovingly stroke your arm and sidle farther down under the comforter, whispering occasional sweet nothings and rocking you into unconsciousness.

--------

The dull red of the bedside clock pries open your eyes, a stark contrast compared to the pitchblack of the bedroom. Your brain is still in a fog, but given then the 3 AM flashing nearby, you’ve been asleep for about 9 hours.

And I’m about to sleep 9 more.

Motholg had left the bed at some point, but their warmth still lingers on the blankets. You close your eyes and snuggle in.

Slam!

But then the door slams open.

On a normal night, the noise might’ve jerked you upright , but your eyes simply roll over to the doorway. Your brain already misses unconsciousness.

Motholg stands, their new smartphone in hand as they breathe heavily.

“Darling, what did you say your body temperature was?”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, slowly giving up on those peaceful 9 hours.

“99.7 last time I checked.” You tap your forehead with the back of your hand. “Probably less now. The sleep has been helping a lot. Good night.”

In an instant, Motholg is over to the bed, placing their hand on your forehead. You let out a disappointed sigh and try to go back to sleep anyways. The click of their hooves on hardwood, Motholg’s jittering shakes of your shoulder, and the strong smell of iron quickly eliminates that as a possibility.

You turn towards your partner, now noticing the sheen of liquid covering their hands. Red streaks follow their fingertips on their smartphone.

“Babe, why are your hands soaked in blood?”

“Goat’s blood, technically.”

Before you can even respond to that baffling answer, Motholg grabs your shoulder. The blood sticks to the short sleeves of your pajamas.

Damn, now I’ll have to wash this tomorrow.

“Here, it says the ritual-”

“The what?”

“-needs to be completed at 3:30 AM on a new moon.” Motholg pauses, checks their phone, then continues, “Yes, a new moon.”

Motholg begins to walk away, your arm still in their grip, but your resistance stalls them.

“Okay, Motholg, you’re scaring me. What’s going on? How the hell did you get goat’s blood at this hour?”

Motholg sighs and rolls their eyes, “Unimportant-”

You give Motholg a dissatisfied look, finally making them relent in heir tirade. They turn towards you.

“I fear for your life. I’ve consulted your online physician and your symptoms fall in line with many fatal illnesses.”

Now accepting that this is officially a conversation, you throw back your blankets and sit up.

“Do you mean WebMD?”

Motholg nods furiously and shows you their phone screen, tapping the glass with a long claw.

“See here? Full body chills are associated with pneumonia, so is a high fever. There’s also the possibility something is wrong with one of your organs. Not surprising, considering how squishy they are.” Motholg flicks their screen upward, a myriad of diagrams flips across it.

“Now, I know a couple of ceremonies my father used to perform to curse others with these illnesses, so I thought if I reversed the procedure-” Motholg pauses again, flipping to a new tab on their phone, “-So, I did some googling-”

Motholg pauses when your hand rests against their cheek. Their red eyes, which glow just slightly in the dark, look to you. You brush your thumb across their face, just barely grazing against the fur which starts at the base of their neck.

“Darling, I appreciate the concern really, I do. But these websites…” you pause, slowly pushing Motholg’s phone down and out of eyesight, “They really only show worst case scenarios. Honestly, they kind of just scare you into going to a doctor in person.”

Motholg’s eyes dart between your face and their phone, now pressed face down on their bed. They give off an aura of anxiety and stress, their hands fidgety and their hooves lightly tapping against the floor. “Here,” You pull up the covers, opening up the spot next to you. “Do you want to lie down with me for a while?”

“Oh, I don’t need to rest.”

“Just because your body doesn’t require it doesn't mean it won’t feel good. C’mon.” You pat the bed. “I think it will give you some peace of mind, keeping an eye on me.”

Motholg’s eyes shifted back to their phone, their brow furrowed. You pout your lips and slide your fingers up their chest. Their fur sticks and tussles under your touch.

“Babe, I would feel better if you relax, seriously.” You reach down to the bedside drawer, pulling out your sleep mask. “You can even bring your computer and get some work done.”

Hesitantly, they nod. You sigh in relief. Their hand unconsciously twirls your hair.

“I suppose….You would know about these things.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Motholg leaves to get their things, while you slip back under the covers. Before you put your sleep mask on, you shout to them.

“Make sure to wash that blood off!” You look down at your damp sleeve. “And could you get me a wet wipe as well?”

Motholg makes an affirmative noise, and you finally lay back and close your eyes.

Their body heat lingers above your as they sweetly wipe away the blood on your arm. You mutter a thank you. The bed dips as they down next to you, mattress bending as they adjust their laptop and fluff the pillows.

“Darling?”

“Hmmm?” You murmur, face still stuffed in your pillow.

“I just wanted to apologize for waking you. I feel very foolish for acting so paranoid.”

You flip your head to their side, keeping your mask on.

“No need to apologize, I get it.”

“Thank you for your understanding, but still, I feel so silly. To think a tiny sickness would force my emotions to overcome me.”

You slowly push up your mask, eyes peeking out from under the duvet. Motholg sheepishly picks at their keyboard, avoiding your eyes,

As disgruntled as it made you at first, Motholg’s droopy gaze stirred guilt in your gut. You wonder how many scenarios had run through their head while they googled, how helpless they must’ve felt. There might be a hole paced into the floor of the living room, given how flustered they were when they barged in.

You reach out to Motholg’s wrist, brushing your thumb over the back of their palm. Their red irises look over, and you think you see the tinies remnants of tear tracks at the corner of their eyes.

“Emotions aren’t a bad thing, they’re natural.” Grabbing the top of the blanket, you roll over to Motholg’s side. Their large body dwarfs yours and when you curl up against them, the tips of your feet barely meet the top of their calves. Their black fur is soft against your face, like a  mixture of a plush carpet and a goosefeather pillow.

Oh good, they used the Tea Tree soap.

“I’d probably do the same if you got sick.” You reach your hand up to their chest, cording through their thick fur. “We’re just gonna have to trust the other’s okay, huh?”

With your chin tucked into their ribs, Motholg smiles down at you. A claw runs up the back of your neck, stirring up goosebumps but relaxing your muscles.

“I believe so, darling.” Their fangs jut out from their lips as they continue to rub your neck. It’s quite goofy looking, for a demon, and gets a chuckle out of you.

You crane your neck and Motholg meets you halfway for a kiss, consequences be damned.

“Good night, I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetling.”

You fall asleep with Motholg’s fingers curled in your hair, the slight tap of their claws on the keys, a simmering contentment in your heart.

--------

A week later, when  you’re back to full health, you and Motholg are making dinner when-

“Ah-choo!”

You stop stirring the pasta and furrow your brows at Motholg. They’ve stilled, mid-movement while setting out the plates. Their face burns with embarrassment.

“A silly human sickness, huh?”

[mochikeiji]

Kinktober Day 3: Trousers A Day

↠ Pairing: Kenma Kozume x Reader

↠ Warning: SMUT! Edging, Fem dom, broken orgasm.

↬ Word Count: 2.1k

⇢ Day 3: Bulge Touching

"How was work, Kenma?"

He always looked mouthwatering whenever he wore his formal attire for his job. There are days wherein he gets away with the coding of his clothing; he'd often wear baggy hoodies and comfortable pants that you'd rarely recognize him as a CEO or someone who owns a huge company that makes a living.

But with Kuroo having the similar working station as he is, like in high school and their childhood days, he would have to drag him and forcefully let him change into a decent attire for once during an important meeting. 

"He was a pain in the ass as always."

Work always meant he would bump into Kuroo occasionally. It was starting to feel like the world literally doesn't want Kuroo out of his back even if they had their own domestic lives. But it still touched you, how their bond was still stronger than mist high school buddies were.

"I meant work babe, not Kuroo."

"Work is tiring, Kuroo is tiring, therefore, it's still work."

Stifling your laughter was difficult as the way Kenma delivers such a nonchalant humor. He still has that lazy like expression written all over his face and his soft, bored toned voice, which makes it funnier to take him seriously sometimes.

Even though work was done and he had finally came back to his safe domain, Kenma has this habit of not changing into his comfortable clothes until he was ready to sleep, even if it meant wearing his white sleeves and tight, black pants, at least he was seated at the usual spot of his couch and had his games. That was how lazy yet relatable thing you had with Kenma.

You were seated on the floor for the past hour while waiting for him. Papers and your laptop on display as you tried to organize every document and notes you've done for the past months and his own so they weren't sprawled all over his working table. Kenma takes his eyes off of his game for a second, only for him to lay a palm on your forehead and pushed back the hairs that were hiding it and places a small kiss with a small murmur of, "Thanks."

Your heart squeezed. It was so uncharacteristic of him yet the way his voice went into a softer, cooing like tone, you were finished. Kenma had grown out of his shell throughout the years, and you were honored to have his entire vulnerable side showered upon you. He was the least affectionate person you've known, but now  he had his moments where you would be randomly pulled onto his lap or close to his body just to hold you or if he was in he mood, you know what that is.

Going back to his game, you smiled as his eyes strained with concentration on the screen. His hair had gotten longer, the hair no longer the blonde shade you used to tease him as a tabby cat. Despite Kenma keeping up with his games, he never left his priorities and responsibilities down. It was true that you were happy to see him enjoy some time for himself like today. You didn't want to see him hunched on his desk without a proper meal or care for himself like what he told you about his friend, Akaashi. The man really needed to get off his laptop.

Moments like these were rare. When was the last time you touched him? More so, why were you suddenly thinking like this? Would you admit out loud that the way he was seated with his legs spread out with those tight pants made you subconsciously bite your lip? Of course not.

It had been bothering you ever since you saw him dress like this since morning. His pants literally portray his um— friend. Over the years he has grown some weight. His thighs were no longer the skinny ones you feared would break if you sat on him. It was decent enough to look like they were toned after the years of maintaining his volleyball career.

Cursed yet blessed pants of his to showcase you a teasing sight of his bulge.

Today was the last day of his work, he had two days off since his final offer was settled to his clients. Kuroo would have to deal with them after letting Kenma do his part. You have him for the entire hour as to the following days, it wouldn't hurt to try to get him to relax, right?

Eyes in sheer focus to the graphic displayed on his little screen of the device he was holding, his attention was away from your sneaky movements. All papers according to your genre and his were stacked aside where it wouldn't be moved or get kicked if ever, and your laptop now closed, placed next to them on the floor. Kenma didn't even notice the fact that you were now closer to his legs than before, but still carried on his game. 

Biting your lips in anticipation, your hands twitched on your lap, wanting to grab each side of his thigh and spread him wide and watch the thing on his middle pulsate in crave of your touch.  Letting out a small cough to escape away the lewd images in your mind, from the corner of your eye Kenma seemed to raise a brow a bit at the sound since it almost seemed like you were hiding a moan. You just waved it off with a smile, holding your phone up pretending to be scrolling through your timeline filled with erotic anime photos, to which he has now accepted and grew used to.

Kenma sighs a little when it sounded like his character died once more and straightens his back a bit on the couch; it meant he was starting to get serious. But when he does so, his legs automatically widened a bit more for comfort, and enough for you to fit in between them. It wasn't as embarrassing as it was for you before to initiate a heated moment with him, both of you were switches. Either he tops one time or you do, depending on the mood. And you bet as hell Kenma loved it when you take the lead at times.

So when you settled yourself in between his lap, he thought you were just going to grab the remote beside him when you turned around. A groan was heard in your living room emitting from him, he didn't bother to take his eyes off of his screen when he felt your small, warm palms rubbing his inner thigh with your fingers pressing in for a massage.

Giggling, you gave each clothed skin a lingering kiss. His legs giving out as if they were jelly to your touch, letting you push them apart even with a little bit of force. You let out a small, audible gasp at his member, violently twitching inside his pants with small movements, restrained inside the tightness.

Experimenting a bit more, you raised your index finger up to point up to his bulge and traced in circular motions to a spot it seemed like the tip was located. Kenma inhaled shakily, veiny hands gripping on the controllers of his game at the tingling feeling of your finger. It was a weird fascination of yours recently, it wasn't the first time you've seen his cock. It just so happens that you saw this one sex scene at a particular movie wherein the male was getting edged on just by touching his bulge. Each little movement of the sensitive skin down there seemed to give out so many effect, and you wanted to see that happen to Kenma rather than being fucked so soon.

Today was about him anyways.

Your eyes never left the center of his pants as your finger continued to stroke up and down. The little twitches making you lick your lips and your thighs clench at the feeling of it inside you many times. When his member was getting harder by the second passes, you let out a soft, wanton moan. The precum from his cock leaking from the fabric as your finger smeared around the tip messily.

Kenma was already panting heavily but silently, thanks to his long hair, you couldn't see his feline eyes already with dilated pupils and his attention all on you. Just like him, you resembled to a cat. Such a sneaky animal, yet so adorably needy. His breath felt like it was being sucked out of him when you placed a kiss on the wet spot of his pants and replaced your finger with your entire palm to rub and stroke him through the article of clothing.

"Kitten.."

He wasn't very vocal even at the utmost of arousal, but he maintained the little pet name he has for you. A calling sign from him wanting more and silently pleading. Your heart was thumping loud at the call of your name. It meant you were doing something right. It meant he was getting into it and soon fall to his edge.

Using all of your fingers, you did a small, pinching like motion with all of your fingers. It was suppose to tickle, but Kenma only groaned loudly and threw his head back. His game counsel placed aside with the sound of his character dying once more with the volume of his moans increasing.

His hips slightly jolting up every time you'd change your movements on his clothed tip. With little strength, he grabs a hold of your wrist and firmly placed your hand on his bulge. You could've sworn there was a small whine that escaped his lips followed by a small, "Please." as he ruts himself on your hand. Sinful and unforgiving. Addictive with the control you had on him, yet craving for your own relief down to your aching cunt.

"Not yet."

He swore he was going to wipe that proud smirk of yours off of your face as you gave him a squeeze. Caught by surprise he practically yells out one moan and pants with your continuous squeezing. The trousers he wore were almost getting soaked by his own arousal staining them along with his boxers. Judging by the amount of wetness flowing, he was getting close. And who knew he would get off easily just by this?

Quickly unzipping his zipper, you finally pulled down his black trousers, but left his boxers on to see the mess you've made on his. He couldn't even bear to look you in the eyes, he felt like if he did, he would cum on the spot. But he dared to, only to see you look at him with so much want and need as you placed a kiss on the wet tip spot and taking it in your mouth.

"Fuck—"

A hand went flying to your head to push it back, a mark appeared on his forehead in irritation when you only giggled and pulled away. Cursing and whining, you proceeded to repeat your actions earlier. His length felt thick around your hand when you stroked him. Long along with the delicious feeling of the veins surrounding it, you had to refrain yourself from faltering and touching yourself.

His balls were neglected, so with your other hand, you started giving it the wanted attention and massage it needed from aching a while ago. Kenma's usual calm and composed features now scrunched up and sweating. As if he was concentrating on the feeling of cumming immediately because his head was beginning to spin from sexual frustration.

"Please, kitten. Hah— I'm close."

Grinning, you used your thumb to rub once again on his tip. Kenma's eyes screwed shut with hips meeting with your touch. Thighs quivering at the rush of adrenaline and upcoming burst of ecstasy coming.

But you pulled away.

His whine came out like a cat in heat. His tip only letting out small spurts of cum because of the stimulation coming to an end. Instead, pulsates painfully and twitches in demand of being freed from his soaking boxers.

As we all know, Kenma wasn't one to get into things easily. Everything was either a drag or a pain in the neck for him. His angry eyes told a different story as they burned holes into yours, gulping in both fear and anticipation as exhales out a hot breath. His head still spinning, but nothing could match his now angry cock and desire to make you get a taste of your own medicine as he tugs on your hair.

Knowing they meant one thing in command;

Strip.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Practice Makes Perfect.

Word Count: 3.2k.

Commissioned by the lovely @furudolove.

Pairing: Yandere!OC/Reader.

TW: Death, Light Gore, Blood, Graphic Injury, Mentions of Kidnapping, Implied Stalking, Slight Sociopathy/Apathy, Implied Anxiety, Obsessive mindsets.

Her smile was familiar.

Or, familiar might’ve been the wrong word for it. Cozy in the way a hotel room was, stiff and sterile, but repetitive and recognizable, too. Reassuring like a disinterested family, soothing like the buzz of a broken streetlamp, relaxing like being so utterly, completely, absolutely lost, there was nothing you could do to possibly make things worse than they already are. It wasn’t off-putting, but it wasn’t welcoming, either. She didn’t feel intimidating, and yet, you still wanted to keep your distance, like a mouse might from a docile housecat. To stay bundled up in your little corner off the coffee shop, your coat pulled over your chest and…

And then she glanced up, and something in your brain short-circuited.

You really should’ve stopped staring earlier.

Instantly, your eyes shot back to the wooden tabletop in front of you, to the mug you’d almost forgotten, steam still rising off the top. She was a barista, after all, she was working, and the last thing she needed was some creep staring her down for the better half of the last thirty minutes, if only because of that uncanny, unidentifiable resemblance to something you couldn’t name. You weren’t a regular, but she felt new, still awkward with the machines and robotic with costumers, but you couldn’t say you were any better. You’d hardly said a word to her, aside from your order, and you didn’t plan to, not if you could help it. You’d never been good at that kind of thing, and you had a feeling your luck wouldn’t improve with someone so…

Someone like her.

Not that you’d been all that lucky with much of anything, lately. Hell, you were only here because you’d missed your train, and the next wouldn’t arrive for another hour, at least. There were more pressing things you could focus on, like the early shift you had tomorrow, how late you were going to get home, the busted lock on the door of your apartment, but it was easier to hate the rigid schedule that hadn’t bent to your will, the sidewalk that’d been just a little too crowded let you squeeze your way through peacefully, the light snowfall that meant you couldn’t wait at the station, regardless of how badly you wanted to bunker down on an uncomfortable, freezing bench and stubbornly glare at the tracks until you found a way to turn-back time and avoid such a trivial problem entirely. It was easier to focus on the barista, how her black hair fell in front of her face as she worked, how your fingers twitched, moving reflexively to push it back. It was an invasive kind of intimacy, the type that was as unearned as it was unwanted. Irrational and irritating, despite your attempts to brush it off.

Downing the rest of your drink, you forced yourself to stand. The station would be better, and fresh air would help to clear your mind, to stop you from paying attention to things that didn’t need attention. You tried to start towards the door, but you hardly made it a full step before something caught the back of your collar, tugging you back into place. There was a brief pause, a second that stretched out just a little too long, but hesitantly, you managed to turn around, only to be met by the smiling face you’d been simultaneously inspecting and avoiding. Only to be met by her, the barista, the girl you’d been all-but leering at, since you walked in.

Reflexively, you moved to apologize, but she was already talking, already forcing another paper cup into your unoccupied hand. “On the house,” She explained, in place of a proper greeting. You didn’t mind. You couldn’t really say you expected one, not from her. “It’s cold out there, and you’re starting to look like you could use it.”

There was a playful lull to her voice, a hint of something that balanced on the line between an insult and a genuine show of sympathy. You could only bow your head, your eyes suddenly glued to the floor. “I could, honestly,” You managed, the words coming out meeker than you would’ve liked. If she noticed, it didn’t seem to dampen her mood, her grin only growing broader as you went on. “Thank you…”

“Anya,” She finished, her smile never faltering.

“Call me Anya.”

~

You recognized her eyes, too.

Dark, just teetering on the shade where brown begins to blend with back. You might’ve said she looked distracted, but that wouldn’t be right – if anything, she seemed a little too concentrated. You were better about your staring, this time, but it would’ve been impossible not to look over you shoulder occasionally, not to throw a glance in her direction as you ducked behind a rack of magazines. It was a pathetic effort, really, an unnecessary one. It was a corner store, not her bedroom. You were shopping, not setting up hidden cameras. You’d gotten here before her, and you would’ve left if she hadn’t come in, if you could just put a strange resemblance aside and manage to act like a normal, functional human being. That’s what you should do, really. It’s what anyone else would do, whether or not there was the smallest, tiniest, most insignificant chance she’d see you and think, quietly and to herself, that you were a creep.

But, you weren’t someone else. And you really, really didn’t want her to think you were a creep.

So, hiding behind the magazine rack it was.

Currently, you were staring down a display cooler, trying to blend in with the background or melt into the fluorescent lights. You wanted to make yourself less noticeable, to shrink into your jacket and disappear, but that wasn’t an option – you were sure you already would’ve abused the privilege, if you had it. You just had to wait her out. You just had to—

“Another rough day?”

You just had to die. That was it, you just had to die.

At least she didn’t seem uncomfortable, inviting herself into your personal space before you could make the mistake of invading hers, choosing to stand just a little too close, her shoulder nearly touching yours. “Is it that obvious?” You muttered, your voice still low, like you were still trying to hide. A fox, still trying to walk on the leg it’d already chewed off. “I wasn’t really planning on running into anyone, this late.”

You said it like the two of you were friends, like it even made sense that she’d taken time out of her night to talk to you. Instantly, you regretted opening your mouth at all, but Anya only laughed. “I’d offer you another coffee, if I could,” She quipped, nudging you gently, her tone still unbothered, as if she made a hobby of confronting near-strangers. She might’ve, for all you knew. She felt like the kind of person who did. “A little company can’t hurt, though. I’d like to think I’ve gotten good at this kind of thing.” There was a pause, and enviously, you scanned over a dented energy drink. “Lots of training, y’know? People say I have a common face, makes it easier for people to talk to me.”

You allowed yourself a small sigh, a wave of relief washing over you. She must’ve been used to it, the strange stares and that distorted attraction, but you still tried to keep your eyes in front of you, on the sleeve of her silver coat as she reached up, toying with the cooler’s handle. “I don’t really have a lot to say,” You conceded, reluctantly. “It’s just been a tough week. My karma’s been off or something – nothing just seems to go right. Not that anything’s gone that wrong, either.” It was one of the few advantages of living such a small life. If you had the time to worry about whether or not the same girl would recognize you twice, you couldn’t have had much to worry about in the first place. “I’m just… a little stuck, I guess. It’s like I’m treading water, but I still know I’m going to drown, eventually.”

You caught her reflection in the clouded glass, an expression similar to guilt passing across her features and disappearing just a quickly, fading into a small, understanding smile, so unabashedly sympathetic, it almost felt practiced. “Like the universe has a bounty on your head.”

You let out a breath of a chuckle. “I wouldn’t take it that far.”

“Things can always get worse.” It was a declaration, shameless and unabashedly pessimistic, the kind that forced the tension in your shoulders to dissolve and your nerves to settle in the pit of your stomach, if only out of respect for her confidence alone. “But, no one should have to die alone. If you want to walk me home, we could try to stave it off for another twenty minutes together.”

If it were anyone else, any other stranger, you probably wouldn’t have agreed. You hadn’t been making excuses – it was late, closer to sunrise than sunset, and if your luck was going to get any worse, wondering around the city probably wasn’t the best idea. But, there was something about the way she asked, like she already knew you’d say yes, like she already trusted you enough to know you would. You didn’t want to disappoint her. You didn’t want to break whatever golden, idealistic expectations she’d managed to form, in the handful of days since you’d met.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do,” You admitted, letting her hook her arm around yours, pulling you closer to her side as you fought to keep your focus on the ground, willing the heat rushing to your cheeks to cool. “If it’ll keep me alive, I mean.”

There was only a smile in response, bright enough to let you overlook that, despite already moving to drag you to the cashier, she didn’t actually have anything to buy.

“I’ll do my best, this time.”

~

You could’ve sworn you’d seen her apartment before, despite knowing you’d never taken a step past the threshold.

Admittedly, you probably should’ve made more of an effort to change that before springing at the first opportunity to move in. Despite her confidence, Anya liked her privacy, and she always seemed to prefer your place over hers, taking every excuse you offered to spend the night or hand out or, on one special occasion, try and fail to surprise you with a romantic dinner. It almost felt unreal, trying to navigate the strange, empty halls, a cardboard box in your arms and your eyes burning, a side-effect of the white walls and the hanging fluorescent lights, complicated metal fixtures she seemed a little too fond of. You’d have to ask her about that, later on. You doubted your vision would last, if the entire apartment was like this.

“Already lost, babe?”

Your heart raced at the sound of Anya’s voice, but not like it used to, not out of pure, nervous tension. This was a nice sensation, a more pleasant sort of unease, leaving your cheeks flushed and your tongue failing as Anya draped herself over your shoulders, her own crate already thrown into whichever black room she decided it belonged in. She’d wanted to help, but with the Spring heat and how much time the two of you had spent cleaning out your last place, neither of you seemed capable of getting much done. “Can you blame me?” You asked, leaning back and melting into her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you lured my back to your empty, bleached out murder den.” There was a pause, a slight hesitation on your part. “Which is not what happened, right?”

“Oh, no, not until I see how unbearable you are to live with, at least.” You huffed, attempting to shrug her off, but Anya only laughed, her arms dropping to your waist and her cheek coming to rest against your back. “I mean, I should be the scared one, if anything. After what happened to your apartment—”

“It was just bad luck,” You interjected, already embarrassed. “This kind of thing happens all the time.”

“An entire building burning down is not ‘bad luck’.” She sounded annoyed, but her faux exasperation was half-hearted, at best, a sentiment only backed up by her breathy sigh, all poorly veiled relief and numbed exhaustion. “It’s just a miracle you weren’t home. When you called me, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d do if…”

She trailed off, but you knew what she meant. You were still in a state of shock, honestly, still stuck in the same distant headspace you’d been in when you first saw the smoke rising into the air and the caution tape surrounding your neighborhood and the crowds, and you couldn’t imagine it was any less gruesome for her. “It’s not all bad,” You offered, reaching back, running your fingers through her hair idly. “If you hadn’t wanted to go on a date that day, I might’ve actually been—”

You didn’t get a chance to finish. Above you, something creaked, the sound of metal scraping against metal as a fuse fizzled and popped, an electrical static that fell silent just a moment too soon. You barely got a chance to consider moving before you were thrown on the ground, Anya on top of you and a mangled pile of glass and wires scattered across the floor behind her, the invasive light of the hall suddenly dulled into something grey, something absent. It took you a moment to process it all – the cracked floor tiles, the ache forming in the spot where your chest hit the ground, but Anya was quick to recover, a stifled laugh slipping past her lips before she could swallow it back. You might’ve been tempted to do the same, if your tongue hadn’t suddenly felt so heavy.

You might’ve been able to take it as lightly as she did, if the sound hadn’t been so familiar in such an awful, terrifying way.

It was difficult to speak, but you managed, the words coming out faltered and breathless. “I can’t… A-Are you alright?”

“You’re alright,” She mumbled, more to herself than for you.

“I’m fine, as long as you’re alright.”

~

Somehow, you felt like you’d heard her voice before.

Her smile was familiar, as were her eyes and the unnerving emptiness of her apartment, but you felt like you’d heard her voice before, like you’d listened to her, like you’d lied with your head in her lap and you’d heard her, not just something similar, not just an imitation you could convince yourself wasn’t the real thing. It was personal. It was real. It was Anya, even if you knew it couldn’t be. Even if you knew it wasn’t supposed to be.

Even if it had to be, and you were beginning to realize it could never have been anything else.

Anya was trying to be gentle, today. You couldn’t blame her, you’d be gentle if you found her like this, at the bottom of a staircase in a pool of her own blood, bones shattered and ribs cracked and body so twisted, you weren’t sure how she’d even recognized you. Still, there was an exhausted lilt in her voice as she crouched by your side – or, what she must’ve thought was your side, at least. “I knew this would happen.” There was a pause, a spark of agony that flittered across your scalp as she reached down, combing her fingers through your hair lazily. “Took a week longer than last time. Getting you back to my apartment is usually a turning point, but… different rules for different run-throughs, I guess.

“This isn’t the worst thing I’ve seen,” She went on, not bothering to wait for a response she knew wouldn’t come. “Car accidents are usually bloodier. You’ve gotten gutted a couple times, usually a day or two after we’re supposed to meet, and when you get caught in that fire…” She trailed off, and you tried to take a deep breath, something in your lungs ripping and spilling out, as a result. “I had to pull you out of a train crash, once. A fucking train crash. You hated trains, a few cycles ago.”

Anya let out a huff, something between a sigh and a groan, but if she had more to say, she didn’t bother offering more than a parting kiss to your bruised forehead, forcing out a whimper so cracked and so pitiful, you could hardly bring yourself to acknowledge as human. “I’ll see you next time, sweetheart.”

A blocked heel pressed against the crack in the back of your skull, and Anya’s weight shifted with a small, practiced grace.

It hurt, for a moment.

But then, it didn’t.

~

You looked a little different at the start of every cycle.

Anya didn’t mind. You were still you – beautiful, lovable, endearing you, regardless of the color of your jacket or what drink you chose, the day the two of you were predestined to meet. It didn’t matter if you were a little more jittery than you were last time, a little less willing to meet her eyes as she took your order, she could look past that. Whatever gap existed between the two, she could bridge it. Whatever hesitancy dozens of bloody, gory deaths might’ve instilled in you, she could help you overcome it, she could choke it out of you until only admiration was left, the same love she felt for you.

Of course, her goal was your survival, to protect you and get close to you and make sure you shake off whatever awful curse you seem to be under, but Anya found that a relationship was the best way to do that. She’d tried keeping her distance, manipulating individual factors rather than keeping you out of harm’s way directly, but that’d been about as effective as the time she’d locked you in her bedroom and attempted to take a more forceful approach to keeping you safe. She needed to keep a firm hand, not a strangle-hold. She needed to be outgoing, not intrusive.

Part of her was a little worried, albeit not nearly worried enough. She’d been the shy one, the first time the two of you met, stuttering and plain and completely unimportant, and you’d been confident, care-free, a far-cry from the paranoid, anxious shell you’d taken to hiding in, lately. She still loved you, obviously, she doubted she could ever stop loving you, but you were different. She was different, too. Both of you were.

But, Anya couldn’t seem to bring herself to care.

She smiled as she finished writing, reading over the number written onto your cheap, disposable paper cup, her name underneath it, punctuated by a row of hearts, for good measure. You wouldn’t call, she already knew, but Anya wasn’t feeling as patient as she usually was, she didn’t want to wait as long to skip to the fun part of her little routine. It was the least she could do to experiment. If she got lucky, you’d be desperate enough to ask for her help, after a little prodding. And, if she wasn’t, it’d be fine. She was sure of that. It’d always be fine.

She knew what to do if she made a bad impression, if she said the wrong thing, if she decided she couldn’t trust you with your own safety, anymore. You’d already abandoned her over and over again, died and left Anya to smooth over the damage…

She was sure you wouldn’t mind if she chose to be a little selfish, this time around.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Servant and The Prince | Four

Mama Mia, here we go again lovelies!

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki, chapter four

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: anger, mentions of abuse (not graphic), mentions of death (not graphic)

Tags: angst, fluff

Word count: 6.2k (oh god)

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Master List

Y/n’s heart thunders as she gazes up at the glittering golden gates of the castle. If she was not so bogged down with bags she would throw a hand over her brow— a futile attempt to keep her eyes from burning out of their sockets. Do they really have to be this glittery? She thinks they are marvellous, that is not the problem. The problem is that she is not marvelous. Not in the slightest. Not worthy of such magnificent, splendid, rich architecture. She glances down at her simple dress— the loose green threads hanging from the side of the garment— she had meant to fix those— is this really where she must stay? Surely there must be a stable somewhere. A barn for animals like her.

“Come on you churl—” Estrid hisses, her demon-esq nails digging into her arm where her step mother’s hand curls over sleeve— “you are making us look bad. At least pretend to have some couth.”

Estrid drags her forward for a moment, ushering her— all but kicking her— through the blinding gates before losing interest and rushing to meet Anna. Y/n bites her tongue. There are many things she could say. It is almost strange just how many retorts rush to her tongue. They race through her skull, infecting her mind like a sort of mould. Unlike with the bread back home she cannot seem to pick away at it— she cannot make the bad spots go away.

Perhaps if they had not left her to carry all of their things then she would not be taking so long. Do they really believe the princes will spare their diamonds a glance anyway? They are sure to be able to smell the fakes from miles away!

Y/n blinks a few times at the roar of fire that swells in her chest, encasing her very lungs in flames, almost stumbling over the marble stairs beneath her. It feels as though if she does not scream right now— if she does not say everything on her mind, unleash this pent up resentment— then she will surely cook from the inside out. It bubbles, simmers, does the thing pots do when they begin to sizzle— like they are screaming but she is not screaming; she only wishes she was. But she has never wanted to scream and she has been through so much worse. What is one little name, one hand yanking her arm? It is nothing but still she is ready to let the flames engulf her and burn the entire city.

It is terrifying— this kind of all consuming rage.

Estrid turns back towards Y/n, who is still stumbling over the steps, always the faithful servant, and her step mother scoffs. Estrid mutters something under her breath that she cannot hear. An insult, no doubt. It does not reach her ears. There is no way she would have been able to hear it anyway, not over the sound of the flames disintegrating her bones and blood and flesh from the inside out. It makes her want to scream louder— harder, make the castle walls crumble the same way she feels like she is— loud enough to hear over the roar.

Can you not hear it? Do you not care? She can taste the words as they beg for mercy on her tongue, wanting nothing more than to die on the cobblestone before her, spat out in a string of venom like they are meant to be. Can they not see that she is burning to the ground?

She barely swallows the words— she can hear them crying as they pass her throat and she almost changes her mind. She almost sets them free. It is all she can do to bend her neck at her step mother, wonder if the flames are visible in her eyes, and try not to cough up smoke right here on the castle steps. That would be very unladylike— a dishonor on her family. Oh— wait— no it would not be. Her family is dead. She can vomit as much smoke and flames as her little, burning heart desires. She has no one left to bring shame to. Gods, she is so terrified.

Why she is terrified, she does not know. She has never been scared before— not like this.

She was scared of the dark for the longest time. She used to see shadows on her walls and under the waves in the wash basin and against the trees when her mother would make her fetch the cat before bed. She used to think that was true fear— the night. The shadows. The wash basin. But then the morning sun would come and fight the shadows— then her mother would empty the basin— and before long there was nothing left to be afraid of.

But then there was no mother to empty the wash basin and suddenly she was afraid of death and the dark. Surely death must be the greatest fear one can have. Right? The all consuming nothingness, the longest sleep, the unknown. What could be scarier than the unknown? Than losing the people she loves the most and being left to wonder where they are and what they are doing— if they can even do anything— and are they okay? Please, someone just tell her, are they okay? She is not okay.

Darkness and death— death and darkness. At least those were always the scariest things and at least she had overcome them— both of them. There is nothing scarier than those two things. Except, apparently, herself. That is all there is left to be afraid of. Not Estrid or Anna, not pain. Not him. Those are all things she has survived. Overcome. Enjoyed. There is only herself to be afraid now, and the overwhelming, unbearable anger unfurling in her chest and arms and neck and skull. She is terrified of herself.

She is terrified of the anger.

“This way ladies— your chambers are this way!”

Y/n blinks— certain her eyelashes are singed and the blur in her vision is from the smoke in her eyes— and finds that she is no longer on the marble steps but in a long hallway. Pillars rise to her left, showcasing an expansive forest and a smudge of blue that must be the ocean. It feels so close— she can see the waves cresting with white foam so it must be. She can smell the salt, like it is right next to her. She can almost feel the surf lapping at her toes, cooling some of the burning tingle. She would do anything for it to rush up her legs. Soak her dress. Make her skin sticky. She would take the stickiness over the relentless flames. There is no time, though, to take her moment of peace. No time for stickiness. There never is.

“Are you deaf?” Estrid’s hand presses down on her spine, right where the bruises are from the last time the two came in contact. “Move! I will not take kindly to getting the worst chamber because of your dawdling.”

Are the bruises purple? She wonders. Perhaps they are red and black— like molten lava, shifting under her skin. She does not voice her musings aloud, of course. She swallows those thoughts alongside the rest of them. She can feel the precise way they fall on top of their partners, each wasted syllable mushing into the last. They fill her aching belly all the way, pressing on the hollow dip of her throat. If her thoughts were food she would never be hungry again.

Of course, she does not say any of that. Instead she bows her head, eating the flames as they rise. She is so full already though. “I am very sorry, Milady.”

Estrid scoffs. “You should be. Henry should have drowned you at birth had he known you would be so slow.”

At the sound of her father’s name her head snaps up. Estrid is already walking away again, hurrying to meet her impatient daughter. Anna taps her heel against the marble. Click, click, click. Each tap makes her head pound harder. Soon she cannot hear the clicks anymore. Her father would never do anything of the sort— her father was kind! They are not looking at her anymore. They cannot see the smoke billowing from her ears. They cannot see the blackness she feels flashing across her vision. They cannot see the hate. Just like she cannot see the bruises. Are they purple? Are they scarlet? What would her father think of them? She cannot see the bruises but she can feel them. Hot and itchy and painful. Can they feel the hatred? Are they just ignoring it like she is ignoring the volcanic bruises?

Probably. And they are not the only ones. Y/n weaves through the crowded hallway, dodging women of all shapes and colors— quite literally, she narrowly passes a woman with purple tinted skin— all of whom spare her not even a glance. It makes her feel invisible. It makes feel like she can finally breathe. It makes her angry. She is breathing the smoke again. Every face that passes her that does not look at her makes her charcoal lungs ignite even more. Her only solace is the all too familiar feeling of being split in two. The anger is not wholly her own— it is his as well. She can feel him in her chest, that aching part of her anger where he demands to be seen.

Is he mad at her?

She stops dead in her tracks. Just like that, her own anger is gone, replaced with something ice cold and unbearable. It starts in her hands. Her wrists begin aching— freezing— as the ice flows up through her veins. She thought the fire was bad. She takes it all back in this moment— she wants the flames again. The ice is in her chest now. She can feel it creeping closer to her heart. She wants the anger back. Her anger. Why would he be angry with her?

Does he hate her? She can no longer feel her heart beating— the ice has done its job. It is after her throat now, climbing higher and higher. What would it feel like to throw up shards of Ice? Nevermind, she does not want to know. She had wanted to scream before. She had wanted to burn the kingdom down with her voice and words and screams. Now she cannot even whimper. Her tongue is frozen. Her knees hit the floor— she does not feel it. Maybe it does not even happen, maybe her eyes are just frozen now and playing tricks on her. They make her feel as though she is falling— pull the ground from under her and send her vision spinning— but perhaps she is still standing. Still following. Still invisible.

Why would he hate her?

She watches as feet pass by her, heels and boots of all colors all slowing when they cross her path. Well, maybe they are slowing. Maybe that is just her mind continuing to play tricks on her though. She would not be able to tell the difference right now— if there is one, that is. She cannot look past the soles of the shoes, cannot meet the eyes of those passing her. She is stuck— her neck which was so hot only moments ago now stiff. To think that a simple thought could send her reeling in such a grand way as to literally floor her. It is almost impressive, actually. If she could feel anything other than the crushing, ice cold weight on her shoulders then perhaps she would laugh.

To think that a nameless, faceless man could make her feel such torrential and devastating emotions. Anger and sadness. Longing and desperation. It is unreal the things he makes her feel. Otherworldly things. Impossible, tragic, wonderful things. There is no way that any of it is real. She must be losing her mind. She wishes she was losing her mind. Her chest zaps where the emerald ring hits her sternum, tied to a thin strap of leather around her neck, the ice melting for a fraction of a second. It taps against her skin as her hands meet the marble floor, a gentle reminder that this— he— is real. Gods. A measure of the anger sparks back up and this time she knows that it is entirely her own.

When she was a little girl she used to watch the dust devils in her neighbours corn field. Her father would watch with her sometimes. One of those times he explained what was happening. He told her that wind only spirals like that when the cold air meets the hot air. When that happens— and the temperatures collide— they begin to fight. Imagine them like two rivals, her father had said. The cold air grabs the hot air’s hair. In turn the hot air kicks out at the cold air’s knees. They keep doing that— kicking and shoving and biting and pulling— until finally their limbs are but a blur. That is all a dust devil is, my girl— two rivals fighting. She had not thought to ask him what happens when the cold air and the hot air are not rivals— she had not thought to ask what would happen if the hot air and the cold air were actually lovers. Would the same thing happen? Those little dust devils? Would it be better?

Would it be worse?

Much like most things in her life, she does not know the answer to that. All she knows is that she can feel the air— be them rivals or lovers— punching and kicking, kissing and touching, in her chest and it hurts. All she knows is that if he is real then he better come and get her right now before her body caves to the icy fire tornado that is swirling in her lungs. She is going to implode.

“My dear—” a warm hand lands on her shoulder and it is like magic the way her thoughts are silenced, leaving behind nothing but a harsh ringing in her ears— “are you alright? That was quite the spill you just took.”

Whoever is speaking to her has a voice that is like honey and silk. It wraps around her, soothing every ache in her weary body. The hand rubs a circle into her shoulder, not letting her go, and she begins to thaw, the ice around her eyes and throat and heart melting away in seconds. Not back to the anger— no, that is long gone, a mere thought in the back of her mind— but instead to a new feeling. She is neither ice nor fire— she is springtime. She is warm and calm, her fingers flexing against the marble like small creatures emerging from hibernation. She curls them a few times, relishing in the blood as it returns to her hands and the way it does not feel as though it is burning her. It is not fire, it is just blood.

“Do you think you can get up?” The soft voice is right next to her ear now and she closes her eyes for a moment. It sounds so familiar— so gentle. She never thought she would hear that voice again. “I think maybe we should go to the healers— just in case, my dear.”

She can smell it now— the yeast. The berries. She takes a deep breath in and she can taste the strawberry jam on her lips like she is eight years old again. Her father used to always sneak her an extra pastry after dinner. They would split it on the back porch, their fingers sticky and their laughter twisting into the twilight. Her mother must have known— she was meticulous. She was so aware of the things around her at all times. She was beautiful and kind and made the best jam in the entire realm.

“Mother?” The word slips off her tongue instinctively. Naturally. She cannot stop it because, for a moment, it is as though she is right next to the woman she misses most. It is as though everything is okay again.

Y/n lifts her head— she finally can, her neck is no longer stiff with ice— her eyes landing on a woman with flowing golden hair that twists and curls against her chest. It is not her mother. Her chest squeezes. She knows that it should not— it was never going to be her mother and she knows that— but she cannot help but feel deflated. If there was ever a time for a miracle it would be right now. Preferably a miracle that makes the best strawberry pastries and gives hugs that feel like taking a warm bath. She shakes her head lightly, clearing the thought and the mist that has begun to gather in her eyes. It is not the time for sentimentality.

The woman— the woman who is not her mother— has soft blue eyes— iridescent almost— that bore into her own. There is a ring around her pupils where the blue turns to a darker coal. For a moment it looks like the ring is pulsing. The longer Y/n looks into her eyes the deeper she falls into them. It does not feel as much like drowning as one would think. It is a softer kind of falling— it is as though the woman can see every inch of her soul with a simple look. Her aroma strengthens, changing slightly. The yeast is no longer present— that was only ever her imagination— and now there is a strong, flowery scent. It is strangely intoxicating.

She has to blink a few times, turning away for a taste of fresh air, her gaze falling to the woman’s flowing silk gown. It is a delicate ivory number with beautiful embroidery all over the bust. Little flowers. Perhaps that is where the scent is coming from, wafting off the garden around her collarbone. She really is springtime.

The woman laughs and the flowers sway, moved by a breeze of breath and glee. “Oh my darling, I think you just confirmed my thoughts. Let's get you up, alright? See if we can find someone to take a look at you. Your head must be pounding.”

She is like an oasis in the desert. Y/n has never been to the desert but still— this is what she imagines it would feel like. Gentle and easy, like a cool breeze or a patch of shade. It would feel like the soothing touch of this woman’s hands as she pulls her body from its heap on the ground, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her from toppling right over again. Her legs feel unstable and her knees are shaking but everything is okay. But oasis’ are just figments of the imagination— or at least this one is. They are doomed to fizzle away eventually, taking with them the joyful shade and leaving behind the scorching heat.

As the golden woman begins to turn with her, no doubt pulling her in the direction of the supposed healers, there is an ear piercing screech.

“There you are! You were supposed to be following us you dense child.” Estrid is in front of Y/n in seconds, her narrowed eyes locked on her and the familiar, gut wrenching sneer on her scarlet lips. “It is like you never listen on purpose— you just mill about in your own little world. Always about Y/n, never about anyone else.”

The fire from before— the scorching heat— begins bubbling in the pit of her stomach. It splashes like tar, slowly coating her insides in that all consuming hate. She bites her tongue, clenching her jaw. She can still feel the woman’s hand on her shoulder. There is still a piece of the oasis and she clings to it. But even that is being consumed— the touch melting into the lightning in her veins. She is definitely going to explode.

Her step mother takes a step towards her but halts, her eyes darting to the floor where they stay for a long moment. When her neck snaps back up she is positively fuming. “You dropped our things! Why you ungrateful little brat, I—”

In less than the blink of an eye she is no longer looking at her step mother but rather at the back of a blonde head, her hand laced with a hand so soft she would think it an evening glove.

“This young woman has tripped.” The blonde woman’s voice is calm still but holds no more of that gentle tread. Her hand squeezes softly, a contrast to her firm tone. “I will be escorting her to the healers to see what has happened.”

Estrid blinks, her eyes darting away from Y/n and up to the new woman. When she does her entire face goes pale, as though she has seen a ghost. How odd.

“Your Majesty.” Estrid bows her head, her knees bending slightly in a curtsy.

Your Majesty? Y/n’s eyes drift back to the gown— the marvelous ivory silk. It is as though all the little details begin appearing in that moment. The high thread count, the intricate stitching at the waist and bodice, the gemstone bracelet on her dainty wrist. That bracelet alone must be worth more than her entire life. Sapphires and rubies and emeralds. She wears it as though she has no idea how much it is worth— as though she has no idea it is even there at all. She wears it as though she is royalty and she has many more of them in her room.

Oh no— no, no, no.

The blonde woman turns back to her, her crystal eyes softening marginally from what she can only imagine was an icy stare moments ago. “Come on, dear. I will take you to my healer.”

Y/n shakes her head, her eyes wide. Her spine aches as she does. Her mouth feels like it is filled with cotton. She cannot speak but she has to. She has to refuse.

“No, no, your Majesty—” She copies Estrid’s greeting, she does not know what else to call her— “I am alright, truly. I do not wish to burden you further. I will—” She pauses, woozy all of a sudden, the salty breeze ten times stronger— “I will be fine.”

The woman’s crystal eyes narrow but not in the sharp way her step mother’s usually do. “My child, I insist. You do not look well.”

Y/n can practically feel Estrid’s stare burrowing into the side of her face. She can feel the bruises on her back— perhaps purple, perhaps yellow. It does not matter. If she does not go now then they will surely be black in an hour. Less. There it is— there is the fear she had been missing. She wobbles slightly on her feet. The salt air mingles with the pine trees. It is intoxicating— it is deadly. She is going to pass out if she does not move. She shakes her head at the woman, hoping there is something in her eyes that conveys the danger she feels.

“I am alright,” even she can hear the pleading tone in her voice. “Please.”

The woman— the Queen— stares at her for a moment. It is only a few seconds, the coal ring around her pupils pulsing gently, but it feels like days. It feels like a lifetime. She purses her rosy lips, taking a deep breath.

A hand— one much more rough and hot— wraps around her other wrist. “Your Majesty—” Estrid’s nasally voice is high pitched, like she is attempting to hide her cruel intentions— “my daughter just needs to sleep I think. I can take over from here.”

Y/n forces a smile to her lips— one that tastes like metal and blood— like betrayal— hoping it is enough to convince the queen. She adds a little nod in there for good measure. It is all about appearances. For a moment she thinks it is actually going to work. The Queen’s shoulders sag gently, her chin dipping down in a partial nod. It is actually working— maybe she will not get punished too harshly. She will pick up the bags and hurry to their room and stay as silent as a mouse and everything will be fine. Right?

Estrid squeezes her wrist harder— enough to make her bones whine in pain— and she can feel the on her face grin falter. It is for only a fraction of a second, the corner of her lips peeling down in a grimace that she cannot suppress, but it is enough. By the time she has painted the fake smile back on her face the Queen is at her side, that silky hand curling around her shoulder, gentle but firm enough to pull her away from her step mother. Y/n does not know if she would rather thank her or cry.

“I am afraid I truly must insist. As a Queen—” She stresses the word, her title. This is no longer a suggestion; it is an order— “it is my duty to ensure that all my guests are properly taken care of. It will not take long; just a quick check up.”

The Queen’s hand ushers her a couple steps down the hallway. Estrid follows, her brows pulled together dramatically. “But your Highness, I—”

The Queen holds up her hand, an elegant and dangerous gesture, her kind face cracking under the weight of her furious eyes. She does not even try to conceal the rage swimming in the crystal pools. She does not have to— she will face no repercussion for her anger.

“But nothing. She is to go with me and that is final.” Her burning crystals glance down to the bags, all of which are still spilling over onto the marble, draping the stone with bits of lace and silk, none of which look nearly as exquisite as the Queen’s gown. “I will send someone to gather your belongings and return them to your chambers. Now, if you will kindly excuse us.”

With that she is spinning, pressing her hand gently against Y/n’s back and leading her back in the direction she had come from. She can feel Estrid’s glare on her neck, burning holes in the back of her head. If stares were able to kill then she would be laying in a heap on the marble again, she just knows it. Soon, though, they turn a corner and she can no longer feel her step mother’s lethal gaze. That does not stop her heart from racing so hard that she wonders if it will jump out of her chest. It does not stop the vomit from pooling in her throat. She should feel relieved—grateful— but all she can think about is the pain. Both the pain she is in now and the pain she will be in later.

“It was okay really,” she mutters. It is a last ditch effort, one that is destined to fail before it is even out of her mouth, but she has to try anyway. “I am okay. I think I just slipped.”

She did not slip— she lost it. She does not know quite what it is but she knows whatever it is has been lost. Her sanity. Her grip on reality. Her damn mind. Any and all of them, now gone.

The queen stops, turning her bright blue eyes on her once more. She sighs, her smile understanding. “I think if you had slipped then you would have gotten back up.”

The Queen’s tone is pitying, her fingers gentle on her hand, and Y/n drops her eyes to the ground. She resents it— all of it. She does not want pity. “I needed a moment is all.”

A hand presses under her chin, bringing her gaze back up. There is no more smile on the Queen’s face— only a firmness in her eyes. She does not look so much like a Queen here; she looks like a mother. Her mother. She can see some of her own mother in the faint lines near her eyes and the cupid's bow above her rose petal lips. She has to bite down to keep the ache from her throat at bay.

“That was not a moment, my dear. I was there. That was quite a few moments. You were ready to let those girls trample you, were you not?”

“I— I just—” she swallows hard, trying to make her words work. It seems like she cannot string a sentence together for the life of her. Like her entire vocabulary has vanished— “I needed a moment, your Majesty. That is all.” All she can do is repeat herself.

The Queen narrows her eyes, her thumb smoothing over her jaw before she finally releases her. “Frigga.”

Y/n’s heart stutters and she has to cover her cough from the way all the air whooshes out of her lungs. “Pardon me, your Majesty?”

“Please, call me Frigga.”

This time her heart does not just stutter; it stops completely. She presses a hand against her chest, taking a tiny step backwards. She cannot breathe again. The smile on the Queen’s— Frigga’s— face is too kind. Too gentle. Too much. This is not a trick, she is not trying to get her in trouble. She is not telling her to shut up or to hurry up or to grow up. She is just being kind. No one is kind to her. Not even when they want something from her. What could the Que— Frigga, Y/n, her name is Frigga— possibly want from her? What could she give her that would mean anything more than what she already has? She sucks in a breath, sounding quite like a dying animal in the middle of the thankfully empty corridor. It is too much— it is all too much.

“No, I could not. You Maj—”

Frigga grabs her hand again, her warm skin stilling her own, clammy hands. “Calm child. It is alright. You are alright” Her words are slow, her tone a low murmur. It works wonders on her nerves. It is magic. “Frigga. Please, nobody here calls me anything formal. You should hear my sons.” The side of her mouth quirks up, her tone becoming teasing, “mother, where is father? That is all anyone around here says to me. I am not used to such formalities. I would prefer Frigga, my dear.”

Y/n takes another breath, nodding her head.

“Y/n—” she whispers back, not sure what else to do besides introduce herself back— “my name is Y/n.”

Frigga’s smile grows, nodding as well. She makes it feel like this is a normal exchange— like they are just two new friends meeting for the first time. “That is a lovely name.”

The Queen turns after that, pulling her once more to continue walking down the grand hallway. They move in silence, Frigga no doubt trying to give her some room to breathe. It is surprisingly easy to just be there with her. It is serene. She stares out past the pillars as they walk, her eyes dipping back to the faraway shoreline. Now the water is sparkling in the high afternoon sun, the cresting waves catching the light and bouncing it back and forth amongst each other. It is as though each wave that passes winks at her before smoothing against the sand. She cannot tell if they are saying hello or goodbye. Perhaps neither. Perhaps they are just acknowledging that she is there. She bows her chin gently, acknowledging them as well.

She does not know how long they walk for, her attention too focused on the blinking shore, but soon Frigga is pulling open a heavy wooden door— one that has the most intricate carvings on it’s frame that Y/n longs to stare at in depth—and tugging her in behind her. She has no idea what she is expecting— maybe a herb closet and a long table for practicing healing— it is a healer’s closet after all— but whatever it is, what she sees is not it. She is not expecting the most exquisite room in all of existence.

The first thing her eyes fall to is a wonderfully large pool of water sitting in the middle of the room. It must be the size of her entire bedroom, which granted is not that large but in comparison to her own tiny tin basin at home this is pure luxury. The sides of the pool are golden and tiled with colorful gemstones. She cannot even name all them, not recognizing half of the stones. They catch the light pouring in from the expansive balcony, sparkling against each other. There are steps leading up the side, promising entry into the luscious looking water. Altogether it is hypnotizing, calling her name until she is taking a few stuttered steps towards it. As she gets closer she can smell the fragrant oils, much more rich than anything she is used to.

“Oh my.”

“It is quite something, I will admit.” Frigga laughs from behind her, meeting her next to the edge of the tub. She dips her hand into the water, submerging the expensive bracelet in the water without a care. “It was a present from Odin for our first anniversary. I was just as shocked. I did not leave this room for weeks. I even slept here, can you imagine that?”

“I think I would as well, if I were you. It is stunning.” She, too, dips her hand below the water. She almost gasps at how warm it is— at how soft the water is. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Frigga pulls her hand from the water, shaking the droplets lightly from her skin. She turns back to Y/n, her crystal eyes sparkling with joy. “Perhaps later— only if you would like, of course— you could try it.”

Her mouth falls open, her own hand, still swirling through the silky water, pausing. “Oh no, your Maj—” Frigga purses her lips, her eyes crinkling gleefully— “Frigga, I could not.”

The Queen laughs again and she can hear the way her own mother used to giggle. “Of course you can my dear. In fact, you must! But first let us eat.”

Y/n’s brows pull together— what about the healers? Is that not why she is here?

Frigga must notice her confusion because she lifts her hand to her face, the Queen’s fingers now scented like rose petals. “I have found that the best medicine is a full belly, would you not agree?”

Instantly the tears well up in her eyes again. They are not from sadness this time— nor from longing— instead they are from the relief she feels coursing through her body. It is so foreign that she does not recognize it at first. It is neither hot nor cold. There is no pressure on her chest alerting her to it. In fact there is nothing. She feels nothing. It is exhilarating.

She does not notice the first tear fall until Frigga’s thumb catches it. “Thank you.”

The Queen sighs, her smile faltering. It is still there but barely. “Come, child.”

Y/n follows Frigga to the balcony, passing under some gem coloured curtains and into the warm sunlight. She almost freezes in her tracks, the memory of the last time her back was in the sun still fresh on her mind. Her mind falls back to the man, her nose filling with salt and pine which leaks in from the gardens below. She can feel his hands on her back, crawling over her hips. She does not wonder what color her back is this time— be it purple or yellow or molten red— it does not matter anymore. For some reason the thought of him makes it not matter anymore. He makes it better.

Frigga turns on her heel, her eyes lighting up, her hands shooting out to grasp Y/n’s shoulders. It is all she can do not to reel back from the suddenness of the action, wobbling slightly but smiling. She, in turn, reaches for the Queen’s hands, steadying herself on her silken skin.

“I completely forgot my dear, I told my son to meet me here for afternoon tea. You do not mind, do you?”

Y/n’s breath catches in her throat, her memories surging again. She can taste him on her lips for a brief moment. A short, silly moment. She pushes him down, shaking her head lightly to clear her thoughts. That would be impossible.

“No, of course not this is your home.”

Frigga squeezes her shoulders. “Wonderful!”

As the blonde woman releases her, moving to sit in one of the golden chairs on the balcony, there is a voice that sounds from the door. It is deep, impossibly so, and sends shivers racing down her spine.

“Mother, are you in here?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Tag list: @crystal-siren

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Pancakes

A/N: Here is my entry to @pit-and-the-pen ‘s writing challenge! Thank you for letting me take part and congratulations again on 100 followers!! Though I’m sure you’ve got more than 100 followers now! I apologise for it taking so long! I do enjoy writing Remus. This does get a little steamy, so please read the warnings before reading the fic. It is just a load of fluff though, too. I’ve set this through the first wizarding war but before James and Lily because I like happiness. 

Summary: “Is... is that my shirt?” Remus questions from the doorway.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: it gets a little steamy, but nothing graphic - making out and all that jazz. mentions of food.

Word count: 1.2k

Something tickling your face wakes you from your dreams. Rubbing your eyes, you see that it’s Remus’ hair tickling your nose. His head is on your chest with a leg thrown over yours. You want to laugh; he’s effectively pinning you to the bed. You run a finger down the length of his nose, enjoying the way he scrunches it up in his sleep. He murmurs incoherently before settling back into his dream.

You manoeuvre your way out from underneath the love of your life. You take a moment to watch him sleep; Remus looks so young in sleep – the worries that plague him in his daily life disappear when he sleeps, and he looks his age. Old, silver scars cover his nose, his cheekbones. He’s most insecure about these so you made it your mission when you fell in love with him that if you are to kiss his face, you would kiss him on those scars. He may not like them, but to you, they’re just as much a part of him as his intelligence or his lycanthropy.

Looking around the bedroom, you bite your lip at the mess. Clothes thrown in a hurry, landing on different pieces of furniture – you don’t miss the grey scraps of your t-shirt, remembering how Remus tore it from your torso. You turn to check the time but find the alarm clock smashed to pieces on the floor… where you had kicked it.  

You grab a shirt from the floor, pushing your arms through the sleeves, knowing immediately that it’s Remus’ from the size and smell. The hem of the shirt skims the middle of your thighs as you tiptoe downstairs to the kitchen, ravenous after last night’s activities.

The sun is barely rising as you enter the kitchen. The rays painting the room a pale pink. You watch the early morning sun begin to rise from the window, enjoying the start of the day in peaceful silence. Today, would be a long one, with family arriving for Remus’ birthday.

You sigh, rubbing your arms at the slight chill in the kitchen, suddenly wishing you had found some sweatpants on the floor.

Your mental to-do list is getting longer and longer by the minute, but it’s pushed to the side momentarily as your stomach begins to growl, desperate for some sort of breakfast.

You gather the ingredients for pancakes before turning on the radio; needing background music as you prepare breakfast for both yourself and the sleeping man upstairs. He needed the sleep; the lunar cycle combined with the missions from the Order, he had barely slept all month. He needed the sleep, for if Sirius plans were to happen, he would not be getting any sleep for his birthday.

You had fully intended on letting him relax all night, but then he looked at you in a way that showed his love and affection for you. He had pulled you down onto the bed beside him, pressing kiss after kiss to your lips, to your neck, to your chest and before you knew it, you were lost in each other. The idea of sleep was the furthest thing from your mind when Remus’ mouth landed in the right spot.

“Is… is that my shirt?” Remus questions from the doorway, startling you from your reminiscing of the night previous.

You turn from mixing the pancake batter, smiling at him, eyes running across his bare chest, “You scared me! I didn’t know you were up.”

He smiles, “Your side of the bed was empty. I woke to investigate. Are you wearing my shirt?”

“It’s the first thing I could find in our mess of a room, and I think you may have ripped mine last night, trying to get it off me.”

Remus chuckles, his eyes running up and down your body, taking notice of your bare legs, “I can’t say I’m sorry about that. We really did make a mess, didn’t we?”

You laugh with him, “Did you see the state of the alarm clock?”

He rubs the back of his neck; eyes shining with mirth, “I did, I don’t suppose I did that?”

“Nope, that was all me.” You state, somewhat proudly, “I want to say it happened somewhere between rounds two and three but honestly, who knows?”

“What are you making?”

“Pancakes,” You answer, “I thought we’d have a nice breakfast before Sirius and the gang start to arrive for your birthday.”

“What did I do to deserve pancakes?”

“Well, for starters, I don’t know about you, but after last night, I am starving. And who doesn’t deserve pancakes on their birthday?”

You continue to mix the ingredients as Remus watches you for one moment more from his place in the doorway. At some point before he came downstairs, you had put the radio on low and now you in the lull of your conversation, you were swinging your hips to the sound of Rick Springfield. Remus watches you utterly immersed into the sog; singing along to the lyrics quietly and he wonders just how on earth he got so lucky to have someone like you fall in love with someone like him.

He had gone through his entire education without truly loving someone or feeling like he could be loved himself. Then he met you at the first meeting of the order; a witch talented in Potions and mission strategy. He had fallen from the moment you said hello; he didn’t know until a lot later than you had fallen for him at the exact same time.

You grab the chocolate chips from the cupboard as Remus makes his way into the kitchen, leaning on the counter. You grasp his chin, pressing a light kiss to his lips, whispering, “Happy Birthday,” against them.

He smiles against your mouth before pulling away enough to whisper, “Thank you, my love.”

Remus wraps his arms around your waist as you add chocolate chips to the pancake batter.

He runs his nose along the expanse of your neck, inhaling as he does so. “You smell so good,” He groans.

You laugh, “I don’t see how. We didn’t exactly have time to shower last night.”

“No, we didn’t. I suppose we’ll have time to shower and to eat later.”

Remus spins you in his arms before you can question what he means, crashing his lips to yours in a messy kiss.

His hands travel to the top of your thighs, tapping twice, signalling you to jump. You do, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sets you gently on the kitchen counter. His hands now wander along your body; tracing light patterns on your thighs raising goosebumps in his wake. You moan into his mouth at feel of his hands so close to where you need him.

You pull away, not far but far enough to whisper, “Don’t play, Remus.”

“Oh no?” He smirks, dropping his head to press butterfly kisses to your neck, kissing over the hickeys already bruising there.

You groan as he nips at your skin; your hands settle in his hair, pulling slightly. “Remus,” You murmur.

He hums, continuing his onslaught of kisses. His hands have left your thighs now; they’re opening the buttons to his shirt so slow you’re sure it’s torture, his fingers barely graze your bare skin. His touch close to driving you towards insanity.

“Remus, breakfast.” You remind him.

Remus chuckles; one of his hands moving to a place that has you gasping against him. He grins wickedly, “I’m already having it, dear.”

You let yourself surrender into his touch. Pancakes can wait until later… a lot later.

***************

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @harrypotter289​ @dreamer821​ @kalimagik​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @figlia--della--luna​ @bforbroadway​ @idont-knowrn​ @summer-writes​ @big-galaxy-chaos​

[joel-millerr]

Choices Are Made in an Instant

Chapter Six of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.1k

Summary: You and Mando help Ahsoka in battle. Then, when you get back to the Crest, he starts acting weird. You couldn't have been prepared for what happens next...

Warnings: SMUT, dom/sub mentions, mild choking, (maybe a bit of edging?) aftercare, graphic depictions of violence, a sprinkle of fluff. mando is possessive af during sexy time

---

“What’s the plan, again?” Mando asks you, not because he doesn’t know the plan, but because he wants to make sure you know the plan.

Scowling up at him as you sit on the floor of the Crest, Grogu slowly falling asleep in your lap, you roll your eyes when you see Mando put his hands on his hips like he’s annoyed with you. 

“Seriously?”

His head tilts to the side, and then shifts his weight over to one leg. For someone who doesn’t like to talk about their feelings, he sure does wear his emotions on his sleeve. Mando’s body language is a dead giveaway as to what’s going on under that bucket of his.

“Fine. If it’ll make you happy.” You pick the kid up off the ground and hold him in your arm as you explain to Mando—for the third time, what’s going to happen.

“Ahsoka will storm the main gate and engage the guards. You and I are going to walk around the wall and find a way into the village without getting seen. The Magistrate—”

“Morgan Elsbeth.” Mando chimes in.

“Yeah, whatever.” Using your free hand to wave him off because who cares what her name is? “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted—Ahsoka needs some information from Elsbeth so she’s off limits.”

“Good. You remember.”

“You know—”

“Yes?” He probes.

Lips forming a thin line, and realizing he’s just trying to rile you up you shrug it off and bite your tongue, instead opting to put Grogu down inside Mando’s bunk. The Child looks up at you with his big eyes, babbling incoherently. You wiggle your finger in front of him, causing him to giggle excitedly.

“Are you sure he’ll be safe here, alone?” You ask Mando over your shoulder, continuing to play around the kid.

“There’s no one else out here but us, and I’m going to engage the ground security protocols once we leave.” He explains as he fiddles through his armory, gently placing his pulse rifle back on its hook, and reaching over to his jetpack and strapping it to his back. “Nothing will penetrate the Crest.”

It doesn’t do much to ease your anxiety but since Mando seems comfortable with this, then this must be the safest place for him to be. Air exhales through your slightly parted lips as you turn to the armory and grab a vibroblade from Mando’s stock, strapping it to your right thigh. As time ebbs on, the sound of the blood pounding in your ears becomes louder and louder, and you’re unable to stop the steady thumping of your heart against your ribcage.  This feeling reminds you of spice running. The rush, the excitement, the worry of not knowing what could happen or if part of the plan could go wrong; it’s something you’ve always chased after.

The plan is almost foolproof, so you shouldn’t worry. Of course, the thought of something going wrong is always there in the back of your mind, but how often do you see a Jedi, a Mandalorian, and a smuggler working together? You’re almost certain this is the first time in the galaxy that this has happened, so how could you fail?

As you make your way to the ramp, you feel a rough leather glove grab hold of your wrist, and turns you around gingerly to face the Mandalorian.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, tone low and husky, and it strokes that part inside of you that forces you to rub your thighs together.

No matter how much time you two can spend being around each other, the moment you’re standing only inches apart—you can’t stop your heart rate from picking up. Your mouth dries up like the sand dunes on Tatooine, and the only thing you can focus on is how fucking intoxicating this man is.

“You can stay here with him.”

His hand is still on your wrist, and you look down to where leather meets your skin. His thumb brushes small, gentle circles on your wrist; an otherwise small token of affection, but taking into consideration that Mando is willingly giving you such a gesture, it makes you heart do cartwheels.

“And miss all the action?” A smile stretches across your face, arching an eyebrow at him. “No way, Mando.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Then you’ll need all the help you can get.”

He whispers your name softly and drawls out exhale that cuts up through his vocoder, as if your name is his way of begging you to reconsider. The ‘T’ of his visor stays glaring at you, but it’s damn near impossible to sway you from doing something once you’ve set your mind on it, so no matter how he stares, it won’t make much of a difference. He knows this isn’t a battle he’ll win. Your free hand reaches out, fingertips brushing against his elbow, hoping your touch will help calm his apprehensiveness about you coming along.

“Mando, I’ll be fine. I know you like to worry, but I’ve been in plenty of worse situations and I’m still here.”

Making a noise deep in the back of his throat, he gives you a quick nod and lets go of your wrist. A groan threatens to escape through your lips at the sudden lack of touch, but you manage to keep it under control as he breezes passed you, hearing his boots hit the durasteel ground as he descends the side ramp of the Crest. Taking one last deep breath and looking at Mando’s cot where Grogu is resting, you walk over to the panel by the door, and whisper “We’ll be back soon, kid,” before pressing the button to close the door, watching it come down with a hum. You turn on your heel and march down the ship to meet Mando, who waits patiently for you to join him before using his vambrace to shut the ramp.

You tread towards the village in a comfortable silence. Nightfall is especially unnerving here. The air feels dirty, like dust and ash mixed together, trekking through large gusts of wind as it almost knocks you off your feet. The sky is a dark mossy green, glooming over you, almost like there’s an ominous presence watching the night unfold. Three clicks away from the wall is where you meet Ahsoka. She’s wearing a long robe that aides her in hiding within the shadows, the hood pulled over her montrals, cloaking them from being detected. Her lightsabers, not laser swords like you thought they were called, dangle off her waist. You eye them curiously, wondering how it must feel to wield one of them. The thought makes you chuckle. If you really wanted to know what it felt like to hold such a beautiful weapon in your hand, you just had to find someone to train you, and then you’d be privy to it. A problem for another time, though. Right now, you had more important matters to worry about.

Just as you reach the woodland edge, Ahsoka turns to you and Mando and once again repeats the Magistrate is not to be harmed.

“Save the prisoners,” She reiterates.

Offering her a nod and a smile of reassurance, her hand touches your forearm, squeezing it gently. Mando detaches his right pauldron—the one with his signet engraved and hands it to Ahsoka. It looks like a mudhorn signet. You’re reminded of what Grogu had shown you just a few days ago. Mando battling the ferocious beast, and the Child, watching him on the brink of death, feeling his need to save the Mandalorian.

“We’ll go around the perimeter,” He announces, shooting you a quick look that you acknowledge by dipping your head downwards. “Just make my death believable.”

The corners of Ahsoka’s lips curl upwards. “Don’t worry about that.”

You and Mando break off, choosing to go to her left. Being mindful of where you walk, and making sure not to rise any suspicions by making noise and accidentally stepping on a broken twig, your eyes shift constantly between the ground and the giant wall just a few metres in front of you. Given your experience with sneaking around, you’re basically a master at keeping to the shadows.

Once Mando’s content with the distance you’ve put between yourselves and Ahsoka, he scans the area of lifeforms with his helmet. Beckoning with his hand, he moves forward with you following closely behind him. You crouch over, making yourself seem as small as you head straight for the fortified village.

“We’re going to have to climb it.” He says, realizing the sound of his jetpack would be too loud and alert the guards.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to sneak around,” You jest.

Mando lifts an arm towards the top of the rampart and a grappling line shoots out from his vambrace, flying right over the top of the duracrete wall and latching onto the parapet. Tugging the rope to make sure it’s got enough of a sturdy grip for both of you to scale, he hands you the wire to climb first. Blood pounding in your ears and your heart racing faster than the fathier races on Canto Bight, you take the line from Mando’s hand and pull on it hard enough until your body is leaning backwards.

Your left foot presses against the rampart, making sure to balance yourself properly before your other foot hits the wall, then you begin scaling it. Mounting it quickly, you make it to the top in just under a minute—you can’t help but be impressed with yourself.

Once you climb over the parapet, you crouch down immediately, head whipping to the left then to the right to make sure there aren’t any soldiers in sight. In the distance you hear cries of pain, whooshing, and a loud bang. Ahsoka must have engaged the guards by now.

Taking notice that the coast is clear, you beckon for Mando to join you, and he scales the duracrete wall, beating your time by just a couple of seconds. Show off.

The village is a good… maybe thirty or forty feet drop, and the thought makes you groan. Already you can feel the ache in your legs and knees, but better to get it over with. As you’re about to jump off the wall, Mando’s arm comes flying out across your torso.

“What the hell are you doing?” He whispers through gritted teeth.

Standing there somewhat dumbfounded, your eyebrows pull closely together. “I was going to jump?”

“And break your legs in the process?” He asks rhetorically. Then, without waiting for your answer, he coils the grappling line around his arm that you used to scale the rampart and drops it on the other side of the wall.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

Your eyes dart over to Mando’s eye slit, narrowing them as you watch him climb down just as fast as he came up. When you hear him reach the ground and taking one last look around, you grab onto the line and head down into the village.

The fighting in the distance has stopped, you hope that means Ahsoka’s made it through the barricade of guards. Darting between alleys through the village, you can hear her voice echoing in the distance.

“Your bounty hunters failed.”

Making sure to keep your centre of gravity low as you continue to navigate through the huts, you follow Mando on his heels until you see Ahsoka in your sights. She’s standing just a few metres away from Elsbeth, who has her own platoon of armed soldiers behind her, holding the staff in her hand, alongside the gunslinger Lang.

“Tell me what I want to know.” Ahsoka says, voice calm and stern. “Where is your master?”

Elsbeth stays silent for a few seconds, scowling at Ahsoka, eyes burning into hers, rage all but spilling out of her words. “Kill her.”

Lang takes a step forward, hands gripping his gun fiercely as he says with amusement, “Love to.”

A blast of red shoots out from his gun, narrowly missing her as she jumps onto one of the roofs. Her lightsabers come to life, beams of white whirl around her as she blocks an onslaught of blaster fire. You want to help her, to take down just even one of the guards, and Mando seems to sense your urgency because he grips onto your arm as a warning. You can’t blow your cover, not yet. The guards need to follow Ahsoka and leave the prisoners alone so you and him can free them.

The Magistrate instructs Lang to take her battle droids with her before turning on her heel and stalking back towards her fortress. She orders the remaining two guards by her side to execute the prisoners. Shrieks and cries fill the air as the prisoners start begging for their lives, and then your feet move before your brain takes notice, running straight for the guards before Mando can pull you back into the shadows.

You come up behind the soldiers, just as one aims their gun to one of the men strung up. Your hand flies to your blaster, unholstering it and shooting him right between the shoulder blades. He cries and falls to the ground with a loud thud. The remaining guard pivots towards you, aiming his own rifle at you but is shot down by Mando before he can pull the trigger.

“You were supposed to wait for my signal,” He hisses through the helmet as he appears from behind one of the houses to join you.

“You were taking too damn long.”

“And why the hell is the safety on your blaster not on?”

Narrowing your eyebrows, your mouth opens to answer but you have trouble finding the words. “Uh—is that reallyimportant right now?”

He doesn’t answer, but sighs somewhat angrily. Okay…

In the corner of your vision, you see the elderly man from yesterday emerge from one of the huts. Out of reflex, you catch Mando pointing his blaster at him. The man’s palms fly up in defense and freezes. They exchange a series of glances, ending with Mando placing his blaster back in his holster. They make their way to one of the prisoners, trying to gauge how to free him without hurting him or themselves.

The sounds of gunfire in the background catch your attention. Looking over to Mando and the elderly gentlemen, you really want to go out there and fight.

What if Ahsoka needs backup?

Surely, you should help her, right?

Hands fidgeting at your sides, your body racing on adrenaline and the urge to make these soldiers pay for what they’ve done, you take one last glance over to Mando who instinctively looks back at you. By his body language, you know he understands what you want because he squares his shoulders and takes a tentative step towards you. Shaking his head, slowly but nothing shy of authoritative, basically warning you not to go after her. Giving him a shrug and lips forming a tight line, you whip your body towards the sounds of gun fire and disappear into the shadows.

“Get back here!” Mando’s voice come from the commlink on your wrist as you continue zig zagging through the city, following the sound of gunfire. Ignoring him, you turn the volume down on your commlink until it’s fully muted, as to not draw any attention to yourself. Your body is running entirely on the electricity pumping through your bloodstream right now. Senses heightened to a degree you’ve never experienced before. The wind brushing against your hot cheeks, hearing the thumping of your heart in your ears, you feel everything so much stronger, now. Maybe it’s because you’ve never being in such a gritty battle like this, but it’s so much more intense than any spice run you’ve ever done.

Navigating through the huts and keeping yourself hunched over, you look out for any potential threats, coming up on dead-end after dead-end. You’re running out of time, and need to find Ahsoka now.

A hand touches down on your shoulder, causing you to gasp a little too loudly. Reaching over your chest and gripping the hand tightly, you twist your body around to face them while pulling downwards on their arm, vibroblade flying into your free hand. Relief overcomes you when you see it’s Ahsoka.

“Felt like you were missing out?”

You give her a smile, tucking the blade back into its strap on your thigh, hand clutching your chest as you try to come down from the sudden alarm. “Little bit.”

The moment is short lived when a blast of red gunfire flies by the back of your head, missing you by only inches. Ahsoka wraps her arm around your back, pushing you behind her as her lightsabers come alight once again, using them to dodge and ricochet incoming fire. As she continues to block blasts, a guard emerges from behind you, giving you only a second of time for your blaster to come out of its holster and into your hand, shooting them down with two blasts. Just as his body hits the ground, a second soldier comes right for you from the left. Your free hand shoots up close to your body, palm facing him. Taking a step forward, your arm straightens out and the power of it sends the guard flying backwards, hearing his skull hit the ground with an echoing crack.

You don’t have time to process it, to think about the fact that you’ve just heard that man’s skull split because you propelled him so aggressively into the ground. Turning your body back towards Ahsoka, she continues to fight off blasts, one of them knocking a lightsaber out of her hand and sending it flying through the air, landing just a couple feet behind you. Without even taking a second to think about it, you dash for the lightsaber, gripping it with your hand just as you fall over onto your stomach. A black gloved hand grabs hold of your shoulder, flipping you onto your back. The man crouches down and presses his body into yours, each leg on either side of your body, pinning you to the ground. You wrestle for a few seconds, dodging some punches but ultimately taking a couple hits to your stomach. All of a sudden, a bright white light nearly blinds you—the lightsaber buzzes to life, and then you’re pushing it in your hand through the man’s chest, screaming as it impales him. The sound of flesh sizzling against the lightsaber makes your skin crawl, never before hearing such a foul noise. Maker, even the smell is agonizing. Something you never thought you’d ever experience. You’ve cauterized wounds before, but that was just kissing the skin. This? Fuck, this went through his body, burning his skin, bones, and whatever organs were in the saber’s way. Ego and pride aside, it makes you nauseous. Pushing his limp body off yours and rising to your feet, the smell still lingering in your nostrils, you attempt to shake it out of your mind and wrench your eyes shut for a moment. This isn’t the time to dwell on things.

Feeling the lightsaber in your hand, something in you changes. Everything stills for a moment. All of the insecurities you had about yourself, the feeling of having lost your way, not knowing which path to choose, it all comes together. The answer is around your fingertips, its power clearing your mind of the questions you so desperately wanted the answers to. For the first time in your entire life, you feel at peace, like you finally found your place in the galaxy.

A new power courses through your veins, enabling you to take down enemy after enemy with Ahsoka’s lightsaber. As you battle in between the huts, your eyes meet hers for a brief moment, and it’s almost like she understands how you’re feeling. After cutting down the last guard, your chest is heaving, body shaking as it burns off the adrenaline that was exuding from your body just seconds ago. You head over to where Ahsoka is standing, a pile of bodies surrounding her. Mindful not to step on anyone, you tiptoe around them and hand her her lightsaber.

“And?” She asks, head cocked to the side.

You can’t even find the words. How can you even describe such a feeling? All your anxieties solved in just one moment. Jaw nearly dropping to the floor, you want to say something but the only thing coming from your mouth is a laugh. Ahsoka smiles back, but it quickly disappears, leaving you to look into her eyes, she seems…sad? You want to ask her what’s wrong, but you table it for another time.  

As you both make your way back to the main street of the village, she treks along the rampart of Elsbeth’s fortress. Once you clock the second gate ahead of you, Ahsoka leaps onto to the top of the wall, leaving you to meet Mando on the main road. Keeping to the shadows of the little houses around you, you see him standing just a few feet shy of the wall, hand hovering over the blaster strapped to his thigh. Towards the end of the cobblestone street is Lang, hands on his rifle.

No one speaks for a moment; Lang’s eyes shift between Mando and Ahsoka who stands at the top of the rampart. Your body is still shielded in the shadows, gauging Lang’s body language; waiting for the right moment to show yourself. Finally, Ahsoka turns her body and jumps into the Magistrate’s home, leaving you, Mando, and Lang behind.

“So, you threw in with the Jedi.”

Taking a quick look around, and noticing you to his right, he answers Lang, “Looks that way.”

Maker, you’ll never get tired of looking at him. Broad shoulders pushed back so his all-encompassing chest is on full display, practically toying with Lang because he knows they’ve lost, it’s not only intoxicating how much he turns you on, but it’s quite frankly obscene how your pussy gushes at the sight of him. His ability to stay calm, even when he’s seething with anger. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the heat of the moment, but watching Mando in his element, full of gusto and brawn…It’s quite a shock that some people choose to fight a Mandalorian rather than save themselves the trouble and simply surrender.

Sounds of beskar clashing with lightsabers ricochet through the air. Cries from both women pierce your ears. You want to see Ahsoka fight, curious to see how a Jedi battles with a formidable opponent, but you’re too transfixed on Mando right now to tear your eyes away even if for a moment.

“Who do you think’s gonna win?”

Mando doesn’t answer, just stays ever still, his cape flapping in the wind behind him. Lang takes a tentative step forward, and then another, and then another. “Could be your side…” He taunts. “Could be my side.”

He’s getting too close for comfort; you think to yourself. Stepping out from behind one of the homes, you make sure Lang sees you. Squaring your shoulders, you walk over to Mando cautiously, keeping eye contact with Lang the entire time. Once you’re by his side, your arms rest by your thighs, one hand gripping on your blaster.

“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think that you were left behind… or dead,” The last word drips from his tongue like venom.

Clamping down hard on your jaw to keep yourself from snapping back, your free hand balls into a fist, white knuckling so aggressively, you’re digging half-moons into your skin.

He takes one more step forward.

“I got no quarrel with you two.”

Another step.

“That’s far enough,” Mando warns, his hand coming up to stop Lang in his tracks.

The Magistrate’s cries blend in with Ahsoka’s. The silence between resonances of weapons colliding become more and more frequent. The fight must be nearing its end.

“You know, we’re a lot more alike than you think.”

What in the kriffing hell is this man talking about? To think that you or Mando could ever be similar to someone like Langmakes you scoff, an empty laugh expelling from the back of your throat.

“All of us, willing to lay out lives for the right cause.” He says orotundly then pauses for a moment, listening to the two women fighting on the other side of the rampart. “Which this is not.”

He can’t honestly think either of you believe him, right?

All of a sudden, you hear the beskar staff hit the ground, bouncing a few times before everything becomes jarringly quiet. Tilting your head slowly in Mando’s direction, his visor keeps to Lang.

“Looks like you guys win.”

Holding out his gun in front of him, he shows you the weapon and ever so slowly places it down on the ground, motioning his surrender. Mando’s hand flexes over the blaster, gauging Lang’s next move. Without skipping a beat, Lang’s hand flies to a blaster at the back of his waist, but before he can even take it out of its holster, Mando’s own gun flies into his hand and shoots him down.

“Did you have your safety on before you shot him down?” You ask sarcastically, darting an eyebrow at him as holsters his weapon.

“Is that really important right now?” He repeats, using that same mocking tone that drives you fucking crazy.

Eyebrows pulling together in a frown and rolling your eyes, you reply, “I hate you,” while also trying to hide the dumbass smile that’s sneaking up on your lips.

The elderly gentlemen, who has apparently been watching you this entire time, emerges from his home. One by one, the villagers come out, stunned that they’re finally free. They cheer and holler, walking over to you both to give their thanks. Seeing the instant smiles on their faces fills you with warmth and pride. All the pain, all the cruelty they were forced to endure is gone. They can live the rest of their lives free of tyranny.

“WATCH OUT!” Someone cries. In a nanosecond, panic sets in, whipping your head in every direction trying to find the threat. Looking at the roofs, there’s the faint silhouette of a battle droid, crawling on one of the homes, its gun aimed right at Mando.

“Mando!” You shout. The droid’s weapon then switches to you, a red beam of light flies from his gun, hitting you right in the shoulder. The force of the hit sends your body flying backwards, landing hard on your back, head smacking the ground hard enough to make you dizzy.

The pain in your shoulder is fucking intense, the smell of sizzling clothes and burnt skin quite literally burning into your nostrils. Hand flying to your shoulder and pressing down on the wound to ease the bleeding and hopefully the pain, you realize your shoulder has been taking quite the hit lately. First the bruise, now a fucking gash.

Mando rushes to your side, holding the back of your head with one hand as he eases you to sit upright.

“Are you okay?” Baritone pulling rough through the helmet, panic sits at the back of his throat. The hand cradling the back of your head travels down to your lower back, the other reaching for your hand that’s keeping pressure on the place where the droid hit you.

Unable to answer, you groan low in your throat and gesture that you’ll be fine with a simple nod of the head. When you finally look over to Mando through hooded lids, the corners of your lips curl upwards in an attempt to prove to him that you’re fine. Folding your legs at the knees and using his forearm to pull you to your feet, he helps you stand up, keeping his hand on the small of your back the entire time.

“Kriff, that hurt.” You groan through jagged breaths. When your hand finally moves away from the injury on your shoulder, you peek down to see just how badly you were hit.

Thankfully, it’s actually not that bad. There is a gash where the blast connected with skin, but the bleeding has stopped significantly, although your tunic and hand are drenched with blood. You could probably cauterize it right away to close up the wound and then put some bacta on it once you get back to the Crest.

Mando’s still holding you. It’s like he’s too scared to let you go, like he needs to protect you and the only way he can think of doing it is to keep holding you. In any other moment, you’d be absolutely loving this, but right now? His body heat mixed with the fervor and throbbing from the gash near your clavicle is making you burn up. It’s when you finally take a step forward that his arm falls back to his side, fist balling up like he’s fighting the urge to keep you in his reach.

“The droid dead?” You manage to say through winces of pain, hunching over.

“Yeah.” He says breathlessly.

“Okay, good.”

As more and more villagers approach you both, they continue to give you their appreciation and continuously asking if there’s anything they can do to thank you. An elderly woman even retreats back to her home and comes out just a few minutes later with a medpac for your gash. Initially, you reject her kind offer, insisting that you can wait till you’re back on the ship for your wound to be taken care of, but after she continue to argue that you should accept a bit of help, you take it graciously. They seat you down on one of the cobblestoned steps, and begin wiping away at the dried blood, trying to be mindful not to touch the actual wound.

“We can’t thank you enough,” She says kindly.

“You’re—ah shit—” You try to thank her, but despite her best efforts, you’re still in quite a tremendous amount of pain. “Sorry. It’s our pleasure, really.”  

Once she’s done cleaning up the blood, you look down at your shoulder to see that the wound isn’t even as big as you initially thought. The blood splattered around your shoulder had made it seem much worse than it actually was. It’s barely the size of a Calamari Flan coin. It’ll definitely scar, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Your husband doesn’t ever take his helmet off?” She asks, trying to keep you distracted as she begins to spray bacta on it.

Completely taken aback by the word ‘husband’, you blurt out a laugh. “Husband? Oh no, he’s not my husband. We’re just…” Your voice trails off because in truth, you have no idea what your relationship to Mando is anymore. It doesn’t seem appropriate to say that you two are friends because your relationship has certainly developed passed that, but to go so far as to say you’re…together doesn’t really seem to fit your situation either.

“Oh, my apologies.” Shaking her head like she’s embarrassed by assuming the nature of your relationship, you place a hand over hers and smile.

“It’s okay. No need to apologize.”

“I just assumed that because of the way he was so concerned for your health after getting shot by that droid…”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mull over how Mando held onto you for a lot longer than he needed to when you finally got to your feet. How he stood so close to you, even when you assured him you were okay. How he still looks over to you every couple of minutes while he talks to Ahsoka, like he needs to watch over you.

You watch as Ahsoka hands the staff over to Mando, who seems to hesitate to accept it at first, but is eventually persuaded to take it. He takes a moment to speak into his commlink, your wrist comes alive to the sound of his voice.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Will you be okay here, alone?”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, and you attempt to hide it by biting down on your lip. Bringing your wrist up to your lips, you press on the talking button on the comm, “Yes, I’ll be fine, Mando.”

As Mando disappears into the forest, Ahsoka makes her way over to you, just as the elder is finished addressing your wound. She’s put a bacta patch on your laceration now, its cooling sensation untensing your muscles and relaxing you almost instantly.

“Thank you.”

She grabs your hand with both of hers, giving you a gentle squeeze before letting you go, and hobbling back over to her home.

The city is full of life now, residents cheering and conversating. The children are running around, laughing and shouting with joy, even kicking a ball around the main cobblestoned road. It’s such a stark contrast from the city you and Mando had entered just two days ago.

Pushing yourself up to your feet, you pat the dust and dirt off your pants and face Ahsoka.

“How the shoulder?” She asks.

“I’ll be fine. It was barely a scratch.” You joke. She laughs in response. The first moment of genuine happiness you’ve seen on her face since you two met.

You both begin to take a leisure stroll through the village, noting how different the villagers seem now the Magistrate is gone. It’s such a fulfilling moment for you. For most of your life, you’ve behaved selfishly, usually only caring about yourself and doing whatever was in ever was in your own self-interest, and now you’ve just helped hundreds of people. You don’t want to put yourself on a pedestal, but if you’re being entirely transparent, you’re pretty proud of the change that’s happening to you. This? You could get used to this.

“If I did want to train…”

Ahsoka turns her head to face you once you address her. “Yes?”

“Like…How would I go about doing that?”

She stops walking, looking down at the ground. “You need to learn to control your emotions before you can even think of training. You’re pretty reckless.” Her voice stays kind, but she’s very much warning you of the difficult road ahead if you choose to go down this path. “I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.”

You could argue with her, you could say that there is no such attachment, but if you were to be completely honest with yourself, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something there. It’s almost unbelievable to come to terms with the fact that you’ve developed some kind of connection with him, especially when you used to pride yourself on the idea that you had transformed into the type of person that did not become invested in someone else but Mando is different. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

He’s full of mystery. An enigma that you could learn about every day for the rest of your life and never even scratch the surface. Mando can be cold and callous in one moment, then tender and kind in the next. It quite literally makes your head spin. He can be so distant, and then all of a sudden, he can’t bear to be away from you. The inability to know what he’s thinking or what he wants just reels you in even more. You want to know everything about him, to feel like you’re a part of him, that you’re more than just someone passing through his life.

“Surely, the two can coexist?”

Ahsoka doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes leave you to look up at the sky, as if searching the clouds for help. “Asking that question just proves that you aren’t ready to train. Attachments clouds the ability to see reason. If you let your attachments control you, you can never act solely based on the good for all. You’ll always put your loved ones first, and that’s something the Jedi do not do.”  

Your lips press into a thin line.

“If you want this, you have to realize what you’ll be giving up. What you’ll end up denying yourself later on.” Her voice is almost a whisper. “There will come a time when you’ll need to make a choice. To embrace the way of the Jedi, or walk away forever.”

“It’s just…” You begin shifting, pacing around as the words come to you. “Ahsoka, the darkness I feel inside me? It scares me, like I’m never actually in control of it.”

“The Dark Side is powerful. It’s something you’ll fight your entire life as a Jedi, but it’ll become easier to deal with as the training progresses.”

“When I held your lightsaber…” Voice trailing off, you let out a small chuckle. Her lips curl into a smile, she knows the feeling all too well.

“I know.”

As you both stand at the gates of the village, the newly appointed Magistrate—the old man that aided Mando in rescuing the hostages, approaches you both, smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you again for saving the village.” His eyes are kind, the wrinkles on his forehead giving you an insight as to the many years of injustices and struggles he’s had to face, as well as the hope he’s held that his people would one day be free once again.

Dipping your head downward, he grabs your hand in his, shaking it twice before turning to Ahsoka. “The New Republic will be here soon for Ms. Elsbeth. If there’s anything else you’d like to question her about, now would be the time.”

“Mando should be here by now…” You remark, noticing that it’s been too long since he left.

Ahsoka nods in agreement. “Go. I’ll catch up with you.” She doesn’t wait for your response before following the Magistrate back into the city walls.

During the walk back to the Crest, you continue to go over everything Ahsoka’s told you over the last two days, weighting out your options. You’re not like Mando. You’re not a Mandalorian, nor are you a bounty hunter, so naturally you couldn’t expect to stick with Mando once you get all of this figured out. Going back to spice seems irresponsible, given that you know you were destined for something better. Moreover, now that you know why you’re different, it would see inappropriate to ignore that side of you and continue to live a life where your powers were wasted. Maybe this is something you could discuss with Mando. Maybe he’ll offer a different view that you hadn’t thought of before.

When you catch sight of the Crest, you suddenly feel a bit nervous, almost shy. You can hear the pounding of your heart in your ears as you near the ship, and clutch your chest with your hands when you see what’s happening inside the ship.

Mando’s sitting by his cot, one leg resting on the edge of the bed, Grogu seated on his thigh, and speaking gently to him. Even if you tried not to get sentimental about it, you’d never get tired of seeing how endearing Mando is with the Child. Every moment is more precious than the last, warming your heart and making you fall for the Mandalorian even more. You know he doesn’t need it, but you want to protect them both—to keep them both safe from anyone who would ever try to harm them, and on some level, you think Mando would do the same.

“Hey,” You announce as you get closer to the edge of the ramp, making your presence known so that he hopefully doesn’t think you spent the last minute gawking at them during their little intimate moment.

As you approach them, Mando rises to his feet and walks over to you, holding Grogu with both arms. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Much better. The bacta really helped,” You answer, keeping your voice low as to not wake him. Grogu’s eyes flutter open, head tilting to the side when he sees you.

“Hi, little guy.” Your index finger gently boops him on the nose, causing him to giggle in Mando’s arms. Although you don’t know for sure, you have an inclination that Mando’s watching you, and when you look up away from Grogu, sure enough the eye slit in his helmet is pointed at you.

“You’re like a father to him.”

Your turn your body around and see Ahsoka standing at the end of the ship, arms crossed against her chest. Mando heads down the ramp first, and you follow closely behind him.

“I cannot train him.” She says, a bit of disappointment hidden in her voice.

“We had a deal, and we held up our end.”

Letting out a deep breath, Ahsoka takes a step towards Mando and takes Grogu’s little hand in hers, rubbing her thumb across his tiny claws.

“There is one possibility.”

“We’re all ears,” You reply.

“Have you heard of the planet Tython?”

“No.” Mando answers dryly.

“It has a strong connection to the Force. There you will find the ancient ruins of a Temple atop one of the mountains. Place Grogu on the seeing stone and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For Grogu to choose his path. If he reaches out through the Force, there is a chance that a Jedi might sense him and come searching for him.” She looks down at the ground for a moment, before pulling her eyes away from the dirt to look at you. “Then again, there aren’t many Jedi left.”

“Thank you.” He answers sincerely, then turns on his heel and heads back into the Crest.

You take a step towards Ahsoka and wrap your arms around her, giving her a gentle squeeze before pulling again. “I hope our paths cross again.”

“This will not only be a test for Grogu, but for you as well. You will need to make a choice.”

“I know…”

Her head dips down, offering you a farewell smile. “May the Force be with you.”

Heading back into the ship and closing the ramp, you hear the Crest’s thrusters come to life, finally feeling like you now have a purpose.

--

“Do we have enough fuel to make to it to Tython?”

“We’ll have enough to get there, but not enough to leave. We’ll have to make a stop beforehand to refuel.”

Mando punches in some coordinates and activates the hyperdrive. You look out through the transparisteel and watch the stars change from small specks in space to giant rays of light as you beam passed them, and then cockpit is surrounded by waves of baby blues similar to the waters on Naboo.

“Hey, where are we headed?” You ask once Mando rises from the pilot’s chair.

“You ever been to Coruscant?”

Fuck. “There’s nowhere else we can go?”

He walks over to where you’re still seated. At this angle, your eyeline is pointing right at…that. Trying to look anywhere but there, you opt to tilt your head at high as it can go so you can look at Mando in the ‘T’ of his visor. Maker, don’t you dare even peak down there.

“Is there a problem with going there?” He asks in jest, head tilting ever so slowly to the side. When you don’t immediately answer, he takes an excruciatingly slow step forward. He’s now almost touching your knees with his, making it even more difficult not to look down and catch sight of his—kriff, pull yourself together!

“No—” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high. “I mean,” Clearing your throat in an effort for it to go back down to its normal octave. “No, that’s fine.”

Mando hums smugly in his helmet before disappearing through the cockpit door and descending down the ladder.

Uh… what the hell was that about? Was Mando acting…coy? No, surely you were misreading things. He’s not like that. He doesn’t joke around or act smug…right?

Sleep.

You should get some sleep.

Shifting around in your unbearably uncomfortable chair until you’re in a somewhat comfortable position—which is just you sitting upright in the chair with your leg crossed over the other, you fold your arms across your lap and close your eyes, hoping it won’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You can hear a light scuffle in the hull, and you try to ignore it, but now that you’re aware of the sound, it’s impossible for you to ignore it and try to get some sleep. All you can focus on is trying to ignore the sound which just makes the noise that much louder. Letting out a groan in annoyance, you move around even more in your seat hoping you’ll be able to find some kind of position that’s more comfortable, but to no avail.

Not only is the noise annoy the hell out of you, but you’re completely hung up on your interaction with Mando just a few moments ago. He usually doesn’t get that close to you unless he thinks you’ve been injured, but there he was, willingly getting closer and closer. Actually, it seemed like he was enjoying watching you squirm and get frazzled by how close he was to you.

Just when the sound stops, you hear heavy boots hit the metal rungs of the ladder. Great, he’s coming back.

You sense Mando reach the top of the ladder before you see him. Although, he doesn’t directly step into the cockpit. After a couple seconds of still not seeing him, you look over your shoulder to see where he might be, but you end up craning your neck to an uncomfortable amount and still no sight of him.

Fuck it. You jump to your feet and face the door to the cockpit, and see him standing like a goddamn statue. He’s still in full armour, but you definitely notice something different about him. His fists are balled up together at his sides, black eye slit pointed directly at you, and by the way his shoulders rise and fall, his breathing is uneven. As your eyes travel downwards from his helmet down to his feet, you can’t help but notice the bulge in his pants. Shit.

Your mouth instantly goes dry, your own heartrate picking up slowly, heating pooling in your belly. This isn’t the first time you’ve both been in this exact situation. It happened before on Sorgan, but somehow this is a hundred times more intense. Maybe it’s because of the rush from today, maybe it’s because you’ve tasted him before, but whatever was on your mind right before this moment is totally gone.

Right now, you can feel the blood pounding in your ears, you can feel the fucking heat radiating off Mando, your panties sticking to you like glue because of your slick, causing your pussy to fucking throb.

You want to say something snarky, but words are something you’re not even able to come up with, you’re so fucking spellbound by him that nothing in this galaxy could pull you away. He’s got you entirely wrapped around his leather finger and he hasn’t even said a word to you.

A broken moan forms at the back of Mando’s throat, coming out rough and distorted. It reminds you of his sobs the night his cock was wrapped around your lips. You want to run to him, feel his big arms pull you closer to him, but you need to know he wants this as badly as you do, so you wait. You wait for him to speak, to make the first move.

“I—” His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s struggling to find the words.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.” You say breathlessly.

He takes a step towards you, and your breath catches in your throat. His own chest is heaving, his quick breaths cutting through his helmet. “Fuck.”

Realizing how hard this must be for him—admitting how he feels, you step closer to him. Now, you’re just arm’s length away. If one of you reached out, you’d touch the other and it’s becoming more difficult with every second that goes by not to jump into his arms, rip that helmet off his face and kiss every inch of his skin, but you won’t. You would never touch him in a way that would compromise his creed.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about bending you over that control panel and fucking you until you begged me to stop?” He nearly growls. Voice so rough and low, you can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips.

Your pussy gushes in response. “Maker…”

He inches closer to you, taking his sweet, agonizing time as he continues to taunt you. “I’ve thought about it ever since I picked you up on Kijimi.”

Another inch.

“I thought about it in the alley with my hand touching your drenched, sweet cunt.”

Another inch.

“I thought about pulling you off my cock and pounding into you right against that wall.”

The heat coiling in your stomach is so fucking intense, you can feel it all over your body. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage, jaw slacked so you can breathe in quick little bursts of air. He’s standing merely inches away from you, and you want to reach out and touch him. You want him inside you, but you’re frozen, unable to move. Unable to break free from the trance he’s put you in. All you can do is stand there helplessly as he continues to torture you with his confessions.

“But I was able to control myself.” He grits out, head tilting ever so slowly to the side.

“Mmm…” Is all you can say. Your mind is on fire, your body’s on fire. Everything’s fucking on fire.

“I don’t think I can control myself anymore.”

Only one word comes to mind now. Once you say it, your relationship to the Mandalorian will never be the same. It’ll definitely make it harder to choose between Mando and following the way of the Jedi but quite frankly, right now, you really don’t give a shit. You want this. You want Mando, and nothing is going to come between you and him. “Good.”

Finally, he closes the tiny gap between your bodies and wraps a big arm around the small of your back, spinning you around and pushing you up against the door to the cockpit. You yelp at his swiftness when you feel metal hit your back, but it’s still not fast enough.

You want more.

You need more.

“Mando…” You moan helplessly.

The shakiness of his breath, kriff, you really want to drop to your knees and make him feel so good. His hands try to touch every part of you. They settle on your waist and he flips you around. Your face nearly smacks into the door but you’re able to catch yourself before your cheek makes contact, hands bracing up against the wall. He grinds his hips into yours, and you feel the outline of his cock nuzzle against your backside.

“If I’m too rough…” He begins to say, but you cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “I’m not fragile, Mando. Do what you want with me.”

“Fuck,” He punches out, fist hitting the door in front of you. “Y-you can’t say things like that to me.”

“I want you to,” You make sure to drawl out your words, to make sure he really hears you, so that he knows you want this just as badly as he does.

The sound that comes next is almost animalistic. It’s somewhere between a cry and a snarl, but it’s the sweetest, most arousing sound you’ve ever heard. It’ll be something you replay over and over in your mind.

His hands travel down to your hips, grabbing onto the waistband of your pants and yanking them down in one swift motion. A brown leather glove flies to your throat, using his thumb and index finger to press on that sweet spot right under your jawline. You sob brokenly as he continues to apply more pressure on your neck, but still gentle enough for you to know he’ll never actually hurt you.

“M-Ma-n-ndo…” You manage to choke out.

Mando hums in the back of his throat, pressing his body into you even more. His cock is rock hard in his pants, and your hands leave the wall to fumble around behind you, trying to touch him. With his free hand, he grabs hold of both your wrists and holds them in place behind you. “Let me take care you, pretty girl.” He purrs, his baritone dangerously low.

When his hand leaves your throat, you whine at the sudden lack of pressure. Cupping your jaw, he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, your tongue darts out and tastes leather. Two fingers force themselves into your mouth, and Mando growls into your ear. “Bite.”

You obey like the good girl you are, biting and tugging on the glove until it comes right off his hand. He takes it from you and tosses it on the ground, revealing his beautifully tanned skin. It’s a little embarrassing how just the sight of his hand makes your pussy pulse, but everything about Mando draws you in. His smell, his stoic demeanor, even his fucking hand.

As his naked hand travels back down your body, fingertips barely touching your tunic, it’s driving you crazy. He’s taking his sweet ass time, reveling in the fact that he has you completely spell bound against him. You can’t move, you can’t shift under him and create more friction for yourself. No, you’re going at his pace, which is making you fucking dizzy.

When his hand reaches the edge of your underwear, sending shivers down straight to your throbbing cunt, your body is basically shaking from the lack and overwhelming amount of stimulation all at once. It’s too much, yet it’s nowhere near enough. A thumb begins to trace the skin around the waistband of your underwear, tantalizing you. Your broken sobs echo through the cockpit, and then in a second, his hand pushes passed the thin material and cups your sex.

“Fuck!” You cry out.

“Look how wet you are, and I’ve barely touched you,” He whispers.

Pushing your ass out and rubbing against his cock, you feel him twitch in his pants as you continue to tease him. The hand on your cunt disappears and wraps itself around your throat again, pressing into your flesh just enough for you to stop grinding your hips. When Mando speaks next, he growls through gritted teeth. “Do that again, and I’m stopping. Do you understand?”

Your throat is dangerously dry, and all you can do is moan in response.

“No, pretty girl. I need you to use your words. Do you understand?” He says again, this time in a much gentler tone, but without relinquishing any of his control over you.

“Yes,” You whisper breathlessly.

“Good girl,” He praises, and then his hand is back on your pussy. His fingers rub between your folds, sending shockwaves through your body as he starts collecting your slick on his calloused fingertips, and then he’s rubbing tight, quick circles around your clit. You mewl helplessly into the door, forehead pressed against door with such force, it’s actually starting to hurt, but in the best way possible. You wouldn’t dare move from the spot you’re in right now, not when Mando continues his agonizingly slow assault on your bud.

“I’m going to let go of your wrists now,” He begins to instruct, his head resting on your left shoulder. “And you’re going to be a good girl and keep them there, right?”

Your orgasm begins to build in your stomach, the rhythm on your clit never faltering. “Y-y-yes,” You answer, voice hoarse and barely audible.

Letting go of your wrists, you do as you were told and keep them behind you on the small of your back. You hear him fumble with his utility belt and pants. Panting and having to manually control your breathing because air just isn’t fucking coming into your lungs fast enough, your body starts to shake from the white-hot pleasure, causing your hands to clench violently. Mando thrusts his body against you once again, almost flattening you on the door, but now you feel his free cock pressing between your ass, feeling drops of precome graze your skin.

His hand drenched in your slick, you’re on the verge of coming. Breathing picking up even more, he must sense you’re close because his rhythm gets quicker and quicker, nearly pushing you over the edge.

“I’m g-gonna c-come, Mando.”

“Already? Hmm,” He hums proudly. A gloved hand comes up to your throat, using his thumb and index to choke you again. The pressure on your throat and cunt is making your head fucking spin. It’s too much all at once, your orgasm teetering right now. This is so much more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Come for me,” He commands gently in your ear.

Head lulling back, your knees are about to give out, but he never stops. He develops a pattern now, rubbing even tighter circles on your clit and then brushing his fingers through your soaking folds, then back to your bud.

“Fuck fuck, fuck, Mando!” You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, sending waves of ecstasy through your entire body. He doesn’t stop though. As you cry out, riding out your climax, he slams his gloved hand over your mouth, muffling your cries; still continuing his pace between your thighs. Practically convulsing from the overstimulation, your knees almost completely cave in, and you almost feel your body going limp, but Mando keeps you steady.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He praises.

You don’t even have time to come down from your climax before he’s thrusting a thick finger allll the way inside of you. Flexing it in and out of your pussy and body trembling, if you don’t grab onto something, you’re sure you’ll drop to the ground. Broken sobs stifled by leather, feeling the corners of your eyes getting wet with tears, your mind is going fucking blank. Maker, the Mandalorian is going to be the death of you.

Pushing a second finger into you, your eyes wrench shut. He eases them in and out of you at a deliciously slow rate, sometimes choosing to roll his fingers inside you before pulling out. One of your hands grabs onto his vambrace, using that as a means of staying upright because you’re hanging on by a thread right now. This is the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. No one has ever even come close to making you feel the way Mando is, and you’ll never be able to be with anyone else after this. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, but you’re literally coming apart under him. He pushes two gloved fingers inside your mouth and orders you to bite down again. You do as your told and his hand yanks free of the glove, tossing it to the ground like he did with the other glove.

His precome continues to paint your back and backside, and you start begging and pleading.

“Please, Mando…”

“Please what?” He asks, and then he’s fucking curling his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars. You cry out again, feeling a second orgasm bubbling to the surface.

“Please, f-fuc-c-k me. Please, Mando I need you inside me.”

“Mmmm,” He drones deep in his throat. Flexing his fingers inside you once more time before pulling out, you feel suddenly empty.

Need more.

Need more.

Using the slick he’s gathered on his hand, you look over your shoulder and can barely make out him smearing it all over his thick length. “Gonna make you feel so good, pretty girl. Gonna fill you up, and fuck that pretty cunt of yours until you can’t fucking walk.”

All you can do is mewl back, a broken sound that he barely notices.  Mando grabs hold of the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down to your knees. One hand digging into your waist, the other holding his length, he starts to rub his cock between your sopping folds, gathering even more slick. Once he seems satisfied hearing your broken sobs, he angles himself to your entrance, and pushes just the tip into you.

Kriff, you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to take all of him.

He stills for a moment, and then he’s back to pushing himself against your cunt.

Fucking unbelievable.

Mando’s teasing you, getting off on the sweet torture he’s putting you through. Every time you think he’s about to fill you up, he pulls away and continues to toy with you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, but then pulling away at the last second.

“Mando!” You whimper.

“Shhh…” He scolds, giving you gentle slap on your left buttcheek. “I want to take my time.”

He continues his gradual onslaught, and then finally, he’s lining up his cock with your pussy, and ever so slooowly eases an inch of himself in your entrance.

Maker, he’s huge. Even with just an inch inside of you, he fills you up, your walls clamping around him in an attempt to stop him from pulling away again. “Fuuck.” He drawls out through shuddered breaths. “You’re tight, pretty girl.”

You don’t answer because you can’t. Words are no longer a thing inside your mind. Just Mando.

“You’re mine.” He snarls, pushing another inch of himself inside you.

Something like a sob escapes your lips.

“No one else will ever get to touch you like this.”

Another painful inch. You can feel the veins around his girth pushing against your walls.      

“I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you, do you understand me?” Mando doesn’t wait for an answer, just continues to push himself more and more into your pulsating cunt. He must be almost fully inside you now. It burns, almost painful. It’s uncomfortable but it’s so fucking good, it feels so fucking amazing to be filled up by the Mandalorian. A delicious pain you’ll be thinking about for days.

With both hands on your hips, he seems to lose control for a second because the next thing you know, he stills for a moment, his helmet dropping to rest in between your shoulders, and then he’s grinding even more of himself into you. Kriff, how fucking big is he?

When Mando finally fucking pounds into you, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go blank, you scream out, feeling completely stuffed to the brim. “Fuck!”

He’s so much bigger than you thought. Your walls flex around him, your pussy is on fucking fire right now, pain and pleasure mixed together to form a delicious cocktail, you’re drunk on this feeling. Mando widens his stance to steady himself, and pulls out just enough for only the tip of his head touching your walls and then slams into you so hard, your entire body flattens against the door, his cuirass digging into your back.

“Ah shit!” He swears breathlessly. Mando’s barely began fucking you, and a second orgasm is seconds away from unleashing electricity through your entire core.

“I can feel you clenching around my cock, sweet girl. Are you going to come again?” He taunts deliciously, pulling out once more and snapping back into you with such force, it blinds you momentarily. Bending your knees and using one his hands to push down on your back so you’re arched with your ass out—almost sitting back on his cock, he wraps a hand around your throat and begins pounding into you like an animal. The sound of skin slapping skin pierces through the cockpit, you can’t even make a sound. Your pussy clenches once again, climax nearing.

Two rough fingers find their way to your clit, and rub tight circles on your bud, the sounds of his length thrusting in and out of you are downright obscene.

“Be a good girl and come for me again,” He orders, voice so deliciously low in your ear. You last only a couple more seconds before a second orgasm rips right into you. White-hot pleasure tears through you, the ecstasy so intense, tears are streaming down your face at a constant rate. He doesn’t relent, just continues to plow into you over and over and over again.

“Fu-ck, you feel so fucking good. I’m g-gonna, shit, I’m gonna c-come.” He pants, his rhythm beginning to falter as he approaches his own climax. “Wh-ere should I…?”

“Inside…please.” You choke out.

“Kriff, are, a-are you sure?” He punches out, thrusting deeper into you between each word.  

“Im—implant,” Is all you can manage to say, but it seems to be enough for Mando, because he uses the remaining strength he has to pound into you a few more times before his own orgasm hits him.

“F-fuck, pretty girl.” He grits out as his cock starts pumping his seed into your worn-out, swollen cunt. He sheathes himself one more time, reaching that sweet spot inside you before ever so slowly starting to ease out of you. Being the brat you are, using all the strength you can muster—which isn’t very much right now, you fiercely clench around his cock, causing Mando to cry out in the back of his throat.

“Maker, you don’t want me to leave, do you?” He says, shuddering but ending with a soft chuckle. “Well go on then, squeeze out every bit of come out of my cock like a good fucking girl.”

And so you do. You continue to squeeze down on his length, milking every single drop of his seed until you feel it trinkle down your legs. As soon as his hands leave your body, your knees cave in and you double over, nearly falling right on the cold metal floor, but Mando manages to wrap an arm around your waist before you do, holding you upright. Lifting you off your feet, he pulls you close to his chest, hooking his arms under your legs and around your back. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean your cheek against his cuirass. Beskar cools the heat on your face, and you swear you could fall asleep right now in his arms. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, nostrils filling up with the smell of sex and gunpowder, your eye flutter shut, feeling the exhaustion hit you all at once.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet.” Baritone low and gentle. “We need to get you cleaned up first.”

“Mmm,” You mumble in protest. “ ‘M gonna sleep here.”

“Hey,” He repeats, this time more commanding. “You’ll need to climb down the ladder, can you do that?”

Pouting and wanting to resist, but knowing Mando won’t take no for an answer, you give in. “Fine,” You answer, petulantly.

He puts you down gently, making sure that when your feet touch the ground, you’re able to stand up straight on your own. He pulls your underwear and pants back up from your knees. His come mixed with yours sticks to your underwear, and you hate to admit it, but he’s right. You definitely need to clean yourself up before falling asleep. Legs still buckling, Mando opens the cockpit doors and heads down the ladder first.

“Okay, come down.” He whispers kindly.

Kriff, your whole body is shaking. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to make it down those stairs without falling back. As you begin to descend the ladder, your grip on the rung loosens and you slip. Thankfully, Mando’s waiting at the bottom of the ladder and catches you in his arms before you could hurt yourself. Leaning on his pauldron is the only way you’re able to stand up, so you continue to lean into him as he guides you over to the fresher.

“Will you be able to clean yourself up?”

Looking up at the visor through hooded lids, you nod your head slowly. The possibility of you falling asleep in the fresher is very real, but you could try not to…

“Dank farrik…” He swears to himself. Mulling over his options with your half-asleep body leaning into him, he must realize there’s only one option available. “You’ll have to keep your eyes closed the entire time, okay?”

You look up at him sheepishly. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” He repeats. “You can’t—”

“I won’t look, Mando. You can trust me.”

A drawn-out sigh emits from the helmet, but he seems to be satisfied enough with your comment. Keeping yourself steady by holding down on his pauldrons, you watch as he carefully begins to remove your pants and underwear, gently telling you to step out of them and tossing them to the side.

“Lift your arms,”

He pulls your tunic over your head, and even though you’re absolutely wrecked and exhausted, being completely naked in front of the Mandalorian while he stands there, fully clothed and wearing his armour, you begin to feel a bit self-conscious, and try to cover up your body with your hands and arms.

“What…are you doing?” He asks, head tilting to the side.

“Feel so exposed,” You mutter.

“Now you feel exposed? Not when my cock was inside you?” He jests.

“Mmm, that was before.”

Mando sighs once again, the sound breaking apart like static through his helmet. “Get in the fresher, I’ll be there soon.”

“M’okay.”

Turning around sleepily, you head into the refresher and turn the water on. Kriff, it feels good. Standing directly under the hose, you let the water cascade down your body, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth that tickles your skin.

“Okay, eyes closed,” Mando says, voice no longer modulated by his helmet. Maker, his voice is heavenly. Curse the helmet he wears, covering up a sound as sweet as Mando’s voice. Smooth like silk, you wish you could listen to him for hours, undistorted and naked. Keeping your promise, your eyes wrench shut, palms coming out trying to find him in the small space you’re both sharing. You feel his hands meet yours, your own feels so small in his. Calloused fingers trail up your arm, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and you purr into him.

And then, he’s gently massaging the bar of soap across your body, ridding your body of the grime and sweat from the day. It’s ridiculously intimate, and it’s actually quite surprising how gentle he’s handling you, given the fact that he kills people with those same hands, but it’s incredibly endearing. The entire time he cleans you up, your hands are resting on his broad shoulders. Suddenly, you feel him get closer to you, and you’re forced to back up, feeling the wall touch your bare back. Mando leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. You need to crane your head upwards to meet his, but it’s not uncomfortable. This is probably the first time his face has been touched by another being since…well you’re not sure when because you’ve never actually asked him when the last time he took his helmet off was, but you assume it’s been years.

“When’s the last time you took off your helmet in front of another person?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, not only because your vocal cords are shot from all the obscene noises you made before, but also because you’re scared that if you speak too loudly, he’ll dismiss your question.

“I was just a child.”

“You don’t ever want to show your face?”

The water trinkles over both your faces and bodies, hands carded together.

“This is the Way.” He answers plainly, but you sense a bit of uncertainty in the way he speaks. It’s almost like he’s lost the true reason for covering his face—that there came a time in his life where he began to question his Creed, but still feels like he has an obligation to adhere to it.

You want to see his face. There are so many questions that you wish you had the answers to.

Do the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he laughs?

Does he have any scars or dimples?

Have the many years of fighting and surviving aged his face beyond his actual age?

What color are his eyes?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever know the answers to those questions, but truthfully, it doesn’t really matter. You don’t need to know all those aspects of him because they’re simply just arbitrary details. Everything that you really need to know, you’re already aware of.

And what you know is, you’re in love with a Mandalorian.

[kaylaxwrites]

Into You

Pairing: Jessica Jones x Reader Words: 2.5k Summary: After the police practically dismiss your concerns of stalker, you turn to Alias Investigations for help. Request:  Jessica Jones x f reader where reader hires her as a pi (for whatever reason) and the case takes awhile so reader develops feelings but doesn't want to act on them because it's in appropriate since Jessica is working for her. Then as soon as the case is over Jessica pulls out two glasses and some whisky and is like "I'm a pi obviously I noticed you're into me now let's drink together and see where this goes cuz I like you too" (anon) A/N: Sorry this took so long! It might not follow the request exactly (I forgot to make the case like take a while) but I hope you like it! 

Warnings: reader has a stalker, gets cornered by stalker and is also punched

Tears stung your eyes as you stepped out of the police station. You were convinced, you knew, you had a stalker. Someone had been following you for several weeks now, left crude “love letters” taped to your apartment door, and generally left you with an unsafe and uncomfortable feeling. You went to the police today for help—any help—and left feeling crushed and defeated. The officers inside didn’t take you seriously, brushed you off, dismissed your concerns and you were angry.

Afraid.

You started walking down the street back towards your apartment, brushing away stray tears. Being in the open—even in front of a police station—made you feel uneasy. You didn’t know what to do next and you were about to spiral into a panic attack. One step at a time, you tried to tell yourself, taking deep breaths as you walked. You would go home, and figure out what to do there. Right now you just needed to get home and calm down.

You looked to the sky as a means to keep your tears at bay when a sign in a fifth-floor window caught your eye and slowed you to a halt.

Alias Investigations.

A private investigator? Could they help you with your problem? Maybe they could help you get the evidence you needed for the police to take you seriously. Did you have the money for it, though? Fuck it, you thought. It would be cheaper than moving across town and changing your name. With a steading breath, you opened the door to the building and made your way inside.

You soon arrived at the fifth floor and anxiety knotted your stomach. This building looked sketchy—the suspiciously blood-like stains in the elevator was more than enough to give you that uneasy feeling—but you were already here. So might as well. Right?

You knocked hesitantly on the door, surprised when you heard what sounded like muttered curses from the other side. Did you come at a bad time? You almost left but then the door creaked open and you were met with the annoyed face of a pale, black-haired woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked curtly, opening the door only enough to show her shoulders and face, trying to appear as unwelcoming as possible.

“Uh…” The woman and her weird greeting left you somewhat speechless so you weakly pointed at the window where Alias Investigations was printed in bold letters. “Alias Investigations?” you said as if she wouldn’t know the name of her own business. You could kick yourself for your awkward stuttering.

“Shit. Hold on.” She closed the door in your face and you took a step back, startled. Through the opaque glass on the door, you could see the silhouette of the private eye quickly picking up the main room of her apartment, throwing trash and other stray items out of sight. You stopped yourself from smiling when the door was thrown back open and she welcomed you inside.

You sat tentatively in one of the chairs across from her desk as she sat heavily in the opposite seat, folding her arms on the top of her desk. She gestured for you to start talking and you did. “I think I have a stalker,” you started. But then you shook your head, restarting. “I know I have a stalker. I don’t know who he is, but I’ve caught glimpses of him a couple of times and he keeps leaving me these…letters on my door about once a week.” You dug into your bag and pulled out several of the letters you tried to bring as evidence, laying them on the table.

Jessica, you realized from her name tag on the desk, picked them up and scanned through them. “Have you been to the police?” she asked.

“I went there this morning. They practically dismissed me outright. I was walking home when I saw your sign.” You nodded towards the window behind her that advertised to the street.

She shuffled through the letters some more. “And do all of these…?”

Talk graphically about what your stalker would do once you were “together”?

“Yeah. The officer…” You cleared your throat, feeling tears stinging your eyes once again. “The officer said that I-I had probably led some guy on and that’s why he was leaving me love letters. He hasn’t threatened to kill me, so they aren’t—they aren’t going to help me.” Your voice was strained by the end of your sentence and you knew Jessica picked up on it.

“And you don’t know who it is?”

You shook your head. “Like I said, I’ve caught glimpses of him, but…”

“What does he look like?”

“Tall. Six foot, maybe? White. Not skinny, but not like super muscular either. He always has a hood or sunglasses on, so I’ve never really gotten a good look at his face. He hasn’t talked to me in person, either. Just leaves the letters.”

Jessica thought for a moment, looking over the letters once more. “I’ll help you,” she said eventually.

You nearly shot out of your seat. “Really? Oh my god, thank you. I don’t know what else I’d do.” You reached into your bag for your wallet. “How much will I owe you? I only have two hundred to give now, but I can find more to pay you later.”

“I’ll take a hundred for now. I’ll figure out the rest later.”

You pulled five twenties out of your wallet, half of your paycheck you cashed out earlier that day. You also gave her your phone number, address, and your schedule for the week. Jessica said she’d be in touch with you and you soon left afterwards, feeling lighter than you had in weeks now that the weight was beginning to lift off your shoulders.

You didn’t hear much from Jessica the next few days. She said she was going to watch you in your daily routine for a little while to see who she could find that was suspicious or she saw a lot in your vicinity. You never once saw her watching you, so you had to take her for her word—that either meant she was really good or you just gave a hundred bucks to someone who was going to ghost you. Thankfully, by the end of the week, you didn’t have to worry about being ghosted by a P.I.

Jessica found your stalker.

James Williams, she said his name was, but it didn’t ring a bell. You didn’t know him and you weren’t sure how he knew you. “You could’ve helped him at work or smiled at him on the street,” Jessica assured you. “These assholes will take any random act of kindness as a love declaration.”

“You could say that again,” you muttered. But you thanked her for her help and ended the phone call, agreeing to meet in about two hours after you got home from work. You pulled yourself from your hiding spot in the stock room of your workplace and finished up your shift.

By the end of the hour, you were starting your walk to Jessica’s office. You were less than two blocks down the road when an arm wrapped around your shoulders and backed you against the wall of an alleyway. Your head smarted against the brick and you blinked rapidly as you took in the face in front of yours.

You didn’t recognize it, but it must be…

James.

“What—what do you want?” you stuttered, your brain suddenly short-circuiting.

“You called…you called a P.I.?” he asked. He almost sounded…heartbroken. “I—I had a plan. I had a plan for us and you ruined it!”

“I don’t want to be a part of your plan. I don’t even know you!”

“I had everything figured out. We were gonna—”

“Get off of me, fucking creep!”

You instantly regretted your words as a look of anger flashed through his eyes. Maybe calling the psychopath a creep wasn’t the best way to go. Before you could brace yourself, he swung his fist and you were met with a flash of pain in your nose, a trail of blood following not long after. The force of the blow had you spiraling towards the ground and your felt your ankle twist as you fought to remain upright. Gravity won in the end and your palms scraped across concrete as you fell. Before your thoughts could even register, James’ hands were at your shoulders, lifting you upright, and pressing you against brick once more.

“Do not…call me that,” he said between heavy breaths. You flinched when he reached a hand up to cup the side of your face, brushing away blood with his thumb. Your mind flashed through every self-defense post on social media, but you couldn’t think clearly to remember specific moves. You were halfway to hyperventilating when James was suddenly yanked aside and thrown down the alleyway.

“You okay?” a voice asked. You looked to your left. Jessica.

“I’ll be fine,” you managed.

Blood was pouring from your nose still and you tried to stem the flow with the sleeve of your shirt. Movement down the alley caught your eye and you glanced over. James was staggering to his feet and started towards you. Jessica huffed and rolled her eyes, meeting the man halfway. In the blink of an eye, she lifted him and threw him into a nearby dumpster, latching the lid closed so he couldn’t escape.

“That’ll hold him until the police get here,” she said, brushing her hands off.

“Police?” you asked.

“Yeah, that little stunt will get him time for assault. And you won’t have to worry about him anymore.” She took a few steps towards you. “Let me see,” she said, gesturing towards your face. As the bleeding was now mostly stopped, you lifted your head so she could see the damage. “It’s not broken,” she said after a moment, “but you’re gonna have one hell of a shiner in the morning.”

Great, you thought. But if it was the price to pay for getting rid of your stalker…

At that moment, a police cruiser pulled into the mouth of the alley.

You don’t remember much of the statement you gave to the police. The throbbing in your skull pretty much override it all. But thankfully, before long, the officers were taking James away in handcuffs and you were allowed to leave, the card of one of the officers pressed against your hand. Jessica stayed by your side through it all and you were thankful for her presence.

When you were allowed to leave and the officers had left, you tried to stand on your sprained ankle, but could barely make it a single step. The walk back to Jessica’s office was going to be one hell of a trip. Jessica took one pitying look at your pained step and bent as if she was going to pick you up. You quickly shuffled out of her reach. “What are you doing?” you asked.

“You can’t walk,” she answered simply.

“So what? You’re just going to try and carry me? Halfway across Hell’s Kitchen?”

“You got a better plan?”

You looked down at yourself. Your shirt was splattered with blood from your nose. Couldn’t exactly take an Uber looking like you did. “I guess not,” you sighed in defeat.

“So?”

“But you can’t carry me!” Jessica was tiny and you… “I’m too…”

“Heavy?” You gasped as your eyes widened in shock. Jessica was blunt, sure, but… “Shit, not like that. I didn’t—” She sighed. “Just… Look.” She knelt down in between two parked cars, placing a hand under each of the bumpers. With barely a grunt, she stood, lifting the ends of the cars on either side of her until the wheels were nearly waist high.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

“Yeah.” She dropped the cars and they bounced to the ground. You were surprised the alarms didn’t go off or the wheels didn’t bust. “So are we good here?” You stuttered to find words. You wanted to just let her pick you up—she did just lift two cars, after all—but you were still worried. “So can we go or what?”

“I-I guess.” You moved awkwardly as Jessica lifted you into her arms. Your ankle throbbed as your weight was lifted off of it. You tried to situate yourself comfortably as Jessica carried you, but you didn’t know what to do with your arms. You settled on one across the back of her shoulders and the other curled into your chest, trying to minimize the points of contact with Jessica’s body.

But then you realized just how close Jessica’s face was to yours.

You took in her profile, watching how her hair bounced as she walked, how her pale skin practically changed colors under different streetlights. You realized then just how beautiful she was and maybe you were starting to have a thing for her. Great.

You blushed and turned away as her eyes turned to you. She huffed out a chuckle before returning her attention to the sidewalk.

Eventually, Jessica set you down on the couch in the living room of her office. She stepped over to the bookshelf in the corner of the room, a bookshelf that held more liquor than books, and poured two large drinks. She crossed back to you, offering you one of the glasses. You took it gratefully as Jessica fell on the couch next to you. You sipped your drink slowly, carefully—but by the time you were only a quarter done with yours, Jessica had already refilled her own, having brought the half-full bottle across the room with her.

The two of you sat there quietly, drinking, unwinding, for several minutes until you felt the need to break the silence. “Jessica, I—,” you began, but she cut in, finishing your sentence for you.

“You’re into me.”

Your face flushed and you turned your gaze quickly to the dark amber liquid in your glass. You weren’t even really sure what it was—whiskey? Bourbon? Was there a difference?—but you were tempted to reach over and chug the whole bottle if this was the conversation Jessica wanted to have. “I-I was just going to say thank you,” you stammered, “for everything.”

“You sure that’s all you wanted to say?” She turned her whole body to face you, tucking one of her legs underneath her. You refused to meet her gaze. “I’m a PI. A good one. And you’re an open book. You didn’t think I noticed?”

Your face burned hotter than ever and you wished the couch would swallow you whole—were you really that obvious about your feelings? Jessica reached behind her for the liquor bottle and refilled her drink once more as well as topped yours off. You took several burning gulps to try and distract yourself from the situation. You would give anything to be anywhere but here. You were into Jessica, but she wasn’t into you—the following conversation would be the most embarrassing of your life.

“I’m—I’m sorry. I should go.” You stood to try to gather your coat and your bag, wanting nothing more than to leave.

Jessica’s iron grip on your arm stopped you dead in your tracks. “For what it’s worth,” she said, almost scoffing, as if what she was about to say wasn’t worth anything at all, “I’m into you, too.”

divider by writeyourmindaway

[paversandplatters]

||𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚙|| (6/10)

Apocalypse! Au (TW! Minor gore and cussing)

Reader x multiple

Chapter 6: Found you.

Philza doesn't see the unexpected obstruction in the middle of the road until it's almost too late. The problem is he's far too engrossed in lecturing his younger proteges after one of them so boldly insulted his longtime companion and friend sat beside him. See the youngling seems to be plagued with diarrhea of the mouth. Philza sits behind the wheel of his rumbling winnebago, relentlessly chewing the ears off of Tommy, who is currently slumped in his seat, struggling to actually pay attention to what the older man is saying.

"May I remind you, if it hadn't been for Techno, this convoy woul-"

"LOOK OUT!" The angular masked man, deck out in leather and denim sits up with a start, eyes wide and fixed on something he sees through the massive windshield. Philza jerks the wheel and stands on the breaks. The contents of the RV shift. Water bottles, canned, goods and other heavy items tumble off the shelves and cubbies, a few crash onto the tops of Tubbo and Tommy's heads, eliciting a colorful string of curses. Both men slam forward as the trailer skids to a sudden halt. Philza and Techno flop back into their seats blinking, breathless, in the side mirror they see the long line of vehicles- pickup trucks, RVs, four-wheelers and even a few sedans- forming a chain reaction of lurching skids, every member of the caravan screeching to a stop, one by one in a billowing cloud of carbon monoxide.

“What in the hell is that?” he sucks in a breath, still gripping the steering wheel as he tries to focus on the figures standing blithely in their path less than twenty yards ahead of them.

One of them is a tall, Caucasian man, dressed in a tattered green pullover with the hood pull up and over an unsettling white mask- the only marking on it being a very minimal smiley face ‘:)’. In front of him stands a much shorter woman in an equally ragged black sweatshirt and jeans. She has one of her muddy boots propped up on the front fender of a fancy Cadillac SUV- the big black kind often used by shady government types- which is currently parked and idling in the middle of the road. The strangest part of this tableau is that the woman is smiling. Even from this distance, she aims her ultra bright grin at the convoy’s lead vehicle as though preparing to sell some new line of kitchen knives.Techno goes for his .38, which is stuffed down his boot.

“Easy Techno, easy…” Philza takes another deep breath, waving the weapon off. He’s a man approaching his early thirties, Philza wears a well worn graphic-t the design too mottled by age to be recognizable. His face marked with the faintest signs of age, his pouchy eyes radiate a certain kindness. “This seem like a group of the living, no sign yet that they aren’t friendly. Just keep your eyes peeled.”

Techno shoves the short barrel pistol under his belt.”you stay here Phil, I’ll go-”

Philza puts his hand up “No, no… Techno I’ll go. You tell the others to keep their cool and tell them to stay inside their vehicles.” The younger man reaches for his two-way radio as the older man climbs out of the cab.

Over the thirty seconds- the amount of time it takes him to struggle down the running board steps, and scuffle across twenty feet of pavement- a chemical reaction occurs. Unseen, subtle, undetectable to anyone other that the three coming to face each other in the middle of the asphalt two lane. It bubbles up within Philza unexpectedly and as powerfully as an electrical charge passing through him. Instantly he dislikes the large fellow looming behind her.

“Morning sir.” The woman occupying the road says with a gleam of neighborly congeniality in her eyes. Philza can see two others behind the tinted glass of the Escalade- Two young men sat in the back seat, their moods and demeanors are unknown. Their hands hidden, their spines rigid, muscles tightly coiled.

“Hello there…” he calls back, faking a smile. He can feel the eyes and ears of his people on the back of his neck. They need fresh souls and strong backs to help with the maintenance, fuel runs and heavy lifting involved in keep the caravan going. At the same time they must be careful. A few bad apples have passed through the group in recent months and have threatened Its very existence. “Something we can help you with?” He inquires.

The thousand kilowatt smile brightens as she adjusts the hem of her sleeves, almost as if she were readying for a sales meeting. “Didn’t want to sneak up on you back there.” She sniffs and covertly follows Philza’s gaze to the ever looming figure behind her. “You never know who you’re going to run into out here in the wilds of biter country. Your group here seem to have it down to a science, traveling in that little cavalcade of yours, always moving… Safety in numbers - it’s genius really.”

“Thank you.” He keeps his artificial smile plastered on to his face.

“That’s quite a vehicle you got there…”

“Thank you.”

“Is that a Cadillac?”

“Yessir, two thousand and seven, still runs like a top.”

“Looks like it’s been in some rough scrapes.”

“That it has..”

Philza nods pensively “What can we do for you? You seem like a woman-“ his eyes flit to the man behind her once more. “Who’s got something on her mind.”

“Names Y/n, just a fellow survivor trying to get by, avoid the unsavory types, the four us have had our full of it.”

“Uh-huh.” He scratches his chin. He knows what's coming and doesn't like it one bit. It doesn't feel right. “ what can we help you with? We’ve got some extra petrol if that’s something you’re interested in… if not we’ve got some bottled water on hand?”

She pours on the charm. “That's kind of you. These are difficult times. The biters out here are often the least of our problems, you have to be real careful. I wouldn't expect you to just take in any old stray you find along the road.” Her expression softens, her eyes filling with sadness and humility. “ Sir, we are good, hardworking people who need a place of refuge if not only for a short time, we need medical treatment, food and the safety of fellowship. It never occurred to us that solace might be found and a moving target like the one you've got here.”

The daylight has dawned enough now for Philza to clearly see the young men hunkered in the Escalade, obviously injured, nervously waiting. he swallows and licks dry chapped lips. “I'm going to have to ask if the two in the Caddy could maybe go ahead and show their hands.” She turns and gives them a nod, one by one the people in the SUV hold up their hands, revealing that they are unarmed.

Phil nods. “I appreciate that. Now may I ask the number and type of weapons you might be carrying?”

She grins. “It’s not much. Got a couple of nines and a shotgun. Big man’s got a snubby. Not much left over in the way of ammo, I’m afraid.”

He nods again and starts to say, “Fair enough, now if I might ask you to-”

Out of nowhere, a number of unexpected noises and quick movements in his peripheral vision interrupts his spiel and makes him flinch as if a bomb has just gone off. A figure from behind him approaches at a dead run, arms pumping excitedly, voice caterwauling-

“HOLY SHIT!! CHRIST, IT’S HER, I TOLD THEM IT WAS HER- I JUST KNEW IT-!!” The young protégé, dressed clad in red and white comes charging toward Y/n, Big man jerks back, reaching for his weapon taken completely by surprise.

“It’s okay! He’s one of ours!” Philza calls out shooting his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “It’s alright, he’s harmless!” Y/n has her face suddenly aglow with emotion, eyes wet as she spots the kid, seeing the grey scarf still tightly knotted around his belt. She opens her arms.

“I fucking knew it!” The young man plunges into her arms. He so much taller than she remembers, that fact makes her heart ache. “I was worried you might’ve been dead.” He murmurs, his face pressed into the crook of her neck. The woman hugs him back, stroking his head with maternal tenderness. The young man begins to softly weep.

Y/n shushes him, murmuring soothing words. “I’m not dead yet… still that ‘cranky-old ass bitch’ you met in that hole.”

The young man now sobs into her neck. “I missed you… I tried coming back for you, but I was afraid… by the time I got help, you were already gone… I just.. I just didn’t think…”

She shushes him again “Now that’s enough of that, I told you not to bother looking back now didn’t I?” Her hand move to rub circles over his back. Nick pokes his head out the window with a furtive look. “What’s the deal..? Are we staying with these people or what.” Philza looks over at the two still embracing and smiles.

“looks like you’re already apart of the family.”

Tag list:

@the-wandering-pan-ace @hvrcruxes

[silverarmedassassin]

Clandestine Meetings - Prologue

Bucky x reader | Word Count: 1012 | Warnings: Charming Bucky?

Divider by @firefly-graphics ❤️  

[ Series Masterlist | Next ]

One year, six months, and fourteen days.

That’s exactly how long you’ve been graduated from college; exactly how long you’ve tried and consistently failed at launching your writing career.

It’s not that you’re bad at writing. According to every editor, blog-runner, and marketing director you’ve submitted work to, it was simply timing, not you. And as much as you try to not let it affect you, you’re one rejection letter away from throwing in the towel and accepting you’re going to work as an underpaid barista for the rest of your life.

That was, however, until you received a call from Stark Publishing, the leading publishing company in North America. It wasn’t a glamorous position, just something akin to an assistantship gig that you're sure you’ll still be underpaid for. At least you were getting your foot in the door, though, right?

Right. Or, that’s at least what you tell yourself as you settle into the high-tech elevator in the flashiest office building in New York City. You press the button for the 45th floor, stomach doing a few somersaults as you think of being up that high, and dare the doors to shut before anyone else can get in. You couldn’t get that lucky, of course, and right before the doors closed, a tan, perfectly kempt hand shoves its way in.

“Thank god,” the owner, a deliciously tall, wonderfully lean man pants as the doors part for him. “Already late for this meeting.” He vigorously pushes the button for the 43rd-floor repeatedly as if it will make the elevator move quicker.

You internally curse the universe. Not only were you losing your mind over this interview with Mr. Stark, the owner of the magazine, and his editor-in-chief Ms. Potts, but now you were also stuck in a small space with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever laid eyes on. As if you weren’t sweating enough.

Your hands grow even clamier as you grip your faux leather portfolio just a little tighter. You cast your gaze down at a kitten-heeled foot, which is now anxiously tapping on the metallic floor.

“Nervous ‘bout somethin’?” the handsome stranger asks, voice deep like espresso and as smooth as whiskey.

You chance a peek at the man and find two light blue orbs looking down at you, dancing with amusement. A little stubble shadows the sharp angles of his jawline, and his pink, pillowy lips turn up into a shy grin. The smile looks familiar, like something you’ve seen in a dream long ago, but you can’t place a finger on it. You know for a fact you’ve never met this man before - you’d remember someone like him. Plus, you doubt he runs in the same circle as you, considering the sunglasses perched on top of his perfectly quiffed Chesnut locks look like they cost double your rent. It made sense, especially if he worked for Stark. Maybe you’ll be in that position one day, you hope.

The man shifts a little, making you realize you’ve been staring a little too long without actually saying anything. You quickly avert your eyes as your cheeks warm with embarrassment. “Uh, I’ve got an interview,” you say shakily. “With the big man himself.”

The stranger offers a chuckle that gently reverberates in his chest. “Nah, you don’t have anything to worry about. Stark’s all talk. Absolutely no bite.” You look back up at him and find that his grin has doubled in size. “You just gotta walk in there with your head held high and show him who’s in charge of this interview.”

“That’s easier said than done,” you mumble. You’ve been shy and a little unsure of yourself before you started interviewing, but after the endless stream of “we regret to inform you” emails and calls, your confidence is at an all-time low.

The man shrugs and crosses his bulky arms over his broad chest. He doesn’t know who you are. He may have a preconceived notion from reading your resume or stalking your social media, but he doesn’t know you. My ma always told me to fake it ‘till I made it and, well, it’s worked so far.” He flashes that smile at you again, a genuine smile with teeth gleaming even in the dim elevator lighting and crinkles creasing the corners of his eyes.

How is he so perfect?

“Even if you’ve got the confidence of a three-legged horse racin’ in the Kentucky Derby, you need to pretend that you don’t. You’re young, beautiful, and obviously smart if Stark is even considering you for a position. You just gotta believe it until you become it.”

The laughter that bubbles up from your tummy surprises you. “Do you do this often? Give pep talks to strangers in elevators?”

This makes his eyes crease again with joy, and you can’t help but preen a little at the fact you were, for the moment, the source of this man’s happiness. “Only when they’re real pretty.”

You feel your cheeks heat up again as the elevator dings, and an automated Irish-lilted voice chimes through the small space, informing you that you’ve reached the 43rd floor. You can’t help but feel a rush of disappointment now that your ride with this man is over. You wish you could channel some of that mock confidence he was just talking about and ask him for his name. But as luck would have it, you can’t make yourself speak.

“Well, this is where I say goodbye,” the man says as he fixes the sleeve of his jacket - not quite a suit but much nicer than your average sweater. “Good luck on your interview!” he cheerfully says as he steps out. “Remember, you’re great, and you go this.”

You can hear the echoes of his voice greeting staff members as he turns to make his way down the hall. You longingly watch as the doors close slowly. You suddenly found a motivation other than paying bills and eating for wanting this job. And it just so happens to be heading for a meeting.