#century egg x reader

[myownwholewildworld]

THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 | easter eggs pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca’nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ��� the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you―?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

[theonottsbxtch]

YO. hear me out logan sargeant smau where reader is alex albon’s sibling and after logan gets axed from williams (😭😭😭😭😭😭) they actually start talking

COOKIE | LS2

an: gahhh i love logan so much and i can't believe i haven't written the teammate's sister dynamic with him yet, but now i have and i hope you enjoy our favourite american x

fc: random brunette's off pinterest

williamsracing

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, mclaren and 985,382 others

we'd like to thank logan sargeant for all the time he's spent as a driver for williams racing, we wish for the best in his career as he moves on.

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userone: this was handled badly

usertwo: im going to miss you logan

userthree: james vowles worst tp of the century

userfour: bunch of clowns

alex_albon: will miss you lo x

userfive: finally williams did one good thing

usersix: poor logan

ynalbon: will miss your smile around the paddock lo x

userseven: williams sucks

imessage between yn and logan

alex's apartment monza race week

The faint sounds of bustling activity were drifting through the apartment as you stood in the kitchen, sunlight streaming in through the large window. Alex’s sleek, modern space was a comforting mix of his racing memorabilia and the warmth of home. Pulling your phone from your pocket and glancing at the news alert once more. Logan had just been sacked and very quickly replaced. A heavy sigh escaped your lips; you knew how much this meant to him, how closely tied his identity was to the sport.

As you leaned against the countertop, you glanced down at Stan, one of your brother’s man cats, casting expectant eyes in your direction. He nudged your leg with his nose, as if sensing your mood. You crouched down, scratching behind his ears absentmindedly, your mind swirling with thoughts of Alex and the fact that he was getting ready to race in Monza with a new teammate. The team dynamics had shifted, and you couldn’t help but you could feel how the changes had affected Alex.

The idea strikes you suddenly—Logan lived across the hall, he hadn’t moved out yet. You remembered how he always seemed to light up the room, his laugh infectious even in the darkest of moments. You decided that a small gesture might help lift his spirits. Maybe a little treat would remind him that he wasn’t alone in all of this.

You set to work, gathering ingredients from the kitchen. Flour, sugar, and eggs scattered across the countertop as you rummaged through the cabinets. Stan watched you curiously, jumping up onto the counter and tilting his head as you started mixing the batter for chocolate chip cookies. The scent of melting butter and sugar filled the air, sweet and comforting, reminding you of simpler times when you spent all your time out of school baking for your brother in between his competitions.

You popped a spoonful of the thick, glossy batter into your mouth, savouring the taste of nostalgia. With each stir, your thoughts drifted back to the late-night conversations you had with Logan after the races when everyone was setting down, the way he would joke about the pressures of the track, the bond that formed between the three of you by some weird miracle.

As you shaped the dough into perfect little balls and placed them on the baking tray, the oven preheating with a soft hum. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Logan’s expression when he tasted them. You knew he had a sweet tooth, often indulging in baked goods after a long day of training.

While the cookies baked, the kitchen filled with a warm, inviting aroma. You sat on the counter, swinging your legs next to Stan. You thought about Logan again, about the pressure he must be feeling, and how a small act of kindness might brighten his day, if only for a moment.

The timer dinged, and you hopped down, excitement bubbling within you. You carefully pull the tray from the oven, the golden-brown cookies looking perfect and slightly gooey in the centre. As you let them cool down, you grabbed a small tin and placed the cookies inside, sealing them with a lid.

Stan watched as you grabbed the keys, tilting his head again as if asking where you’re going. “Stay here, buddy. I’ll be back soon, and make sure the rest of the cats don’t do anything silly” you said, giving him a quick scratch behind the ears. You glanced in the mirror, smoothing your hair before stepping out into the hallway.

You walked the few steps to Logan’s apartment, knocking softly, the sound echoing against the walls. Moments later, you heard the shuffle of feet and the door swung open, revealing Logan, looking slightly surprised but smiling at the sight of you.

“Hey! What brings you here?” he asked, his voice coloured by his shock.

You held up the tin with a grin. “Thought you could use some cookies after. First race since you know.”

His expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and appreciation crossing his face. “You made these for me?” he asked, reaching for the tin, the warmth of his smile easing the tension in your chest.

Logan grinned, his eyes lighting up even more as he popped open the tin. “These look amazing! I was just about to start a movie. Want to join?” You could tell he was figuring a way to ask.

For a moment, you considered it, the thought of settling into a cosy couch with him, laughter echoing as you watch a film together. But then you remembered the little furballs waiting for you in Alex’s apartment, their mischievous antics demanding your attention.

“I’d love to, but… I really should stay here with Stan and the rest of the cats,” you replied, feeling a twinge of disappointment yourself as you watched the initial spark in Logan’s expression flicker. His shoulders slumped slightly, and you could see the hint of disappointment in his eyes.

“But...” you hesitated, feeling a burst of warmth rise in your chest. “You could always come over.”

His expression shifted from disappointment to surprise, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“No, it’s fine! It’ll be fun, Alex doesn’t get back for another four days,” you insisted, trying to sound more enthusiastic. You stepped back, giving him room to think it over.

“Alright, then!” he said, his voice brightening again. “Let me just grab my keys.”

As he disappeared inside his apartment, you took a moment to collect your thoughts. Your heart raced a little at the idea of him coming over, the casual invitation feeling more significant than you had intended. 

Logan reappeared a moment later, a hoodie thrown on over his t-shirt, and you couldn’t help but notice how comfortable he looked, a sudden urge to hug him washing over you. “After you,” he said, falling into step behind you as you headed down the hallway.

As you walked back to Alex’s apartment, the air buzzed with unspoken energy. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, the familiar scents of cookies enveloping you. Stan greeted you with an enthusiastic brush of his body against your legs, bounding over to Logan, who bent down to give him a quick scratch behind the ears.

“Looks like you’re already popular,” you teased, watching as Stan practically flops onto his back, craving attention.

“I have a way with cats,” he replied with a grin, straightening up and looking around. “So, what’s on the movie menu?”

“Cars? Mine and Alex’s favourite. You can pick—unless you want to help me wrangle the cats first,” you laughed, walking over to the living room where a large, comfy sofa waited. You felt the soft cushions call to you as you settled in, motioning for him to join you.

He took a seat beside you, and you couldn’t help but notice how easily you fell into conversation, the nerves dissipating as you laughed and joked around. Pulling the tin of cookies onto your lap, you offered him one. Logan took a generous bite, his eyes widening in delight.

“Wow, these are incredible! You’ve outdone yourself,” he said, and you couldn’t help but beam at the compliment.

“Thank you! They’re a family recipe, so you know they come with some serious baking credentials,” you said, a playful glint in your eye.

As you scrolled through the movie options, the atmosphere felt easy and relaxed. For the first time since Alex left you before Monza you didn’t feel to lonely.

The opening credits rolled, and for a moment, you sat in comfortable silence, the warmth of the cookies and Logan’s presence wrapping around you like a cosy blanket. You glanced sideways at him, catching him grinning at the screen, and your heart swelled a little more.

You were glad you made those cookies now.

ynalbon

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, georgerussel63 and 34,5827 others

baking and night in >>

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userone: she is so pretty

usertwo: KATCHOW

userthree: i need her to bake me something stat

logansargeant: best cookies known to mankind

userfour: wait-

userfive: oh..?

alex_albon: now wait a god damn minute

usersix: my fav ever

userseven: someone needs to study the albon family genes

alex_albon has posted a story

alex’s apartment singapore race week

The hallway felt familiar under your feet now, the subtle creak of the floorboards as you crossed from Alex’s door to Logan’s. It had become a kind of routine, these quiet visits to each other’s apartments while you were housesitting. Sometimes it was to share a plate of freshly baked cookies or just to unwind after a long day. You’d fallen into an easy rhythm with him, a shared understanding that neither of you had to say much to enjoy the other’s company.

As you knocked softly on his door, you didn’t expect anything unusual. But when the door opened, the first thing you noticed was the packed bag by the entryway. Your smile faltered just a little, your eyes flicking from the luggage to Logan, who stood in front of you, rubbing the back of his neck. There was a slight tension in the air, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He stepped aside to let you in, but the bags remained in your peripheral vision, a silent question hanging between you.

“Hey,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “Going somewhere?”

Logan glanced at the bags, then back at you, his lips pressing together for a moment. “Yeah… I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m heading to America for a few weeks. Got an offer to test for Indy.” His voice was calm, but you caught a hint of something else underneath—maybe uncertainty or excitement.

Your stomach dropped just a little at the news. It shouldn’t surprise you—racing had always been his world, his dream—but it still hit harder than you had expected. “America?” You repeated the word softly, trying to wrap your mind around the distance.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, his hands shoved in his pockets. “It’s not set in stone, but they want me to test, see if I’m a good fit.”

“That’s… amazing, Lo,” you said, a genuine smile tugging at your lips despite the sudden knot in your chest. You’d always known he was destined for more, something bigger than these quiet evenings in a shared hallway.

“Thanks,” he replied, his own smile faint but appreciative. He watched you closely, as if gauging your reaction.

You stepped further into the room, glancing once more at the bag, before turning back to him. “I’ll miss you,” you admitted, the words coming out before you could think to soften them. It was the truth, plain and simple, though you hadn’t realised how much his presence had come to mean to you until now.

Logan looked at you for a long moment, something softening in his expression. “I’ll miss you too,” he said quietly. His words were steady, but there was an unmistakable sincerity behind them, as if they meant more than he’s letting on.

The air between you felt heavier now, filled with the things neither of you were saying. The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—just the weight of the realisation that something had shifted.

You laughed softly, trying to break the tension. “Guess I’ll have to bake my cookies for Stan instead.”

Logan chuckled, though there was still a warmth in his eyes that made your heart ache just a little. “Yeah, I’ll bet he won’t mind. But I’ll miss them… and you.” He said it again, the words lingering in the space between you.

You both stood there, neither quite knowing what to say next. The easy back-and-forth you’d grown so used to had shifted into something more meaningful, something deeper. And as much as you were happy for him—excited for the possibilities ahead—there was a small part of you that wished you could keep these moments just a little longer.

“When do you leave?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied, his eyes never leaving yours.

Tomorrow. It felt so soon, so sudden, but you nodded, offering him another small smile. “Well, I hope it’s everything you want it to be.”

He stepped closer then, just a little, as if drawn to you. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You nodded again, but the reality of it felt different, like something precious slipping through your fingers. And yet, there was no bitterness, only a quiet acceptance that this was the path he’d always been on.

You gave Logan one last smile before turning back toward the door. “I'm going to head back to the cats.”

As much as you hated the thought of him leaving, there was nothing more to say. His world was racing, and you knew how important this opportunity was for him. Stan and the rest of the cats would be wondering where you are by now, and you began to tell yourself it was better not to linger.

Your hand was on the door handle when you heard his voice, quiet but insistent.

“Wait.”

You stopped, heart skipping a beat, and turned back toward him. He was standing in the middle of the room, his brows slightly furrowed, as if debating something with himself. His eyes met yours, searching for a moment, and then he took a step toward you.

“Don’t go yet,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something shifted in the air between you, the tension tightening around the words you hadn’t spoken. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, he closed the space between you. His hand reaching out, brushing against your arm, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver up your spine.

“Lo…” you started, your voice catching in your throat, but the look in his eyes made your heart race. There was no need for words now. You’d shared so many moments, so many small, unspoken things, and suddenly it all felt like it had been leading to this.

He leaned in, and everything else fell away—the packed bags, the uncertainty, the days apart that lay ahead. His lips met yours gently at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But then something deeper took over, the kiss becoming more sure, more real.

You sank into it, your hands instinctively finding his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie as if to hold on to him, to this moment. His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing softly along your cheek, anchoring you to him in a way that felt both overwhelming and perfect.

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to just the two of you. It was everything you didn’t realise you’d been waiting for—his closeness, the feel of him, the quiet intensity in the way he pulled you toward him as if he was afraid to let go.

When you finally parted, you were both breathless, standing there in the stillness of his apartment. Your forehead resting against his, the shared warmth between you a quiet comfort. Neither of you spoke right away, but the weight of what just happened lingered in the air, filling the silence with unspoken promises.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Logan finally said, his voice rough, almost a confession. He still hadn’t let go of you, his hand sliding from your cheek to your shoulder, as if grounding himself in the moment.

You let out a shaky laugh, your own hands still resting against his chest. “I’m glad you did.”

He smiled then, that soft, crooked smile that had always made your heart skip a beat. “I really am going to miss you.”

Your chest tightens at the words, but this time, there was a new kind of warmth behind them. It was no longer just a casual statement—it was filled with meaning, with everything that passed between you in that kiss.

“I’ll miss you too,” you whispered, your voice soft as you leaned into him again, the closeness between you now something tangible and real.

For a moment, neither of you moved, standing there in the middle of his apartment, lost in this bubble you’d created. But then you heard the faint sound of probably Stan scratching at the door across the hall, and it brought you back to reality, reminding you of the world outside.

“I should go,” you said reluctantly, your forehead still pressed against his, though now you were reluctant to pull away.

Logan nodded, his thumb brushing your skin one last time before he stepped back. “I know.”

You moved toward the door, this time with a weight in your chest that felt different—full of things you still wanted to say, but that could wait for another time. You glanced back at him one last time, his eyes following you, filled with the same mixture of emotions you felt.

“Good luck,” you said softly, your hand lingering on the doorknob. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he replied, and the sincerity in his voice tugged at your heart.

ynalbon

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, lilymhe and 32,382 others

missing my cookie (also looky says hi)

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userone: NO SHES IN A RELATIONSHIP KILL ME NOW AND MAKE IT QUICK

usertwo: there goes my chance

userthree: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON’T LET IT BE SOME MEDICORE BORING MAN PLEASE GOD PLEASE

userfour: we lost her ☹️☹️

alex_albon: i think you have something to tell me

lilymhe: i think you have something to tell US

ynalbon: oh wont you look at that, looky has started cooking dinner, need to go help out!

userfive: now who the heck is cookie

usersix: i think i know what’s happening 🤭🤭

logansargeant: that’s one grumpy ass cat

alex_albon: watch how you talk to my kid

ynalbon: yeah watch how you talk to my nephew

alex_albon: i thought you needed to go help looky cook?

ynalbon: 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️💨

userseven: FUCK I THOUGHT SHE WAS FOR THE GIRLIES NOO

alex's apartment autumn break

Walking into your Alex’s apartment, you were greeted by the familiar scent of coffee and the quiet hum of an afternoon sports program playing in the background. Stan padded over to you, meowing as you bent down to give him a quick scratch behind the ears.

“I’m just grabbing my jacket,” you called out, heading toward the living room where Alex was sprawled on the couch, watching something about Premier League Football.

He glanced up from his phone, half-focused on the screen and half on you. “Sure, no rush.”

You pulled open the closet door and rummaged around for the jacket you left here the other night, the one you’d forgotten in the rush to go pick up said brother from the airport because “he was too tired to drive home”. As you tugged it off the hanger, Alex’s voice cut through the silence, casually.

“I’m heading to America next week to support Logan during his testing,” he said, almost offhandedly. “Thought I’d ask if you wanted to come with me.”

Your movements stilled for a moment as his words sank in. You tried to act nonchalant, but your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Logan—memories of your last night with him flooding back in an instant. That kiss. The way he’d held you like he didn’t want to let go. The late night facetime calls and watch parties held.

You pulled your jacket out of the wardrobe and closed the door slowly, turning to face Alex. “Why would I want to go?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, maybe a little too casual.

He didn’t even look up from his phone, but you could see the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Come on, I’m not stupid,” he said, finally glancing up at you, eyebrow raised.

Your stomach flipped, and you quickly dropped your gaze, hoping your face didn’t betray the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He rolled his eyes, sitting up a little straighter on the couch. “You really think I haven’t noticed? The way you and Logan have been on those little secret calls? The way you light up when his name comes up?” He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, clearly enjoying how uncomfortable he was making you. “I’m your brother. It’s kind of my job to notice.”

You bit your lip, feeling caught and not quite sure how to deflect. “We’re just… friends,” you mumbled, though even you didn’t sound convinced.

He raised his eyebrows, clearly not buying it. “Right. Just friends who happen to pop into each other’s apartments all the time. And who bake each other baked goods. And who look at each other like…” He trailed off, smirking again, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“Okay, okay, stop,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands for a moment, trying to hide the smile that was threatening to break through. When you peeked up at him, he was still watching you with that knowing look.

“So?” he asked, clearly waiting for you to admit what he already knew.

You sighed, dropping your hands. “Fine. Yes. I’ll go with you.”

Alex grinned, triumphant. “I knew it.”

You grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it at him, but he just laughed, catching it effortlessly. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” you warned, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. It'd been at least a week since Logan left for America, and even though you’d kept yourself busy, you’d missed him more than you care to admit. The idea of seeing him again, of surprising him there, made your heart race in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I won’t,” Alex said, though the twinkle in his eye suggested he wasn’t not entirely telling the truth. He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “It’ll be fun. Besides, I’m sure Logan will be glad to see you.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but inside you were already imagining what it would be like to see Logan again. “Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, heading toward the door. “Let me know when we’re leaving.”

As you turned the handle, Alex called out after you, voice teasing. “Don’t forget to pack something cute!”

You threw him a glare over your shoulder, but the door was already swinging shut behind you, and you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself as you headed back to your place, thoughts of Logan filling your mind.

By Friday you were in the hot American Sun. The hum of engines and the low chatter of mechanics surrounded you as you step onto the pit lane at the American track, the late afternoon sun casting a golden hue over everything. The sound and energy of the place were both exciting and overwhelming, but all you could think about was finding him.

Alex walked a few steps ahead, already scanning the area for new faces, but your eyes darted around, searching for Logan. The journey here had been long, full of anticipation, and now that you were so close, your heartbeat a little faster, eager for the moment you’d been waiting for.

And then, you spotted him.

Logan was standing near one of the garages, his back to you at first, talking to a few team members. He was wearing his racing suit, the top half unzipped and hanging around his waist, revealing a fitted t-shirt beneath. You froze for a second, just taking him in, that familiar rush of emotions surging through you.

He must have felt your gaze because suddenly he turned around, his eyes sweeping across the pit lane—until they landed on you. His face lit up instantly, and before you could even think, your feet were moving.

You broke into a run, dodging past a few crew members and weaving between equipment, Alex forgotten behind you. Logan’s grin widened as he stepped forward, bracing himself as you closed the distance. When you reached him, you threw your arms around his neck, and in one swift, effortless motion, he caught you, lifting you off the ground.

You laughed, the sound light and free, as he spun you around, the world momentarily disappearing in the rush of joy and adrenaline. His hands were firm on your waist, holding you close, and when he finally set you back on your feet, neither of you could stop smiling.

Before you could say a word, he pulled you in, his lips found yours in a kiss that was both urgent and tender. It was a kiss that made the long days apart disappear, one that said everything you’d both been holding onto since he left. The noise of the track faded into the background, leaving just the two of you, lost in the moment.

But then, from somewhere behind you, you heard a not-so-subtle clearing of the throat.

You pulled back from Logan, cheeks flushed, and glanced over your shoulder to see Alex standing there, arms crossed, eyebrow raised in a way that was both amused and exasperated. Logan looked over too, blinking like he’d just come back to reality.

“Sorry,” Logan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, his usual confidence slipping for just a second.

Alex shook his head but walked forward with a grin. “Nah, man, you’re good,” he said, clapping Logan on the shoulder in a way that was more approving than anything else. “Just… maybe keep the PDA down when I’m around, yeah?”

You rolled your eyes, but you were grinning too, feeling the warmth of Logan’s arm still around you. “I’ll try to keep him under control,” you said, shooting your brother a teasing look.

“Good luck with that,” your brother muttered, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two for a bit. Want to see what this Indy Racing is all about.” He waved lazily and headed off toward the paddock, giving you and Logan some space.

As he disappeared into the crowd, Logan turned back to you, his grin returning, though there was a slight blush colouring his cheeks. “So… surprise?”

You laughed, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, I’d say you’re surprised.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, pulling you closer, his voice softer now that the moment had quieted down. “It’s been… weird without you.”

“I missed you too,” you admitted, resting your head against his chest for a moment, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear comforting. “And besides, I couldn’t let you have all the fun over here without me.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I’m about to test, but maybe you could go sit in the tent over there with the other girlfriends?”

You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “The other girlfriends?”

Logan smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Don’t play coy, you were mine the minute you kissed me back in my apartment.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Damn maybe I shouldn’t have kissed you back then.”

He smirked, that familiar glint in his eye. “Don’t be stupid now. Come on cookie, let’s go over to the tent, I want to introduce my cool and sexy girlfriend.”

logansargeant

liked by alex_albon, ynalbon, lilymhe and 985,342 others

got the best fan ever

*tap to load more comments*

userone: oh my god

usertwo: i just fell to my knees in the middle of walmart parking lot

userthree: at least our logan is happy

alex_albon: yuck

logansargeant: hater

userfour: that's alex's sister omg

userfive: what in the fanfiction

usersix: is that alex's sister? how did that happen?

logansargeant: she texted me after the news and then dropped off some "feel better soon" cookies and it's pretty much been history since then, i'm a lucky guy😊😊

usersix: oh my god i'm sick

ynalbon: this was not on my 2024 bingocard btw

logansargeant: its' been on mine since 2022

userseven: OH MY GOD THEY'RE SO CUTE

ynalbon

liked by logansargeant, alex_albon, lilymhe and 334,236 others

no longer just a formula one sister, im now an indy wag 🤭

*tap to load more comments*

userone: WE LOST HER SOLDIERS

usertwo: if i see one more picture of them baking, i'm kissing my gun

userthree: most unexpected couple of 2024

alex_albon: who tf is going to look after my cats?

ynalbon: bring them to america

alex_albon: how about no?

ynalbon: hater much?

userfour: this is too cute

userfive: thank you for looking after logan for us

lilymhe: ignore the haters babe, you two are very cute (@/alex_albon)

ynalbon: yes ma'am

alex_albon: ARE YOU CALLING MY EX TEAMMATE CUTE?!

usersix: i was mourning the loss of aa23 and ls2 but yn has solved all my issues

logansargeant: 🍪🤍

the end.

[absurdthirst]

Online Love {Javier Peña x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.3k

Warnings: Online dating, feelings of inadequacy, anger, upset, mentions of past bullying, Javi having restraint, oral sex (male and female receiving), tiny bit of body worship, unprotected sex, vaginal sex

Comments: Coming home after Cali, Javi finds that his dad has moved into modern times. There's a computer in the house. Unsatisfied with his reputation proceeding him, he decides to go online to find out if he can be the man he wants to be. Except the one he connects with, you, has a very complicated past together.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Javier Peña MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The last thing that Javi expected to find at the Peña ranch upon his return, was a computer. He wasn’t even sure that his father had known what one was, let alone how to turn one on. But there it was. A great hulking machine that is set up in the dining room, taking up half the damn table. He had frowned at his pop, hands on his hips as he asked him what the hell he did with the damn thing. “Talk to people.” Chucho laughs at his son’s confused ire and slaps him on the back. “I got that dial up package added to the phone line. Even my accountant told me I needed one.” 

Javier avoids the computer for weeks, eying it like it's going to turn on and take over the world. At least, that's what every Sci-Fi movie is about lately. He watches his pa try to cook scrambled eggs and snorts at the curses coming from his father's mouth while he flips through the paper. ‘Free Online Dating Membership. Join Match.com today!’ The ad in the corner catches his eye and he snorts again, wondering who the hell goes on the internet to find a date. He can go to any bar and pick up a woman. Well, he can get a one night stand. Every woman within fifty miles knows about the infamous Javier Peña and his reputation precedes him. The doorbell rings and Javier huffs, folding the paper to get the door. "I got it, pa." He tells his father who is still cursing the now burnt scrambled eggs. 

"Oh, uh, hi. Javier." You clear your throat and Javier's eyes widen. He says your name and you are surprised he remembers you. "I have papers for Chucho." You hold up the folder and Javier steps aside. You walk into the kitchen to find Chucho rinsing out a frying pan, the smell of burnt eggs in the air, and you smile at the older Peña. "Just dropping off the quarterly report." You set the folder down.

“You’re his accountant?” Javi asks, following you into the kitchen and he can’t help that his eyes have fallen down to your ass as you walk in front of him. It is a habit when he is around a beautiful woman and you have become that. No longer the awkward and gangly girl he had remembered before he had left for Columbia, you have matured into a graceful woman. It isn’t quite fair because you weren’t too much younger than him. 

“Yes.” You turn and give him a confused smile and tilt your head in curiosity at what he was meaning. You had always been good at math, enjoying numbers more than socializing. 

“So that-” he points to the computer in the dining room, “is your fault?” 

You chuckle a little, "don't you want to join us in the 20th century, Javier? It's nearly the 21st. A computer is the future." You take a step closer to Javier, lowering your voice, "besides, your dad can join forums. Speak to other ranchers. Other widows. There's a whole world out there and that computer brings it to him." You had noticed how lonely Chucho was and he is far too proud to say anything so you suggested the computer.

“What’s wrong with the annual rancher’s association meetings?” Javi snorts, rolling his eyes at the idea of his father courting widows through a computer. His mother was the love of his life, and he had honestly never even suggested moving on. He was still wearing his wedding ring that his mother placed on his finger nearly fifty years ago. “Going to town to the tack and feed store? Meeting people in person?” 

You shake your head, "your dad is a proud man. He's loyal to your mother, even after all these years. You can't be honest about how you feel with people you've known for years. On the computer, you can be anonymous, you can tell someone how you truly feel without seeing the judgment on their face. You can be who you really are when you're behind a screen." You confess, knowing you have your own experience with that anonymity. "You wouldn't understand it. You've never had a problem with saying what you think."

That’s not true, and Javi opens his mouth to tell you that, but he stops. You said that one could be the person they wanted to be. Who they really are. Javi glances back at the computer again, contemplating that in a different light. Everyone knew Javier Peña, by his reputation, by the stories that had been written while he was in Colombia. They judged him, or treated him how they expected him to act. Every woman he had met recently just wanted to ‘see if the rumors were true’. He hadn’t taken many of them home. Looking back at you, he shrugs slightly, as if it’s not anything to him. “They are a pain in the ass when they act up.” He grunts. 

You chuckle, pointing to the big book on the dining room table next to the computer. "Good thing you have the instruction manual." You quip and walk back over to Chucho who thanks you for bringing the report. "We need to work on the W2's next month." You tell Chucho who nods, "thanks, chiquita." He winks at you and grabs the egg carton. "Any chance you can cook scrambled eggs?" He asks and you giggle, "I would show you but I have to go meet Maria to explain why her new RV is not a tax write off." You chuckle and Chucho winks at you, "luego." You turn to look at Javier, "see you around, Peña." You show yourself out, exhaling deeply as you recognize that you couldn't avoid Javier forever.

Over the next few days, Javi eyes the computer. Debating with himself as he smokes out on the front porch. His dad still won’t allow smoking in the house even though his mother’s oxygen tanks were long gone. Looking at the outline of the large monitor through the screen door and contemplating your comment. He could be someone other than Javier Peña, manwhore or DEA disgrace. He wouldn’t be grumpy or sarcastic, not unless he wanted to appear that way. The person he could be online wouldn’t be burdened with the sorrows and mistakes that seemingly weigh him down. He blows out a breath and crushes out the butt before he yanks the door open and steps back into the house. His father is out for a few hours and he can at least turn it on to see what all the fuss is about. 

You bite your lip as you log onto the website. You never imagined you'd join an online dating website. You had seen the video tapes from dating agencies and you never allowed yourself to get so lonely that you resorted to that but the internet brought a new option. You like that there's no photos. Only an initial and a location. It's anonymous and you chat, then decide if you like each other. Sure, you've had some bad matches in person. Some not at all like they described themselves, some total assholes. You keep trying though. You want to find your person.

“Goddamnit.” Javi scowls at the computer and bangs the enter button several times. “Why won’t you do it?” He hisses, seeing the little arrow over the area he wants to go, but it’s not doing anything. “Fuck.” He rolls his eyes at himself and grabs the stupid thing called a mouse. Why it was a mouse, he will never know, but he clicks buttons until the page starts to load, leaning back with an annoyed sigh while he waits.

You have a sip of wine as you wait for the website to load. You sigh, watching the screen flicker as the website is displayed pixel by pixel. When it's loaded, you type in your email address and password. Grabbing the mouse, you click the 'log in' button and lean back, waiting again for the website to load.

It’s been nothing but a pain in the ass to set up this page. Debating on what to put, he had gotten annoyed at himself several times and almost walked away. Now he’s ready to browse available women, but knowing his luck, there won’t be anyone for hundreds of miles.

You set your wine glass down, surprised to see there's a new person online. "J" is the name and his tagline says "here to be myself." That intrigues you. You bite your lip, contemplating clicking on the profile until you select it and wait for it to load. "Name is J. Looking to be myself, find someone to talk to who wants to get to know who I truly am. Texas born and raised. Work in law enforcement so not a creep." You chuckle at the bio and decide to click on the 'chat now' button. You take another gulp of wine and select his profile, typing out a simple "hi".

A box pops up with a loud ding, making Javi sit up. Someone is messaging him already. He tries to suppress the surge of pleasure in his stomach as he remembers to click the line so he can peck at the keyboard. “Hi.” He hits enter and then frowns slightly because it seems so impersonal. “How are you?” He notices the initial and adds that before sending the next message. Frowning as he waits for a response.

You are surprised he responded so fast and your stomach clenches with nerves as you type out “I’m good. Just having a glass of wine. How are you?” You type, glad for those hours you spent on typewriters back when you were a teenager trying to write a novel. It sucked but your typing skills are excellent.

“Well shit.” Javier huffs, slightly amazed at the speed of the reply. He’s used a computer, he had to in those final years with the DEA. Hated it, preferred the typewriter, but he had never really talked to someone online like this before. “What do I say now?” He asks himself, wishing he could light up a cigarette. Hunching over the keyboard, he begins a two finger pecked response. “Wine sounds good right about now, although a glass of whiskey and a cigarette is more my speed.”

You have another sip of wine, waiting for his response. It takes a while and you wonder if he’s walked away from the computer but it soon pings through the speakers and you read his reply. A chuckle escapes your lips, “typical man.” You snort to yourself and reply quickly, hitting enter to send the message. “I don’t smoke. Never have. I don’t care if someone does smoke. So what brings you to this website?” You chew on the skin of your thumb as you wait for his response. It’s nice to talk to someone different. Someone you haven’t known your whole life growing up in Laredo.

Javi feels slightly guilty about smoking as he reads your reply. He will have to air the house out before his pa gets home. Wondering why he’s actually here. “Want someone to get to know me and not what they think they know about me.” Javi types out slowly. “Like I’m trying to quit smoking again, and everyone tells me that I shouldn’t try.”

Your heart clenches at his honest reply. You glance over at the photo of you and your parents when you were younger, remembering how you’d get made fun of for being too geeky. For liking numbers instead of boys. “If you want to quit smoking, you should try. Do it for you. Not anyone else.” You hit send, and then type out “everyone tells me I need to get laid but I don’t want meaningless sex. I want a real relationship. Someone I can talk to and be real myself with.” You hit send before you can think too hard about your reply.

Javi snorts to himself. “Meaningless sex doesn’t help.” He types out. “Not in the long run. I know. Sometimes it just makes you feel worse.” He’s had plenty of time for self reflection and regret. “So who is the real you?”

You sigh and type out “I guess that’s what I’m wanting to figure out. I have been so sensible my entire life. I want to let loose a little. Enjoy life. I struggle to trust anyone and it’s led to me to isolating. Hence why I’m on here.” You hit send and take another gulp of wine, feeling vulnerable.

Javi understands that. “People always call me an asshole, not understanding that I’ve seen shit that would make grown men cry. They wouldn’t believe me if I told them I’ve cried.” He tells you and continues the message. “Letting loose sounds like something I need to do too.”

“Were you in the armed forces?” You type out and he replies, “something like that.” You hum, typing again, “well at least you know yourself. You should be able to cry. Doesn’t make you any less of a man because you cry. As for letting loose, maybe we could help each other out with that.” You hit send and take another sip of wine, glancing over at the clock. It’s getting late.

“We could do that.” Javi hums to himself as he starts to type out his response. “What’s your idea of fun?” He asks. “Or the theory of fun.” His idea of fun is so far removed he doesn’t remember anymore. “I like watching movies.”

“Watching movies is good. I love bowling. I haven’t been since I was a kid.” You confess when you type, “or just a day out in the sun. I work so much. It’s hard to relax. I want to succeed. Stand on my own two feet.” You hit send and exhale, realizing how long you’ve been holding this inside of you.

“Do you like the beach?” Javi asks in return, smirking to himself about going to the bowling alley a few towns over. “Or more of a swimming pool kind of girl? You are a girl, right?”

You giggle, imagining J furrowing his brow. “I’m a girl. It says so in the bio.” You hit enter and continue typing, “you’re a boy?” You ask him to confirm and he responds, “yes.” It said so in his bio but you can’t trust anything on the internet. “I love the beach. And the swimming pool. Pool is better for sex. The beach…sand gets in places you don’t want to imagine.” You shudder, remembering when you went to the beach with your first boyfriend and got sand in too many crevices.

Javi’s brows shoot up when you admit that. He chuckles to himself and decides to be completely honest. “Never had sex in a pool or at the beach.” He types. “Fucked in a swimming hole, does that count?” He asks, remembering the time him and Lorraine went down to the local swimming hangout.

You giggle, typing back, “it kinda does. So, what is the true J? A man of mystery. Perhaps you’re a spy and that’s why you haven’t let anyone close to you.” You smirk as you hit send.

Javi chuckles as he reads that and shakes his head like he is in the room with the other person. “Hardly. No one could ever accuse me of being Bond. I don’t have the patience for it.” He pauses, considering your question. “I’m secretly a romantic. Wishing that I had someone to share a future with. I want to love someone, have them love me. I want laughter and fun, quiet nights reading books, early morning cups of coffee with someone.”

You smile softly at the way he says he wants romance. You want the same thing. You want someone to be happy with, to make happy. You quickly type back “that’s exactly what I want. A partner. I want someone to laugh with, to share my day with.” You hit send before you can think too hard about it.

Smiling as he reads the message, he feels like someone is listening to him for the first time. Really listening to him. He licks his lips and feels like he’s crazy for feeling connected through a computer screen. “Until you find that partner, maybe we can share our days?” He offers, biting his lip and wishing he could unsend it just as soon as it’s posted.

“Absolutely.” You type back and hit send before you think twice. You have a good feel for J and you want to get to know him more, be that person he can talk to. It’s nice to have someone want to talk to you that doesn’t even know what you look like. You yawn, the wine and the long day getting to you, and you type out “I’m exhausted. Long day today. Chat tomorrow?”

Javi looks at the clock and is surprised by how long he’s spent online. Soon, his father will be back. “Sounds good. Sweet dreams.” He types out, sending it and wondering if whoever the other person is will sleep soundly or toss and turn like he normally does. He hopes that it’s the former.

You log off, getting ready for bed and you fall asleep to dreams of a partner who loves you and makes you happy and you make them happy. 

****

The entire day you spend thinking about logging back onto the website. You try to concentrate on the numbers in front of you but it’s almost impossible to calculate when you think about what J might look like. His bio said brown eyes and brown hair. You wonder if he’s tall or short. You don’t care, you like talking to him. When you arrive home, you eat dinner and disconnect your phone so you can connect to the internet. The shrill tone of the dial up is a familiar sound to you but still makes you wince until you can log back on the website, tapping your fingers as you wait for any sign that J is online.

“Pa! Don’t pick up the phone, I’m going to be online!” Javi calls out from the dining room to the living room where his dad is laid back in the recliner in front of a soccer game. “I thought it was stupid?” The rough laugh of the older man feels like teasing but Javi rolls his eyes and huffs slightly. His reading glasses perched on the end of his nose as he had a headache from staring at the screen last night. “Just don’t pick up the phone!” He demands again and starts to connect the computer so he can see how his online friend is doing this evening.

You smile when the speakers chirp with a new message alert. “Hi. How was your day?” He asks and you type out a quick response. “Long. Boring. But it’s looking up right now. How was your day?” You respond, wondering if he had a good day or if he found it as laborious as you did.

Javi has been looking forward  to this all day, if he’s honest with himself. It was what had gotten him through another day of repairing fences and trying to fix everything on the ranch that his pop hadn’t been able to get to. “Seemed like it would never end.” He grins to himself when he thinks that you might have been looking forward to talking to him. “But I’m settled down with a beer, how about you? Got a glass of wine?”

You smile at his response, quickly typing “of course. Cheers, J.” You hit send and type another message. “I was thinking about you today. Wondered what kind of movies you like. What kind of music you like.” You know these questions are juvenile but you like chatting to him and getting to know him without any pressure.

Javi hums to himself. Intrigued that his mystery friend was thinking of him. He taps his chin, wishing for a cigarette, but he had put on a patch this morning, and starts to list them out. “Grew up watching westerns, but I think I like dramas.” He types out. “Action is alright, but they always depict shit wrong. Shooing a car’s gas tanks isn’t going to make it blow up.” He goes on. “Music, I’m still an easy listening, 70’s kind of guy. What about you? What’s your taste in movies and music?”

You snort at his answer about action not being accurate. You type back, “I love dramas. And romance. Westerns…my dad used to watch them so I’ve seen almost every western out there. John Wayne was a big hit in my house growing up. As for music, 70s, 80s. I’m not sure about the 90s. Music is changing. I miss the ballads and classic rock.” You hit send and take a sip of wine, the dial up crackling in the background.

Javi snorts and shrugs slightly, like he’s talking to someone in person. “80s music is a little too peppy for me.” He admits with a grin as he types it out. “Power ballads are amazing.”

You nod as if he’s in the damn room with you and you fluster as you catch yourself. “I can’t imagine you as a Huey Lewis listener.” You type out and he types back, “how do you imagine me?” You bite your lip, “well, your bio says you have brown eyes and brown hair. So I’m guessing your eyes are a little jaded from shit you’ve gone through but also soulful, like the key to your emotions is in your eyes. Most men are guarded but their eyes tell their story.” You hit send, hoping he doesn’t think you’ve overstepped.

Suddenly, he feels like this person is in the room with him and has stripped him naked. Not of his clothes, but of his armor. “I rarely look in the mirror. Except when I’m shaving.” He admits. “But my momma used to say she could tell everything I was feeling through my eyes.”

Your heart aches for the man, clearly he’s been beaten up by life and you want to hold him, tell him it’s all okay. You type back, “wise woman your momma. I understand how you feel. I’m not haunted by demons but I was bullied as a kid until I left school. Too nerdy, not pretty enough. Not thin enough. It still affects me to this day.” You hit send and take a large gulp of wine.

Javi frowns when he sees your words and hates how that could be possible when you are a sweet person. “Size doesn’t matter. Every body type is beautiful in some way.” He types out. “I love women of all shapes and sizes. Pretty only lasts as long as age. It’s the soul that makes a person beautiful.”

His words melt your heart, a man who doesn't just want the pretty Playboy bunny girl to fuck. He seems genuine, unlike most men you meet. "Exactly. That's how I feel. You are attracted to their aura, their personality...looks are a bonus." You hit send and smile into your wine glass, wondering if you should suggest meeting up. His bio shows that he is within 20 miles of you.

“Exactly.” Javi types back immediately. “I want someone who will build a future with me, but also be willing to jump into the truck with a cooler of sodas, a full tank of gas, a map and no destination in mind.” He had imagined taking a road trip once, with Lorraine and she had immediately vetoed it. It might be one of the things that caused him to start rethinking their upcoming marriage so many years ago.

Your stomach twists at how perfect he seems, how he seems to completely understand you. "Well, if you ever need a road trip buddy. I'm your gal.” You type back, a grin on your face and you know you look ridiculous. His chat goes offline after that and you frown, confused and wondering if you did something to upset him. 

"Pa! Get off the phone!" Javi yells at his father who picked up the landline, forgetting that Javi is online. "Sorry mijo. I forgot." He admits, slamming the phone down.

“Damnit.” Javi hisses, hoping that you weren’t insulted by his internet dropping out. He listens to the modem dialing and it seems like it’s taking forever. “Hurry up, hurry up!” He growls, his stomach flipping unpleasantly at the idea of you thinking that he’s just done with the conversation. It takes forever in his mind, even if it’s just a few minutes and he’s relieved when the chat reconnects. “Fuck, I’m sorry. My dad picked up the phone.” He types out quickly.

You’re surprised that he lives with his dad but you can’t judge, you lived with your parents until you finished university. His bio says he’s over 40. “It’s fine! Shit happens.” You hit send and giggle slightly, wondering if he was frustrated that the connection dropped. “Thought you didn’t want a road trip buddy.” You tease, watching the message go through for a few seconds until it says delivered.

“Get me out of here!” Javi types back quickly, chuckling to himself. “I never thought living with my dad again would be so frustrating.” He admits. “I moved back to help him and it doesn’t make sense to live somewhere else. He’s stubborn and doesn’t want to admit he’s getting older.”

You like that he is living with his dad to help him. You like that he seems to be a family man. “One day you’ll miss him when he’s gone.” You type, hitting send. “Do you want kids? Marriage?” You ask, curious if he’s interested in that.

Javi frowns as he contemplates that question. It had been one that Lorraine had sort of asked him, in a way, when she asked him if he had imagined their life together. He had. He would have never had kids while he was DEA, but he’s done with that part of his life now. He could have that if he wanted, so does he? He flexes his fingers and starts to type. “Never really thought it was going to happen for me.” He replies. “But I could see it. Now. Had a dangerous job for a long time and I wouldn’t have ever thought about it then. But yeah, I would want that. You?”

You ponder his answer, appreciating his honesty and you aren’t rushing him down the aisle but you like to know if you’re on the same page because you like him. You type back “I want kids someday. If it happens. I’m a big believer that things that are meant to be, happen.”

Javi leans back, running a hand through his hair as he thinks about that. There’s been plenty of times he probably should have become a father, by accident, but it had never happened. He had made sure not to leave any kids behind for the mothers to take care of while he had moved on. He notices that your profile says you are in your 30s. So there’s still time. “One? Two?” He types out. “Boy? Girl? Both?”

You are surprised he’s not running a mile at this conversation. Most men would. “Two. One of each ideally but I’d take healthy babies any day.” You hover to hit send before you add, “what about you? Any ideas on kids?” You hit send and rub your cheek, hating how much you like this guy. Someone whose name you don’t even know. You have no photo, no additional information.

Javi never really thought about it before, not sure if it would matter. He shrugs slightly. “Happy, healthy, safe.” He replies. “Not sure if you really have any options. You’re gonna get what you get. Least that’s how I look at it.”

You chuckle, replying back, “very true. Healthy. Happy. Safe. That’s what everyone wants.” You like that he didn’t say “boy” like every other man would. You chat for another hour, turning the conversation to the best movies of all time until you look at the clock. “I could spend all night talking but I have to get up earlier to get to work. Goodnight J.” You hit send, deciding to wait for his response before you log off.

****

Javi is happy that he installed a second line to the house for the internet. Now he doesn’t have to worry about his pa picking up the phone and kicking him offline. He’s been talking to the woman online for weeks, deciding to call her ‘sweetheart’ instead of just by her initial. It’s funny, because he’s received messages from other women, but he isn’t even interested in responding. Despite his playboy ways before, he had no desire in getting to know anyone else. Grinning as your chat pops up, his typing improves, he quickly greets you. “Hey sweetheart, how was your day? That client’s son still being an asshole?”

You scoff to yourself as you type, “hey handsome. Yeah, he is. God, he thinks he knows better and he’s always been that way. He was best friends with my brother when we were growing up and he was a dick back then.” You hit send, glad you can vent about Javier Peña. He questioned the amount of write offs his dad was submitting with his quarterly filing.

“Just ignore him, he’s probably unhappy.” Lord knows he’s fully aware some people are just unhappy with being questioned. He had tangled with his dad’s accountant again today, frustrated because he knew that the assholes he used to work with wouldn’t stoop to hit his dad to get back at him. Of course, Miss Priss had looked like she was sucking a lemon talking to him about everything. Like he was just trying to make her job harder. He didn’t want his dad to get audited. “Wine or something stronger tonight?” He asks.

“Stronger. Whiskey.” You confess, “he really annoyed me. He thinks he knows best and I wish you could go head to head with him. I think you’d come out on top.” You hit send and take a sip of whiskey. You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you look down at your nails, you really need to get a manicure soon.

Javi chuckles to himself, grinning at the screen and feeling oddly proud to have the confidence of his sweetheart. “I’ll talk to him, see if I can’t get him to back off.” He volunteers. “Can’t let someone upset my sweetheart.”

Your heart flutters in your chest at the way he calls you his sweetheart. You have talked every night for weeks. You know that he struggles with the things he’s seen. “You’re too sweet, handsome. He wouldn’t know how to handle you.” You giggle as you hit send and take another sip of whiskey, feeling brave. “I know we have been talking for a few weeks. Would you like to meet up?” You hit the backspace, changing your wording, “would you like to meet me sometime?” You hit send and exhale shakily, nervous of his response.

Swallowing harshly, Javi’s eyes must run over your worse half a dozen times before he can grasp that you want to meet him. He types “Yes” before he thinks about it and changes it to “Yes, absolutely.” He doesn’t know when you want to meet but as soon as he sends it, he’s immediately typing again. “You said you haven’t been bowling in forever. Why don’t we do that?”

You are shocked that he remembered what you said from one of your first conversations together online. You immediately type back, “yes, absolutely! I would love that. Are you free on Friday? 7 pm?” You hit send before you think twice about it and you feel giddy at the thought of finally meeting the mystery man you’ve been talking to for weeks on the computer. Hope that you can meet his expectations of you and that he is some kind of creep. Normally you would never meet someone off of the Internet without knowing their full name but you do like the aspect of mystery of him and also you trust him. As insane as that sounds, you trust your mystery man.

Javi hasn’t grinned so widely since he was a teenager, feeling his stomach flutter and twist in pleasure. He types out the name of the bowling alley that is in the next town over, he’s heard that one is better. “Is that one close enough for you? I’ve heard there aren’t as many bowling leagues there, taking up all the lanes. We can bowl and have a few drinks, nothing too fancy.” He sends that and then chuckles. “I’ll even get some nachos and hamburgers.”

Your face hurts from grinning and you type back, “you are spoiling me, handsome. That works for me. I’ll see you there on Friday at 7pm. I’ll wear red lipstick so you know it’s me.” You hit send, reaching up to touch your lips. J had said he loves when a woman wears red lipstick.

Javi can’t even stop nodding at the computer screen. It’s a dumb habit, but he always feels like he is talking to his sweetheart face to face instead of through a screen. “I’ll get there early to make sure we’ve got a lane.” He promises. “I’ll be in a red shirt to match your lips.”

****

Friday comes around and you are nervous all day. Exhaling shakily, you check your red lipstick in the mirror of your car before you lock it up and head into the bowling alley. You’re here to meet J and you are nervous as shit. What if he doesn’t like how you look? What if you don’t live up to expectations? You enter the bowling alley and glance around, not seeing a red shirt so you make your way over to the front desk, hovering as you wait for your mystery man.

He’s got the lane and for some damn reason, Javi had decided to have too much coffee. Now paying for it with having to piss right as he sat down to wait. Trying to hurry as he washes his hands and rushes out of the bathroom. Scanning the people eagerly for the sight of red lips. His sweetheart will be early, he can tell from getting to know her over the past few weeks.

You glance around and see the one and only Javier Peña come out of the bathroom. You huff, "fancy seeing you here, Peña. Did not take you as the type for bowling." Your eyes drift down to his red shirt and your eyes widen, "J?" You choke, realizing he's the only person wearing a red shirt. This has to be a joke. Surely your online companion isn't here yet.

Javi’s eyes widen and he glances down at your lips. “Sweetheart?” He frowns slightly and wonders if this is some kind of sick joke. You hate him, think that you’re better than him because you deal with numbers all day. He could tell you things about numbers that would have your stomach churning. “What are you-“ he can’t even finish the question.

Your eyes widen at the nickname until you shake your head and let out a sarcastic laugh, "is this some kind of joke? Someone hiding with a camera? Did you - did you set up an account to mess with me? Manwhore Peña making out like he wanted something real? Please, you gotta be dreaming. I - oh God. You did this to mess with me. Well, fuck you handsome." You spit the nickname that once held affection for you and you spin on your heel, making your way out of the bowling alley, cheeks burning with mortification and tears stinging in your eyes.

Embarrassed at the people who are staring, Javi rushes out of the bowling alley, abandoning the lane he had already paid for. Spotting you as you hurry to your car, he admires the dress you are wearing even as he calls your name, breaking out into a jog to catch you. “Will you stop, goddamnit?”

You spin as you fumble to unlock your car. Your hands shake as you try to get the key in the lock. "What?" You hiss, knowing that you'll be a funny story he tells his friends tomorrow. The way it's always been. Javier used to make fun of you when you were in high school, your brother his best friend. Hell, your brother was supposed to be his best man until the wedding never happened.

He’s breathing harder as he comes to a stop in front of you, not panting but almost there. “Don’t- don’t leave.” He tells you, not reaching out but the anger on your face cuts deep. You loathe him, but there had to have been something you liked when you were talking to him online. “Look, if you’re - you go in and bowl.” He offers, holding out the slip to claim the shoes from the counter. “I paid for two games, there’s a pitcher of beer and nachos that should already be waiting.” He explains. “I’ll leave, okay?” His eyes slide away from yours, unable to continue staring at you when you despise him so much.

You shake your head, your heart clenching. You really thought you had something special with J. You don’t take the slip from his hand, your eyes stinging with unused tears. “I’ll go. You go bowl, enjoy the beer.” You spit and growl as you try to open your door, managing to yank it open after a while. “I don’t want to be the butt of your jokes ever again.” You hiss as you get into your car and slam the door, turning on the engine.

Javi frowns as you throw your car into gear and pull out of the parking spot, swallowing harshly. His jokes? Yeah, he teased you when you were both younger, but you still take that to heart? He steps back and shoves the claim ticket into his pocket, turning to walk to his truck. The date is ruined and he feels like shit even though he doesn’t know why.

You make it home and when you enter your apartment, you start to sob. Embarrassed that your entire online relationship has been a big joke. You know Javier is probably laughing about leading you on. You collapse on the sofa, burying your face in your hands, and you spend the first night in a long time not on the computer.

Javi comes into a dark house, his pop already in bed and he sits down in front of the computer. Staring at the dark screen and wishing he had never agreed to meet. Now that he knows that it’s you, he doesn’t regret that he created the profile, but he hates the image of your distraught face. Sighing, he turns the computer on, deciding to send you one last message.

You sniff as you log onto your computer after dialing up, wanting to send an email to your mom to vent about what happened when your email pops up with “message from ‘J’ waiting.” You huff and log into the website. You open the message and rub your cheek, hating that the mascara you so excitedly put on is now smudged all over your face.

“Sweetheart….I want to apologize for ruining your night, and your life it seems. I’m sorry that the night was ruined and I wasn’t the man you had been looking for. Your dress was very pretty. I want you to know that I’ve enjoyed getting to know you over the past few weeks and you are wonderful. I hope that you don’t give up looking for that special person that you can explore and share with. Javier.” The message is simple and straightforward, but Javi worries that he might have overstepped by contacting you again at all.

You read his message a few times. Your heart pounding in your chest and you bite your lip as you ponder what to say to him. You thought about what happened during your drive home. You try to reconcile the Javier you know in the daylight to the man you’ve been speaking to for weeks. You clear your throat and type your response, “Javier. I didn’t know it was you when I was messaging you. I guess I was shocked because you used to make fun of me when we were teenagers. You joining my brother to make fun of his geeky sister. I thought you weren’t interested in anything but sex - I heard the rumors about you in Colombia. I can’t figure out how the man who fucked his way through Texas is the same man who told me he wanted romance. All I can think is that this is a big joke at my expense.” You sniff, hating that your eyes sting again. “I really like J and if you are that man, not the man who rolls his eyes when I point out some issues with his  dad’s receipts, then I would like to try again. Talk in person.” You hit send before you can regret it.

Javi reads your message and it hurts. The magic of talking to you is now gone and he feels a heavy weight of guilt settling back down on his shoulders and he wishes he had a fucking cigarette. He sighs and starts to type. “Yeah, I made fun of you with your brother when we were teenagers. I was an asshole and it was wrong. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t address the manwhore comments, and decides to address the issue with his father. “I will stay out of your business.” He continues on. “I used to work with men who would dig and have others dig until they had leverage on you. I was just trying to make sure my pop didn’t suffer from me pissing them off.” He sighs and rolls his head around before continuing on. “For what it’s worth, I really was looking forward to that bowling date.”

You read his message, leaning back against your chair, and you swallow down the guilt that swirls in your stomach. Maybe you jumped to judging Javier. He was an asshole, but the guy who has been messaging you for three weeks has made your heart flutter. You bite your lip and type back, “I was really looking forward to it too. I’m sorry I'm defensive. I guess I have a complex from high school. Never being the girl that got asked to the dance and it’s given me some issues. I would never let your dad be dragged into something. I want to make sure he’s protected and doing things above board. Maybe we could try again? I really like J. I’m sure I’d like Javier if I gave him an actual chance.” You hit send and sigh, knowing that you have to accept what he says when he responds.

Javi sighs softly, aware this could be some kind of payback, but he doesn’t think so. “I guess it’s too late tonight.” He would go out, but you might not be able to do it tonight. “How about this? I’m free tomorrow night. If you want to do something, we absolutely can.”

You smile softly, typing out your reply. “Miguel’s? Tomorrow at 8?” You hit send and you know that this could be a massive mistake but you want to try. The man you’ve gotten to know has to be inside of the asshole you grew up with.

The bar in town is much more his speed and Javi quickly types out an agreement. “That sounds good. I’ll see you then.” He bites his lip. “Have a glass of wine and soak in a bath, sweetheart, you deserve it.”

You reread his words a few times, loving and hating the smile on your face. You log off the computer and follow his advice, soaking in the bath with a glass of wine. 

****

You glance up at the shitty sign that Miguel’s has had since your papa used to come here and drink after work sometimes. You brush down your dress, walking into the bar and classic rock is playing as you look around for Javi. He’s sitting at the bar, glass of whiskey in front of him, and his eyes widen when he sees you. You walk over to him, a little unsure. “Hi. I guess we should reintroduce ourselves after yesterday.” You tell him, wanting him to know that this is you trying again.

Javi smirks slightly and nods, noticing that you are wearing that red lipstick again. “Red lips.” He hums, wanting to reach out and see if they are as soft as they look. “Guess that makes you sweetheart?” He asks, standing up and pulling out the barstool beside him for you to sit down. “Javier.”

You sit down on the stool beside him, “handsome.” You murmur, taking in the sight of him in a red shirt and you like how he’s trimmed his mustache. He offers you a smile and the bartender comes over. You order a glass of wine and you turn your gaze back to Javier. “I’m sorry I ran off yesterday. I was - it was a shock to see you standing there.” You confess, thanking the bartender when he sets your drink down.

“I could tell.” He doesn’t smile or make light of it, nodding to the bartender himself. “I was surprised that it was you standing there.” Javier admits as well. “Although I guess I should have recognized the asshole son you had to deal with.” He snorts, having gone back through the archived conversations now that he knows it’s you and it’s almost silly that he didn’t figure it out before.

You fluster slightly, knowing you said some mean things about him. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was venting. It’s not easy dealing with numbers all day and then you come along and argue it all.” You raise your eyebrows, “I understand that you’re trying to protect your dad but you really are a pain in my ass.” You nudge him and he chuckles, shrugging a shoulder, “I won’t apologize for being protective.” You nod and pick up your drink to have a sip. “Cheers, J.” You reach out to clink your glass against his.

He chuckles again, nodding at sentiment and taking a sip as you do. “We could have used you in Colombia.” Javi compliments you. “Being so good with numbers, you could have spotted things that took us months to figure out with Escobar.” He snorts. “When he was in “jail”-“ Javi uses air quotes. “That asshole would truck in live lobsters. I would have paid money to see you go through his money trail.”

You set your drink down, “I highly doubt that his accountant was tracking his hard earned cash.” You snort and shake your head, “the things you’ve seen down there…I couldn’t even imagine it.” You confess, knowing that he went through a lot during his time in Colombia. “Thank you for the compliment though.” You offer him a smile, “could’ve used your interrogation skills when old man Garcia refused to pay for his filing.”

Javi snorts, imagining putting the screws to that old coot. “That’s when you threaten to tell Mrs. Garcia about his drinking.” He tells you with a wink. Old man Garcia’s wife is heavily religious and has a strict no alcohol rule in her house. You laugh and he taps the bar self consciously. “I wasn’t lying. Online.” He adds. “You know what people think of me. Hell, what you think of me.” He looks at you softly. “Our conversations have been the best parts of my day.”

You soften at the sincerity in his eyes, “me too. I loved talking to you.” You sigh and shake your head, “I think I have misjudged you. I just remembered you when we were younger and then the rumors I heard about Colombia. And leaving Lorraine at the altar. Didn’t exactly paint a pretty picture but I shouldn’t have judged you like that. I think J is the real you, right? If it is, then I want to start again because I like you, Javier. I liked J a lot so if you are the same man, I want to see where this goes.”

Javi smirks at you slightly and leans in. “I thought this was starting again, sweetheart?” He teases playfully. “I don’t mind you misjudging me.” Not exactly the truth, but there’s nothing he can do about it. “Not as long as you give me a fair chance now.” He leans back. “Are you hungry? You always complain about waiting too long to eat. I don’t want you to do that tonight.”

You soften even more at the way he remembers how bad you are at eating and you nod a little too fast. “I’m starving.” You admit, “are you hungry? I wouldn’t mind getting some food after this drink.” You gesture to the bar top and you let your eyes take him in now that you aren’t fighting. His eyes are crinkled when he smiles and his dark hair has grays scattered throughout but he’s as gorgeous as ever. No wonder he fucked around so much. He could have any woman he wants.

“That sounds good.” He admits. “If you don’t want bar food, we could go somewhere else?” He knows you prefer casual over formal, which he really appreciates, but sometimes bar food isn’t what someone wants.

You shake your head, “I like the food here. They have amazing burgers.” You say and he nods, “the fucking best.” You relax a little more, taking another sip of your drink, and you let your eyes wander a little more, taking in the golden skin beneath his shirt, peeking through from the buttons he’s left undone. He notices your appraising eyes and smirks. You fluster and set your glass down, “you know how women see you.” You scoff softly, trying to cover your embarrassment at being caught.

Javi chuckles softly. “Like a notch in their bedpost.” He admits, shrugging slightly. “Last woman that hit on me told me she wanted to see if the rumors were true.” It’s not been a bad thing, but it’s not what he wants now.

His words make you frown and you feel a little guilty for eying him. "For the record, I don't think you could fuck all night long. At least that's what I heard in the grocery store a few weeks ago." You nudge him to show you're joking, "you are more than that. More than what people see." You add with a murmur, recalling the things he said to you. "You're handsome but you're smart, loyal, and funny." You say about the man you know online.

He’s grateful you don’t buy into the rumors and you are willing to judge him on what you’ve talked about. “I’m not eighteen anymore.” He huffs. “Three good rounds is about all I’ve got in me these days.” He admits, smirking slightly. “Four if you’re counting the next morning.”

Your throat goes a little dry and you pick up your wine to take a gulp. “Three is…more than I’ve had.” You confess, “one…sometimes half.” You snort and Javier chuckles, “one and a half.” You shake your head, “no. Half. He came before I did and he didn’t -” You sigh and chuckle softly.

Javi grimaces and shakes his head. “Fuck.” He snorts. “Every man has had a time where he’s too excited or worked up. But you have to make sure your girl squeals in pleasure.” He sends you a small sigh. “Sounds like you slept with some real assholes.”

You snort and nod, “absolutely. Some real assholes.” You echo his words and sigh, “I just want someone who wants me and I want them. To make them happy.” You echo your typed words, knowing he feels the same way.

Javi nods, listening rather than jumping in and offering to make you feel good. He wants to take this slow and show you - and himself - that things can be different. The bartender comes over and he asks for two menus before giving you his attention again. “When was your last relationship?” He asks. “I find it hard to believe that it’s been long. You’re too pretty to be single.”

You thought that Javier would have offered to take you to bed but the fact that he didn’t is refreshing. “Uh, you remember Frankie from the auto shop? I went out with him about two years ago. I’ve been trying to build my business and I haven’t really had time to date. I’m not a one night stand kind of girl.”

He cannot say the same, but he nods, understanding what you mean. “You have to have an emotional connect, right?” He asks, wanting to know more about you. He's still reconciling the woman online with his ex-best friend’s little sister.

You glance down at the menu, his dark eyes burning into you, but you love how his attention is solely on you. “Emotional and primal. I think that the chemistry has to be there from the beginning otherwise you’re possibly waiting for something that could never happen. I thought you were a dick for so many years but I’ve always been attracted to you. Our chemistry was bickering but it was still there from the beginning.”

Javi smirks proudly, his eyes heating up at your confession and he lifts a brow. “I won’t lie and say I’ve always wanted you.” He tells you honestly. “There was a time when you were too young for me. But now…..” he winks. “I can tell you that it’s not just innocent thoughts.”

You bite your lip at his own confession and you lean a little closer to him, “glad we are on the same page now.” You reach out to touch his hand just as the bartender comes over to ask you what you want to order. You lean back from Javier as he gestures for you to go first and you order the burger and fries. Javier orders the same and you hand the menus over. “Best fucking burgers.” He says when he takes a bite into the burger after it arrives. “Damn right.” You groan in agreement after you swallow your bite.

“So.” Javi wipes his mustache with a bar napkin and looks over at you. “If there’s one thing that you’ve never done but always wanted to, what would it be?” He asks, grinning when you lift your brows in surprise at his question.

You hum, tapping your chin after you push your empty plate away. “I want to ride a mechanical bull.” You admit, giggling at the way his brows immediately shoot up. “Seriously?” He asks and you nod, a smirk on your face. “I’ve never had the guts to get up and do it. Always figured I’d look like an idiot and fall within seconds.”

“Everyone looks like an idiot and falls within seconds.” Javi snorts. “You’ll look like everyone else.” You huff and pout slightly, making him tap his chin. “There’s a bull a town over. Hole in the wall place. We could drive over and give it a whirl.”

You grin, “let’s go, Peña.” You reach for your purse and he tuts, “my momma would whoop me for letting a lady pay. It’s our first date.” He reminds you and pulls out his wallet, throwing enough cash down to cover the bill. You thank him, unused to such gentlemanly behavior from him and his gender. You take the hand he extends you and he guides you out of the bar to his truck. “You wanna follow me or I can bring you back here?” He asks and you are hyper focused on the feel of his calloused hand in yours. “Let’s ride together.” You decide and he nods, escorting you around the truck to open the passenger door for you, helping you up.

Javi rounds the front of the truck and climbs in beside you. “It’s only about a twenty minute drive.” He promises as he turns the engine over. “We have another drink, check something off that bucket list of yours and maybe even dance a time or two.”

His truck rumbles as he pulls out of the parking lot and the radio plays a country song. You admire the way his arms flex as he navigates the road, knowing that he realizes he’s attractive but maybe not aware of how much.

“Did you always want to be an accountant?” Javi asks, glancing over at you before looking back at the road. You’re so damn pretty sitting in his passenger seat and he wonders if you will bristle at the question. “I know you’re a math whiz, but was it a goal? Or something you fell into?”

“Kinda?” You answer, “went to college for math and I wanted to work for NASA. Then - then my mom got sick after I graduated and I couldn’t go to Houston. I had an internship there and I turned it down to stay at home. Became an accountant to stay local. She’s better now, thank God, but I always wonder what could’ve been.”

“Holy shit.” He’s impressed. NASA would have been an incredible career and he wonders what kind of life you would have had if you had been able to go for that. “I understand.” He nods, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Mom having cancer while I was in college really changed things for me. Honestly? I don’t know if I would have joined the DEA or not married Lorraine if she hadn’t passed.” He still misses her everyday, not regretting taking care of her one bit, but he had wondered what would have happened if she had lived. Or even lived longer than she did.

You were there the day he left Lorraine at the altar. The whole town was there. “I’m sorry. I remember your mom. She always made me feel so warm. She was kind and always made the best empanadas. I know you were a sheriff. What made you want to join the DEA?” You ask, curious what made him sign up, “was it to get away from Lorraine? From town?”

“Partly.” Javi snorts, remembering how the family he had once been almost welcomed into, had smeared his name through the streets. “She - or her family - told everyone I was fucking her best friend. Never even looked twice at her. But there were a lot of drugs running through town when I was a sheriff's deputy. Wanted to cut it off before it got here.”

You remember the rumor and you weren’t sure if you believed it. Javier was not a womanizer when he was with Lorraine. He seemed to only have eyes for her. “Yeah. It’s still bad. Those assholes will always win. You get rid of Escobar, someone else will take his place.” You sigh, “Lorraine did railroad you down the aisle.”

Javi shrugs slightly. "I loved her, but not enough." He admits. "I had some growing up to do and I don't regret it. Not really. She wouldn't have been happy in Colombia, and I wouldn't have let her stay."

You nod in understanding, “then she dated my brother. He was her rebound and I guess he didn’t really care about his best friend being her ex.” You scoff, remembering how your brother moved in on Lorraine as soon as Javier left town. “I’m sorry he was such an asshole and didn’t respect you.”

He huffs slightly and glances back over at you with an amused look before turning his attention back to the road. "Not a great look." He tells you. "Always wondered if they were fucking around before I left." He admits, revealing something that had been rolling around in his mind for a long time, but never voiced. "Doesn't matter anymore, though. We are all different people than we were back then." 

“My brother is an asshole. He lives in Dallas now with his pretty wife and two kids. I haven’t seen him for a while. When Mom was sick, he stayed away. Didn’t even come to see her.” You shake your head and lean back in your seat, “he’s always been an asshole. Used to say I was a nerd who would never have a boyfriend.” You chuckle, “guess he was kind of right.” You look up as Javier pulls into the parking lot of the bar.

“I was an asshole too.” At the time, Javi had thought it was pretty funny. He took part in the teasing thinking that it was all in good sibling fun between you and his best friend. He had been an only child and had been too immature at the time to realize the hurt that it caused you. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs as he shifts the truck into Park and looks over at you. “For everything I did back then. For the hurt I caused. I’m sorry I didn’t stop him.”

You appreciate his apology and you know it’s ridiculous to be hung up on the teasing you got as a teenager but words hurt and they have always stuck with you. You reach out to squeeze his hand, “I appreciate you saying that, Javi. Now…let’s go ride a mechanical bull.” You grin, letting go of his hand so you can unbuckle your seatbelt.

He chuckles as he follows your lead. Sensing that you want to move past that, he climbs out of the truck and comes to your door to help you out. His perusal in your outfit is both to admire you and make sure you will be safe on the bull. “Good thing you wore jeans instead of a dress this time.” He hums.

You snort, “yeah. Don’t want to be flashing my ass to everyone in the bar.” You chuckle and Javier takes your hand to escort you inside the bar after locking his truck. The bar is busy but not slammed and you walk up to the bar to take a seat. Javier gestures for you to say what you want when the bartender comes over and you order a glass of wine while he orders a whiskey. “Liquid courage.” He declares and you giggle, “maybe wine isn’t strong enough.” You hum but don’t change your order.

He smirks slightly and turns to watch the bull in the corner of the room. The floor is covered in mats around it and he leans in, his elbows braced back on the bar. “There she is.” He talks into your ear since it’s loud with conversation and music. “You nervous?”

You shiver at the way his breath fans over you and you turn your head, bringing your face closer to his, “I’m ready. Nervous, but ready.” You promise, knowing that you could look like a fool but you desperately want to try this. It has always looked fun.

“Squeeze your knees tight.” He advises you, his voice dropping slightly on instinct. “Move your hips like you’re riding a man. You’ll do just fine, sweetheart.” The bartender brings your drinks over and he leans back to grab your wine and hand it to you before he takes his whiskey.

You take a gulp of wine, stomach twisting at the way he advises you, his voice lowering. You set your glass down, “you ready Peña?” You ask and he nods, calling the bartender over to say you want to ride the bull. “Sure man. We can get it revved up.” The bartender nods, calling his coworker over to get the bull up and running.

“Now, when you fall, just tuck your body into a ball.” Javi tells you. “People hurt themselves when they try to catch themselves.”

You nod, walking over to the bull. You’re nervous and a little scared but you are excited to try this. You eye the bull, taking Javier’s hand as he helps you up onto the bull. You grip the handles, preparing yourself and you squeeze your thighs like Javier suggested. The machine whirls to life and you squeal, eyes widening as it starts to move.

The bull starts slowly, turning as the front of the machine dips down before it bucks up. Javi watches as your hand flies up, like you’ve seen Bull riders do. Your thighs clench tight around it and you make the first full turn on it. You are damn good, his brow shoots up and his cock twitches in his pants. Making him wonder if you would ride his cock like you are riding the bull, your hips swerving and rolling with the movement of the ride.

You grin, giggling as you ride the bull. It flings around but you remain on top, you rock with the motion, squealing when it swings you around again, and you rock back, feeling invincible as you conquer something on your bucket list.

The speed of the bull increases and Javi can tell you are starting to lose your seat. Knowing you are about to lose your grip on the bull’s sides, he’s still impressed. Putting two fingers in his mouth, he whistles proudly.

Loving his enthusiasm, you try to hold on for as long as you can but eventually, you fall off. You curl in on yourself like Javier recommended and you hit the mat and the bull stops. “Shit.” You hiss, stumbling a little as you stand up.

“Holy shit.” Javi rushes over and takes hold of your waist, grinning proudly. “That was great!” He tells you. “You’re lying. You have to have ridden a bull before.” He doesn’t think you actually lied, but he loves the breathless exhilaration on your face.

You shake your head, letting him guide you out of the ring. “Never. I - holy shit. I can’t believe I just did that.” You grin and your heart pounds in your chest as you lean against him. “I just did that.” You exhale breathlessly and he nods, a grin on his face. You can’t help it, you cup his cheeks and surge forward to press your lips to his.

Javi is shocked you are kissing him, but he doesn’t push you away. Letting you wrap your arm around him while your tongue slides into his mouth boldly. Groaning, he squeezes your waist and reminds himself that it’s just the adrenaline. Enjoying the fact that you are pressed up against him before you break away.

You pull back and grin at him, still riding your high, and you grab his hand, “let’s go get our drinks. I’m thirsty after that.” You guide him over to the bar again and pick up your glass of wine to have a sip. “You gonna have a ride?” You ask him, wondering if he will attempt to ride the bull.

Javi chuckles as he takes a drink of his whiskey. “Why the hell not?” He asks, pushing the empty glass towards the bartender. “It’s only been at least ten years since I’ve been on a mechanical bull.” He shrugs. “Like riding a bike, right?”

He strides over to the bull and your mouth goes dry as he swings his leg over it to straddle it. You bite your lip as you watch him adjust himself and the bull starts to move.

Javi grew up on the back of a horse and when he was younger, him and his cousins all rodeoed a little. Plus the hell raising younger years where he would come here simply to see how long he could hang on. He's older and isn’t used to it anymore, but he still hangs on and throws you a wink while the bull twists him around for the first rotation.

Your stomach twists with arousal as you watch him swivel his hips and stay on the bull. You lean against the soft barrier and take in the sight of Javier Peña riding the bull. He is sexy and you can feel yourself getting wet from the display he’s putting on.

The operator turns up the speed faster than he did with you and soon enough, Javi is flying off the bull and tucking his body like he had advised you to do. Grunting as he climbs to his feet, he smirks when you rush up to him again. “You lasted longer.” He teases. “Just like a woman.”

You snort, reaching up to brush his hair back that had fallen into his face. “You were amazing. Very sexy to watch.” You confess and he smirks, “yeah?” You nod, “amazing.” You haven’t felt this good in so long, carefree and happy.

“Do you want to try it again later on?” Javi asks, watching you grin at him. “You were really sexy riding it too.” He had a semi from watching you, even though he had no intentions of taking you to bed tonight. This was going to be different.

You love that he thought you looked sexy and you nod, “yes. I’d love that. For now, another drink?” You suggest and he smiles, taking your hand to guide you over to the bar again. You enjoy your drinks, squeal over another round on the bull, and now, your arms are wrapped around his neck as you dance to the music playing. “I really didn’t expect you’d be a dancer.” You confess, enjoying the way his fingers grip your waist.

“Too much of an asshole?” He grins at you, making fun of the unrealistic views you each had of each other. “I like dancing. It’s a good way to be close without being naked.” He hums playfully. “There were a lot of times that it was a good cover for watching sicarios. I would get a trusted asset to come with me. It wouldn’t be fair to make her sit there and just look pretty all night.”

You hum, rocking to the beat. You know about Javier's adventures in Colombia but you know he did that to find Escobar. You dance for a while longer until last orders are called. "One more or shall we head out?" He asks and you are reluctant to go home but you can't have another drink. "Let's go. I need to run errands tomorrow and I don't want to sleep in too late." He nods and pays the bill before escorting you to his truck once again. "I had a really good time tonight." You confess when he is driving back to where your car is parked.

“I did too.” Javi admits easily, probably the most relaxed he has been in a long time. You are easy to talk to now that you aren’t butting heads and Javi doesn’t just look at you like his old friend’s little sister. “Maybe we can do it again soon?” He doesn’t want to assume, you said you were extremely busy with your business at times.

“Absolutely. I’d love to do this again. I’m free on Tuesday if you want to do something?” You ask, knowing it’s crazy to like him this much already but you’ve been getting to know him online for weeks.

“I think I can make that work.” He thinks about the work he has scheduled with his dad and nods. “I’m sure we’ll talk online?” He asks. “If something comes up, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds like a plan, Peña.” You hum, looking out of the window at the passing streetlights until you turn your head to look at him, admiring his profile highlighted by the dashboard and the dim light outside. When you arrive back at your car, he opens the door for you and you reach into your purse for your keys, unlocking your door and before you can open it, Javier cups your cheek, bringing your face to his. His kiss is sweet, tilting your head so he can deepen it a little and you moan softly into his mouth. He’s a good kisser. He pulls back before he goes further and you smile, “goodnight Javier. See you soon.” You slide into the car and buckle your seatbelt then turn the engine, offering him a wave before you put your car in drive and make your way home. Javier stands there for a few moments, watching your car disappear in the distance and he sighs, “holy shit.” He shakes his head and gets into his truck, heading home to his bed. Alone.

**** 

“You missed!” Javi pumps his fist as he crows playfully, watching you spin around and stick your tongue out at him. He wants to show you what you can do with that tongue, but he just smirks as he gets to his feet after marking out your last set. It’s the third game you’ve played tonight and both of you are almost equally bad at bowling. Making it fun as you joke and play around on the lane. “Watch a professional.” He jokes, blowing on his fingers before he picks up the red and blue swirled ball he had picked out.

You roll your eyes, “sure thing, babe.” You watch him as he makes a show of positioning his feet, rolling his shoulders, before he throws the ball down the lane. It rolls into the gutter and you smother your giggle with your hand until you mark the sheet. “Professional, huh?” You tease, walking over to grab your ball. “How about a bet?” You suggest and he nods, “sure. What’s the bet?” You smirk, “first person to get a strike…gets a kiss.” You proposition and Javier smirks, “you’re on.” 

You make a show of positioning yourself to throw the ball, concentrating on the middle line, and you bowl it, holding your breath as you watch it go straight down the middle, all the pins flying as you get a strike. “Hey, that’s cheating!” Javier accuses halfheartedly and you grin, dusting off your hands as you walk over to him. “Now…my prize, Peña?”

Javi leans back in the hard plastic chairs and reaches for your waist, dragging you down into his lap. It’s been a long goddamn time since he’s felt this lighthearted and it’s all because of you. You giggle and throw your arm around his neck as he pulls you closer. “Your prize,” he teases, brushing his nose against yours. “You cheater.” Before you can protest, he lunges forward and presses his lips to yours.

You melt into the kiss, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. His tongue slides against your lower lip and you allow him access, moaning softly into the kiss. His hands slide along your back and you feel giddy, heart pounding as he kisses you. You pull back after several moments, pecking his lips. “What a prize.” You murmur, your lips burning from his kiss. “And for the record, I didn’t cheat. It was luck.”

He chuckles, knowing you haven’t pretended to suck at bowling for three games to suddenly become good. “I know.” He pecks your lips again and pats your hip. “Lucky ass strike. I’m not complaining at all. I reaped the benefits of it too.”

**** 

You watch Javier shove a handful of popcorn into his mouth and giggle, “slow down. We can get a refill, baby.” You nudge him then take a sip of the large soda. “I heard this is a good movie. I always liked Russell Crowe.” You say as the trailers start. 

“It’s Gladiators, hermosa. It’s gonna be epic.” Javier says, channeling the teenage boy who would’ve loved this movie. He used to watch Westerns and Sci-Fi with his dad. They had to go to the movies to watch Star Wars at the midnight showing when it came out. You settle in beside him, leaning closer as the movie starts.

Javi throws his arm around your shoulders and watches you while he watches the movie. Wanting to make sure that you aren’t bored with the movie, but it’s soon apparent that you are just as thrilled with the action as he is. “They used to sleep together.” Javi predicts, talking about the Emperor’s sister.

Javier rubs your arm when you shiver but it’s not from the AC, it’s from him being so close. “I feel like he’s going to die.” You whisper, having a feeling that Maximus isn’t going to make it. You lean over to grab the soda, having a sip, and Javier leans in so you tilt the straw towards him so he can take a sip.

He feels like you are right, sucking down some of the soda and looking over at you and his eyes slide down to your lips. He leans in hums, "I think so too." He admits and leans back, reaching over and taking your hand when you put the soda down.

You feel like a teenager when he squeezes your hand and you watch the rest of the movie. When it’s over, Javier drives you home. His hand in yours as the radio plays and the wind is in your hair from the open windows. When he pulls up outside of your place, he cuts the engine and walks around the truck to open your door. He takes your hand and escorts you to your door. When you get there, you smile at him, “next time, I pick the movie.” You tease and he chuckles, reaching for your waist to pull you closer. 

“Rom com.” Javier guesses and you chuckle, reaching up to grip his shirt, dragging him closer. 

“You love them really.” You joke and he presses his lips to yours. His tongue slides against yours and he backs you up against the door. You whimper into his mouth and he kisses you thoroughly. He pulls back and your lips tingle when you say “do you want to come in?” You ask and he sighs, “not tonight. I gotta get up early to help Pa with the cows.” 

You nod, stomach twisting as you wonder why he hasn’t wanted to sleep with you. “Sure. I’ll see you soon.” You offer him a smile even though it’s a little tight. “Bye, cariño.” He murmurs and you turn to open your door. He stands there until you close it, waving at him until the door is shut. You sigh when you drop your purse down, confused as to why Javier hasn’t slept with you yet. You’ve been dating for 2 months, talking for 3 and you don’t understand why he hasn’t touched you when his reputation displays his willingness to fall into bed. You ponder it all night long until you come up with a plan. You’re going to invite Javier over for dinner and seduce him.

**** 

Another cold shower. Javi hisses as he shivers under the icy spray of water, closing his eyes and willing his erection to go down. Every day he is hard, especially when he is around you. He’s tried very hard to make sure he doesn’t rush this, he doesn’t rush you into bed. Wanting there to be a solid foundation of trust and respect between you both. He just has to wait until the time is right to move things forward. “Fuck.” He twitches despite the cold temperature and reaches down to wrap his hand around his cock. You are so fucking sexy and he is more attracted to you as the days pass. He’ll have to jerk off, he closes his eyes and thinks about you, reaching out with his other hand to turn the hot water on.

**** 

You check the chicken is cooked and cover it with foil just as the doorbell rings and you walk over to the door to open it after adjusting your dress. It’s tight and black and you hope he likes it. “Hey baby.” You greet him with a smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

"Hey." His eyes widen slightly and he wonders if he had misread the situation and undressed. He's glad he stopped to get flowers and a bottle of that wine you like. "You look nice. Very nice."

“Thanks, baby.” You wink and take the flowers from his hand. “These are gorgeous. Thank you.” You carry them into the kitchen and grab a vase to put them in. “Would you mind opening the wine? Dinner is nearly ready.” You tell him and fill the vase to put the flowers in.

“Sure.” You’ve got the wine glasses out as well as a bottle opener, so Javi brings the bottle over to the table to pour out some drinks. “It smells great!” He calls out to the kitchen, listening to you hustle around. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. We could have gone out to dinner.”

You look at him over your shoulder after you put the vase down on the side. You smile at him, “I wanted to treat you. I know you and your Pa don’t cook a lot so I figured you’d enjoy a homemade meal. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, asparagus and red wine jus.” You tell him about tonight’s menu as he pours the wine out.

His brows lift in surprise at how elaborate the dinner is and he is impressed. “Are we celebrating something that I wasn’t aware of?” He asks with a slight smile, watching as you give him another one in return. It makes his heart flutter and he can’t help but think how beautiful you are. “Just a nice night together.” Your answer makes Javi hums in approval.

You work fast to put dinner together, setting it down in front of him, and you sit down in the seat beside him at your small kitchen table. “Enjoy.” You tell him and you pick up your knife and fork so you can dig in.

“It looks delicious.” Javi compliments as he looks down at the meal you’ve put in front of him. “Thank you, sweetheart.” You smile at him and again that fluttering in his heart makes him feel young and he wonders if this is that complete love his pa would always claim would one day find him and knock him on his ass.

You talk about your days while you eat. You still message online on nights you can’t see each other, complemented by phone calls, and after you finish eating, you clear the plates and grab the dessert you bought. “Still like pie?” You ask, placing a piece of apple pie and ice cream in front of him.

“You’re spoiling me.” Javi groans, watching the steam from the still hot pie rise and the ice cream start to melt over it. “I will have to plan something special for our next date.” He picks up his spoon and cuts into the pie for a large bite.

You like that he likes the dinner, making you feel special that you can look after him like this. You sit down and watch him devour the dessert. You eat your own plate and after the plates are cleared away, you find yourself on the sofa with your glasses of wine. Your radio plays in the background and you sit beside Javier, your legs tucked beneath you. “You’re so damn handsome.” You reach up to caress his cheek, “and smart. And funny. And I am so happy that we met online.”

“And you are blind.” He chuckles, leaning into your touch. “You are the one who is beautiful, kind and hilarious, you should be running from the disaster that I am. But for some reason you like spending time with me and I’m happy you do.”

“Me too. You’re not a disaster. You’re incredible.” You murmur, leaning in to press your lips to his. He tilts his head and you deepen the kiss, tangling your tongue with his. You kiss for a few moments until you break the kiss, kissing along his neck, and you shift to straddle him, your dress riding up your thighs.

Javi groans, his hands sliding up and down your thighs and he wonders what you are doing. He’s been good at not letting things go too far. “Sweetheart….” He pants, closing his eyes as he can’t believe he’s about to push you away. “Sweetheart, stop.” He murmurs.

You lean back and frown at him, “what’s wrong?” You ask, confused about why he’s pushing you away. “I don’t - not tonight.” He says and you shift off of him, “I don’t know - I’m confused. Am I - are you not attracted to me?” You question him, confused and hurt at him pushing you away.

“What?” He frowns at the question, looking at you like you are crazy. “No- no of course not. I am attracted to you.” He promises, but you shake your head, not believing him. “I am, sweetheart, I just- I’m trying to behave.” He tells you, shoving his hand through his hair and wishing you don’t look like he’s just broken up with you.

You shift to stand up, your stomach twisting, and you stare at him, “you’re trying to behave? I don’t want you to behave.” You look down at him, “I want you to fuck me. It’s been 2 months of dating. I never imagined you would go bowling, go to the movies like a teenager. I love that, don’t get me wrong, I loved all of our dates but God, Peña, I just want you to fuck me.” You exclaim, chest heaving.

Javi swallows harshly, watching you stand in front of him, practically begging him to fuck you. His mouth is dry and he rubs his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “Show me your bedroom, hermosa.” He demands. “You want me to fuck you, that’s where I’ll do it.”

His dark eyes are almost black and you see something in them that makes your stomach twist with arousal. “Baby, I want you.” You take his hand and guide him towards your bedroom, opening the door and you are nervous. Javier has had a lot of lovers. What if you don’t match up?

He’s groaning when he sees your bed and imagines spreading you out on it. You’ll look so pretty thoroughly fucked and exhausted. “I had a physical when I got back home.” Javi murmurs quietly. “And I haven’t slept with anyone, but I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control and I haven’t slept with anyone for a while.” You tell him and you reach for the tie of your wrap dress. You slowly untie it and let your dress fall open to expose the lingerie you picked out in hopes that Javier would touch you tonight.

“Fuck.” He exhales roughly, cock twitching in his pants as he takes in your curves, showcased in lace. “So fucking sexy.” He starts to unbutton his shirt as he strides closer, feeling cocky and yet also nervous because you are so important to him. “What were you thinking about when you got dressed? Me fucking you? I think about that a lot.”

“I was thinking about you. Fucking me. Touching me. I think about that a lot too.” You tell him and reach out to run your hands down his chest. “You’re so gorgeous, Javi.” You murmur, caressing his skin and you slide your hands up to push the shirt from his shoulders.

Javi hums, not used to really accepting compliments. Women would flatter him, in Colombia to earn a bit more, or to get him to fuck them. You, you have nothing but honesty and desire in your eyes and it’s thrilling. “Thought about it a lot too.” He admits with a smirk. “Too many cold showers lately.”

You giggle, “no more cold showers.” You promise and slide your hands lower to unbuckle his belt. You pull it from the loops and let it drop to the floor. You unbutton his jeans, reaching in to squeeze his hard cock and you are shocked to find he doesn’t wear underwear. “Oh God.” You gasp at the girth of him and you pull him out of his underwear.

Javi groans as your fingers wrap around him, twitching in your palm and glancing down at your hand engulfing him. “Fuck.” He hisses, eyes closing when you give him an experimental pump. “You seem surprised, hermosa.” He pants. “Rarely wear underwear. Too hot.”

“I didn’t know.” You admit, “God, didn’t know you had such a gorgeous cock. No wonder every woman from Texas to Colombia wanted you.” You pump him again, shifting down into your knees as you admire his girth and you lean in to wrap your lips around him.

“Shiiiiit.” He hisses, jaw clenching as he looks down at you on your knees in front of him. He’s imagined it, but this looks ever sexier than what he had thought. “Fuck baby, you thought about sucking my cock?” He asks, cupping your cheek. “You like doing it? I want to tongue fuck you. See how you like being licked.”

You moan around his cock at his filthy words, loving the way he talks dirty and it has you soaking your panties. You take him deeper, keeping your eyes on his, and you wrap your fingers around the back of his cock, starting to pump him.

“You’re good at this. Tell me you don’t love sucking cock, you could be a pro.” He grunts, caressing the hinge of your jaw and pushing slightly deeper. “Gonna be thinking about this when I’m working. My cock down your throat while you bat your eyes at me.”

You relax your jaw, letting him push deeper, and his words have you moaning around his cock. Fuck, he’s so gorgeous standing above you. His stomach is slightly soft but you love that. You are proud that he’s enjoying this when he’s had so much experience. You choke around him as you try to take him deeper. You exhale through your nose and try again, taking him deeper into your throat.

“Fuck, don’t hurt yourself, hermosa.” Javi groans, pulling you off of him slightly as he pulls his hips back. “Are you wet? Dripping from having my cock in your mouth? Why don’t you sit on my face while you do it? Let me eat your cunt.”

You nod, dripping wet from him and the idea of him eating you out while you suck him off. Pushing his jeans down, he kicks them off and is bare before you. You stand up on shaky legs and he steadies you. You lean in to kiss him, your tongue tangling with his and he pushes your dress from your shoulders.

He has a lot of experience with undressing a woman. His hands are skilled in stripping someone down and he does it with an eagerness that is more than just hungry for sex. He wants a connection, a bond that cannot be broken even when he pulls away.

You let him reach behind you to unclasp your bra, dragging the straps down your arms until it drops to the floor and your tits are exposed to his hungry gaze. "Javi!" You gasp when he grabs your back, pulling you close so he can duck down and take your nipple into his mouth.

He’s always been a greedy man. Sex is addictive. It's honestly just as addictive as the cocaine he had chased down and tried to prevent people from snorting up their noses. The feeling of losing himself, pleasure both given and received lets him forget about the problems or guilt that weighed him down. Now he gets to just feel you, learn what makes you cry in pleasure.

You moan as his hands slide down to squeeze your ass while he bites and sucks on your nipple until he switches to the other. His fingers hook into your panties and he pushes them down as he kisses along the swell of your breast. “Fuck, need more.” You whine, lightly pushing him away so you can kick your panties aside, patting the bed. “Lay down, baby.”

He chuckles at how eager you are. Following your orders and laying down, giving himself plenty of room away from the headboard. Watching as you peruse his body, your own eyes just as hungry as he knows his are.

You shift to kneel on the bed, shuffling up the bed until you face away from him and straddle his chest. His hands immediately go to your hips to drag you backwards to hover over his face and you bend down to take his cock into your hand.

Javi groans as he takes in the sight of your soaked folds. They are perfect and puffy, soaking wet because of your want of him. His fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you back more so he can flatten his tongue against your folds.

You cry out when he slides his tongue through your folds, making you grind back onto him. “Fuck baby. That’s good.” You whimper and lean down so you can take his cock into your mouth with a moan, wanting him to feel just as good.

Javi groans happily, enjoying the tang of your juices on his tongue. Licking into your cunt eagerly and making it messy. Groaning again when your mouth wraps around his cock again.

You love how he moans into your flesh and you grip his cock, sloppily sucking his cock as you want him to enjoy this as much as you are. You love how enthusiastic he is, sucking your clit into his mouth and you moan around his cock again.

He continues to lick into you, rocking your hips back and burying his tongue deep inside your soaked walls. Twitching in your mouth and groaning when a dribble of precum is spurted into your mouth as you suck.

You moan, hollowing your cheeks around his cock as you take him deeper, rocking back on his face as he sucks on your clit a little harder. It’s so good. You moan and pull off of his cock, continuing to pump him in your hand.

Javi moans into your folds, pulling back slightly. “I don’t want to cum yet.” He grunts before he is diving back in to make you cum.

You huff but loosen your grip on his cock, not taking him back into your mouth but he ducks harder on your clit. You rest your cheek on his thigh as he slides his tongue inside of you. You pant, “God baby. You’re gonna make me cum.” You moan, so close to your orgasm as he pushes his tongue deeper.

That’s the point. He doesn’t stop, speeding up his tongue as it flicks through your walls and pulls you back more firmly on his face. Willing you to cum for him, wanting to hear you and taste you.

You rock back onto his face, unashamed of your need and lust for him, and you moan his name when you fall over the edge. Your thighs gripping his face as he works you through it. “Javi. Oh shit. Baby, I - oh God.” You ramble against his thigh.

Javi loves it. The slick of your release covering his mouth and jaw as he works you through it. Keeping ahold of your hips and your cunt firm to his mouth until you are whimpering his name as a little protest.

He pushes you over the edge and keeps pushing, making you hiss as you get overstimulated. "Javi." You whine his name again, needing him to pull back and he relents, leaning away from your cunt with a groan. You sigh, closing your eyes, "God, so good." You murmur, taking a moment to ride your high.

Javi pants, licking his lips as he strokes your ass. He knows that feeling, riding the wave. He would need a cigarette if he hadn’t been using the patches and he still hasn’t even cum. Shoving his arm under his head, he watches you shift off of him a few minutes later. His cock is throbbing but he doesn’t mind.

You shift to lay beside him, leaning in to kiss him, and he turns his head so you can slide your tongue against his. You moan into the kiss, uncaring about your tangy cum on his lips, and you slide your hand down to grip his cock, squeezing him before you pump him slowly. "You're too good, Javi. How do you want me?" You ask, wanting him to enjoy this in case you don't cum again. You've already gotten more than you would have from other lovers.

Javi groans into your mouth. “I like to kiss and be close.” He admits. “But sometimes I change positions.” He rolls onto you and slides his hand down to bring your thigh up to his hip. “Start this way and end up however we do?”

You nod, sliding your hands along his back, loving the way his muscles flex under your touch. "Sounds perfect." You murmur and he reaches between you to position his cock at your entrance. You close your eyes as he pushes inside of you, your head tilting back while you silently moan at the stretch.

He watches you closely, loving how expressive you are. How you don’t care about how you look. You care about how you feel, how he is making you feel. It looks like you are feeling good and he wants to make you always feel this way. “So pretty.” He moans quietly. “So goddamn pretty and all mine. My pretty girl.”

You slide your hands up into his hair, "yours. All yours." You promise, lifting your legs so you can wrap them around his hips. He sinks deeper inside of you and you whimper, "God, you feel so good inside of me. Move, please." You beg, "don't care if you cum too fast. You already made me cum."

Javi snorts and shakes his head. “Fuck no.” He grunts, pulling his hips back to surge forward again. “Not going to do that to you.” He hisses out, eyes rolling back when you clench down around him. His lips find your skin and he starts to kiss, everywhere he can reach as he starts to move.

His lips on your skin have you on fire, rocking your hips up to meet his thrusts, and you caress his back, loving the way he feels covering your body. You tilt your head back so he can kiss down your neck until you grab his cheeks, bringing his mouth back to yours and you moan into his mouth, tangling your tongue with his as he rocks into you.

Every thrust of his hip makes both of you pant in pleasure, breath exchanged and mingled together as the two of you move. Javi slides his arms around your body and pulls you up close, sinking deeper as he pushes into you again and again.

He drops his hips and he grinds against your clit, making you gasp in pleasure, and he smirks, focusing on that spot again. “Good girl.” He murmurs and the praise makes you push your heels into his ass to press him deeper inside of you. “Shit. Feels so good. I - never felt like this before.” You admit breathlessly, getting closer and closer.

“Good.” It’s not good that you’ve never been fucked properly, but he’s glad you are making sure that you get the attention you deserve. “You feel so good. Tight little pussy squeezing my cock.” He praises roughly. “Could spend all night right here.”

His words make you gush around him and he caresses your thigh as he rocks into you, making you moan when he hits something just right. “Yes. Yes. Javier. Fuck, right there. That - oh God!” You squeal as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him, and his name echoes on your bedroom walls as you cum around him for the first time.

“Fuuuuuck.” He growls, slowly thrusting into you as you fall apart on his cock. Loving how tight you get, how wet. Bracing his knees on the bed, he pulls you up until you are in his lap.

You gasp, feeling him sink deeper and press against your cervix in this position. Your hands grip his waist and you scramble to brace your feet on the bed. “God, Javi.” You cry out when he starts to rock his hips again. “Yes. Love - love this.” You choke out, tilting your head back.

He groans as he rolls his hips up, using his thighs as he works in and out of you. “Fuck, you’re-“ he chokes out, gasping your name when you squeeze him inside your walls again. “Fuck, hermosa.” He hisses, lunging forward and biting down on your jaw as the thrusts become sharper, snapping his hips up.

You love the way he bites as he nips and kisses down your neck until he’s taking your nipple into his mouth. You tangle one hand in his hair, tugging on it to bring his mouth back to yours. Your tongues slide against each other while he thrusts into you and you use your feet to grind down onto him. “Shit. You got me worked up. Might cum again.” You pant against his chin.

“Do it.” He huffs, his hands sliding up and down your back, gripping your ass as he grinds into you. “Cum all over me again. Wanna feel it. So good.” He babbles slightly, hoping you are enjoying this as much as you seem to be. It’s been awhile since he’s had sex but he’s holding out. Jerking off before the date had been a good idea.

You pant, rocking down onto him and it doesn’t take long but it does take you by surprise when you cum again, clamping down on his cock and soaking him for the second him. Your chest heaves as you tilt your head back, moaning his name as you experience bliss once more.

Javi takes that opportunity to kiss along your throat, licking and biting your skin as he rocks up into you, fucking you through your orgasm. Starting to move a little faster as he chases his own pleasure, while the grunts and groans get louder.

You try to rock down onto him, wanting him to cum, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging his face to yours. "Cum for me, Javi." You plead, leaning in to kiss him while he grunts into your mouth.

It doesn’t take many more thrusts, stiffening and moaning your name into your mouth, his cock pulsing deep inside you. Flooding your cunt with ropes of his sticky seed while he pants in pleasure. “Fuck.”

You smile against his chin as he relaxes beneath you, shifting you to lay you down on your pillows. You feel like you're floating as he leans in to gently nip your chin. "So fucking good." You murmur, "rumors were not wrong."

He chuckles quietly. “Glad I could live up to the hype.” He teases. “Fuck- I wish I had a cigarette.” He groans. “Nothing better than a cigarette after amazing sex.”

You sigh, caressing his cheek, "I don't have any cigarettes, baby." You murmur, "sorry." You lean in to kiss his cheek and he nods, "it's okay. I'm trying to quit." You shift to lay down and he pulls out of you, shuffling off the bed to head into your bathroom for a rag so he can clean you up.

Javi cleans up quickly and brings the rag back, damp and soapy to make sure you are wiped clean before he tosses it back into the sink. Not sure if you want him to lay with you, he stands in the doorway and looks at you laying in your bed like a warm puddle, boneless and content. It makes him smile, watching you almost glow in the aftereffects.

“Come here.” You pat the bed and he nods, slipping back into the bed with you after he pulls the comforter from under you. You curl into his chest, swinging your leg over his hip, “are you going to stay the night? I’ve been told I make great pancakes.”

“If you want me to.” Javi settles back against the pillows and holds you close, his fingers tracing the lines of your back as you cuddle close. The fan spins lazily above you and he feels completely relaxed. “I’ll do whatever you want me to.” He chuckles. “Had no other plans, except maybe logging online and talking to this girl I’ve been seeing.”

You grin against his peck, “is she nice?” You ask and Javier smirks and shrugs one shoulder, “she’s alright.” You playfully slap his chest but he grabs your hand and brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it. “I want you to stay.” You murmur, turning your head to kiss his chest.

Javi hums happily and agrees. “Then I’ll stay.” He promises. “But your pancakes better be worth it.” He teases, happy that he had found someone that it was so natural to be with, in and out of bed.

You snort, “just you wait, Peña.” You promise and snuggle into his side again, enjoying the closeness between you.

**** 

Javier groans as he walks into the kitchen, his jeans on and unbuttoned after he cleaned up in the bathroom. He rubs his eyes and you turn around to look at him, dressed in his shirt. “Pancakes are ready.” You declare, setting a plate down on the table for him but you grab the can of whipped cream to squirt a smiley face on the top cake for him.

​​He huffs in amusement as he looks down at the smiley face on his pancakes. “Did I do that good fucking you last night?” He teases as he reaches around and pats your ass. “I get the special pancakes?” The last time he had seen this was on a kids menu in some pancake diner. It’s cute and he pulls you down for a kiss.

You giggle against his lips, pecking them a few times, "you did real good, baby. Wanted to show you my appreciation. You said you've been hungrier since you quit smoking so I figured you'd want a big breakfast. Bacon and eggs are nearly done."

“I could have helped you.” He had slept longer than he meant to, intending to wake up with you this morning. However, when he opened his eyes, he was all alone in the bed. “Thank you, you didn’t have to do this. I could have taken you out.”

You shake your head, “I woke up early and didn’t want to wake you up. You looked peaceful. I know you’ve been up early with your dad so you needed the sleep. I like cooking, I like taking care of you.” You confess, biting your lip as you plate up the eggs and bacon and set the plate on the table.

Javi softens and smiles at you. “I’m not complaining at all, sweetheart.” He promises. “I really appreciate it.” He gets up to grab the two mugs of coffee you have poured. “Let’s eat while your hard work is hot.” He tells you, pulling out your chair for you to sit.

You sit down, picking up your knife and fork to dig in to eat and your eyes meet Javier’s as he groans when he takes a bite of your pancakes. “Good?” You ask and he hums, swallowing his bite. “So fucking good.” You grin, proud that he likes them. You watch him eat, enjoying the product of your labor and you notice him staring at you. “Do I have something on my face?” You ask, reaching for the napkin.

“No.” Javi shakes his head and forks up another bite of eggs. “Just admiring how pretty you are without makeup on.” He admits. “You are pretty with it, but I think you��re even more beautiful without it.”

You fluster, cheeks warming at his compliment. Something soft that you never really expected from Javier Peña, especially the one you knew from childhood. “Thank you. I like the five o clock shadow on you.” You gesture to his unshaved face.

“Yeah.” He rubs his face with his hand, feeling the raspiness of the hair growing in. “Can’t grow a beard for shit though.” He snorts. “Comes in all patchy.”

You lean closer, resting your elbow on the table, “sexy no matter what.” You promise and he offers you a bashful smile, making your heart flutter. 

**** 

You wrap your arms around his neck, swaying to the music. Javier decided to take you to the fair that’s happening a town over and you are currently on the makeshift dance floor, swaying to the music played by the teenage band.

“Are you having a good time?” Javi asks, pulling you a little closer and leaning his cheek against yours as the band plays. Tonight has been wonderful, but he can’t remember a time that he’s not had a good time around you. You’ve played some games and ridden some rides, had plenty of fair food, and now he gets to hold you close.

"Always with you, baby." You promise, breathing him in. He's become your home, your person to vent to, to cry with, to laugh with. You've never experienced anything like this. 

He leans back to look at you and you lean forward to nudge your nose against him. "I love you." He blurts out and you pull back in surprise. Neither of you have mentioned your feelings yet but you are shocked that he was the first one to say anything. He looks surprised with himself then he gets nervous and you cup his cheek, "I love you too." You declare, leaning forward to brush your lips with his.

Javi smiles against your lips, his fingers digging into your waist as he deepens the kiss. He is home, in mind, body and spirit. Healing every day while sharing himself with you. Your accounts are both canceled, no need to chat online, now that you have each other.

  ​​

[ahqkas]

♯ PRACTICE MAKES IT BETTER ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! struggling with the local slang, you feel out of place until you meet theodore nott, the silent slytherin (based off this req.!!)

WORD COUNT! 2.3k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! fluff, kissing + lmk !

NOTES! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated :)

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

AMERICA WAS VIBRANT AND DIVERSE. The music scene was thriving with genres like grunge, hip-hop, and pop dominating the airwaves. To you, it was a place of contrasts and boundless possibilities. It was a land where towering skyscrapers stood next to historic buildings, and where you could find everything from bustling cities to quiet, open countryside. The diversity was striking; every state feels like its own little world, with different cultures, foods, and ways of life. It was a country where you could experience all four seasons, with hot summers, cold winters, and vibrant springs and autumns. The sheer size and variety made it feel like there was always something new to explore, whether it was a national park, a music festival, or just a quirky little town.

Then you moved to England.

Leaving behind the familiar sights and sounds of America, you stepped into a new world of magic and centuries-old traditions.

The first thing you noticed was the climate change. England's weather was full of frequent rain and cloudy skies. You had to get used to bringing an umbrella everywhere with you.

Hogwarts in Scotland was completely different from Ilvermorny, which resided on Mount Greylock. The towering buildings of the castle intimidated you a bit as you were used to the more modern school, but you were excited for the change of scenery.

The stone corridors, moving staircases, and enchanted portraits had captivated your imagination. The castle itself was full of new discoveries. Sure, you missed your old friends dearly, every one of them, but the owls worked hard and you managed to make new friends here.

As an exchange student from America, walking the hallowed halls of Hogwarts was a totally new experience. The ancient castle with its sprawling grounds, enchanted staircases, and hidden passageways was like stepping into a dream. But it wasn't just the magical environment that threw you off balance; it was the British slang that seemed to pop up in every conversation.

During your first week, you found yourself constantly bewildered by the new expressions. At breakfast, when a cheerful Hufflepuff asked if you wanted a "banger" with your eggs, you hesitated, unsure if it was an insult or a menu item. When a Ravenclaw mentioned being "knackered" after a long night of studying, you had to suppress a laugh, thinking it sounded more like a sound effect from a comic book than an expression of exhaustion.

The confusion was endless: "snogging" instead of kissing, "knickers" instead of underwear, "blimey" instead of a simple exclamation of surprise. You did your best to keep up, but the nuances of the language often left you feeling like you were missing the punchline of a joke. To put it simply, you were lost.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the library, poring over a stack of books for a Transfiguration assignment, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

"Ciao, piccola," Theodore Nott drawled, sliding into the seat across from yours. His presence was effortlessly welcomed, with his cool demeanor and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. He was a strange boy at first, never letting anyone, but when you warmed up to him, he was a totally new person.

"Hi, Theo," you greeted him with a smile playing on your lips. Theodore had been one of the first students to approach you, his Italian heritage a surprising connection. He often teased you in his native language, enjoying the way you fumbled with the unfamiliar phrases. A nuisance, that he was.

"Come va la tua giornata?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. ("How's your day doing?")

Already hearing this phrase a few times, you learned to understand its translation. With a sigh, you ran a hand through your hair. "It's been . . . interesting. I'm still trying to understand half of what everyone says here."

Theo chuckled, the sound rich and warm to your ears. "British slang getting to you?"

"You could say that," you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you watched his amusement at your misery. "I feel like I need a translator just for conversations."

"Well, if you think British slang is confusing, wait until I teach you some Italian slang," Theo smirked at the idea that appeared on his mind. "It's a whole different level."

Now this got your attention. "Teach me, then. It can't be that difficult from the British slang."

Over the next few weeks, Theodore Nott became your informal language tutor. He started with simple phrases, weaving them into everyday conversations until you began to pick them up naturally. He taught you how to greet someone with "Ciao, amico!" instead of a formal "Buongiorno," and how to say "Andiamo!" when you were ready to go.

One rainy afternoon, as you sat together in the Great Hall, Theo decided to test your knowledge. The rain tapped persistently against the high, arched windows, casting a muted gray light across the large hall. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the sky outside, swirling with dark clouds and flashes of lightning that illuminated the space completely. Despite the dreary weather, the Great Hall buzzed with the soft hum of student conversations, punctuated by the clinking of silverware and the rustling of pages.

Theo, seated across from you at the Slytherin table, leaned back casually, a mischievous glint in his eye. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, framing his sharp features. You had grown accustomed to his teasing, the way he delighted in challenging you with phrases in Italian, watching with amusement as you thought through the unfamiliar language. Today was no different, his eyes scanning the hall as if seeking inspiration for his next test.

You had been in the midst of revising for an upcoming Charms exam, your notes spread out around you in a chaotic array of parchment and textbooks. The soft light from the floating candles above cast a warm glow on the pages, making the ink shimmer slightly. As Theo's gaze returned to you, you knew another one of his lessons was coming.

"What would you say if you were really tired?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Theo's questions were always a blend of practical and playful, designed to push you just a little further each time. He spoke with the ease of someone completely comfortable in his skin, his words flowing like the rain outside, steady and sure. His Italian phrases, though foreign at first, began to weave themselves into the mind of your understanding.

Your responses grew more confident, the hesitation in your voice diminishing with each passing day. You found yourself thinking in Italian at times, the language slipping into your thoughts as naturally as your own. Theo's delight was evident, his eyes lighting up whenever you got something right, his praise sincere and heartfelt.

The rain outside showed no signs of letting up, but within the Great Hall, a warmth lingered.

You thought for a moment, then confidently replied, "Sono stanca morta." The phrase rolled off your tongue more smoothly than before, each syllable a small victory in your journey to master his native language. The meaning — "I'm dead tired" — was all too familiar after long days filled with classes and studying.

Theo laughed, the sound rich and genuine, echoing softly in the near-empty Great Hall. His laughter was like a reward, a confirmation that you were getting it right. Silver eyes sparkled with approval, the corners of his lips curling into a smile that made your heart flutter. The warmth of his reaction was comforting against the dreary, rain-soaked afternoon outside.

"Well done!" His voice was filled with genuine pride and delight, making you feel accomplished. His praise was never out of place; it was always heartfelt.

Your heart swelled with a mix of pride and joy. Learning Italian was not just about understanding a new language, but also about bridging the gap between your worlds. Each phrase, each word, was a step closer to understanding Theo better, and a way to connect on a deeper level.

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes searching yours, waiting for your next move. "And if you wanted to compliment someone on a job well done?" His question was another gentle challenge, pushing you to dig deeper into your newfound vocabulary.

"Bravo!" you answered without hesitation. The word felt natural, a perfect fit for the context. As you spoke, you couldn't help but smile, the simple word carrying a world of meaning and mutual respect. Seeing the approval in Theo's eyes, you felt a surge of confidence.

Theo's smile broadened, and his expression softened with pride and admiration. The approval in his eyes was more than just about your grasp of the language; it was about your willingness to immerse yourself in something new, to share a part of his heritage, to make an effort to connect.

The atmosphere around you felt lighter, the earlier tension of the day's studies dissolving into a shared moment of triumph and connection. The Great Hall, with its towering windows and ancient stone walls, seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little world of language and laughter.

The candles above flickered gently, casting a warm glow that danced across Theo's features, highlighting the pride in his eyes.

One day, as you walked together by the Black Lake, the cold water reflecting the moody sky, Theo turned to you, his expression thoughtful. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the ancient trees that lined the shore, their branches swaying rhythmically as if in silent conversation. The scene was picturesque, the expanse of the lake stretching out before you, a serene contrast to the bustling life within the castle walls. It was quiet out here, and you liked this spot.

"You know, you've picked up Italian slang faster than I expected," Theo remarked, his voice carrying a hint of admiration and surprise. His thoughtful tone blended seamlessly with the natural sounds around you, creating a moment of perfect harmony.

You laughed, the sound bright and carefree, echoing across the still waters. Nudging him playfully, you replied, "Maybe I had a good teacher." The playful banter was a reflection of the easy camaraderie that had developed between you, a testament to the countless hours spent learning and laughing together.

Theo's smile softened at your words, a tender expression that seemed to light up his face. His gaze lingered on you, the depth of his affection and pride evident in his eyes. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter, each shared glance made your knees tremble. Like you were the only girl at Hogwarts.

"Maybe," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a warmth that enveloped you. "Or maybe you just have a knack for languages." His words were a gentle compliment, a recognition of your efforts and abilities.

The path around the Black Lake was peaceful, the occasional ripple disturbing the otherwise mirror-like surface of the water. The air was crisp and fresh, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and damp earth. As you walked side by side, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, the rest of the universe fading into the background.

Your footsteps synchronized, a silent dance of familiarity and comfort. The conversations flowed effortlessly, alternating between Italian lessons and shared dreams, each word weaving a tapestry of understanding and companionship. Theo's presence was a constant, steady and reassuring, his thoughtful insights and quiet encouragements a source of strength.

The sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the landscape. The twilight hues painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, a breathtaking sight that added to the magic of the moment. Theo's silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun was a picture of serenity and quiet strength, a reminder of the stability he brought into your life.

Before you could fully process what was happening, the Slytherin boy took a small step closer, closing the distance between you. The warmth of his presence enveloped you, his proximity sending a gentle thrill through your body. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours, the touch sending a spark of electricity up your arm.

In that moment, with the golden light of dusk casting a magical glow around you, Theo leaned in. His movements were deliberate, filled with a tender hesitation. As his lips met yours, the world seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in a bubble of pure, unadulterated connection.

The kiss was gentle at first, a soft press of lips that spoke everything you needed to know. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath, the gentle caress of his hand against your cheek — it all combined to create a sensation that was both exhilarating and deeply comforting.

Theo's hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. The kiss deepened, becoming more confident, more insistent. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The connection between you intensified, the kiss becoming a language of its own, expressing everything words couldn't.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. The world slowly came back into focus, the sounds of nature reasserting themselves around you. Theo's eyes, still holding that mix of affection and awe, met yours. A soft, contented smile played on his lips.

"Grazie, Theo," you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude.

"For what?" he asked confused, his brow furrowing slightly.

"For being patient with me. For this. For . . . everything."

Theo's eyes softened, and he reached out, intertwining your fingers in one. "No worries," he replied, his voice just as soft. "I'm glad I could help."

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

Wandavision Double Feature (Agatha Harkness x f!reader)

Part I: And … Action!

Part II: Slice Of Life

In this Episode it is the 60s and the more you settle into the idyllic housewife lifestyle, the more tension between you and Agatha rises. You finally get a taste of what you crave.

Content/Warnings: Imbalanced power dynamic, Agatha has a dubious moral compass, Alcohol consumption, Smut, Hair Pulling, Mommy kink, Praise kink, Corruption Kink low key, Oral fixation, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Dom!Agatha (for now), does the Hex count as Housewife Roleplay? This whole thing is housewife roleplay.

Tags: @chiar4anna <3

I was gonna give you angst this week, but then the Big Sad slapped me across the face, so you’re getting soft lovely smutty fantasies first and angst when I stop being a sensitive baby! Until then, enjoy your stay at Sin City! Once again big big big smooch to @msharkness who beta reads for me without complaining, you speed my process up so much you have no idea!

To both yours and Agatha’s delight, you turned out to be quite the natural around the house. Within just a few days, you’d settled into a comfortable routine.

Breakfast always was on Agatha, who was always up before you, slipping past the guest room quietly so as to not wake you up.

When you came downstairs an hour later, hair curled and lips painted what you assumed to be red, the exact way she’d taught you, there were always eggs and bacon, slices of toast and coffee steaming hot already waiting for you. Agatha scrunched her nose up at the amount of sweetener you put into your coffee, and you rolled her eyes at her every time. And maybe you started putting even more sweetener into your coffee just to watch her do that face again, little wrinkles around her eyes as she squinted, upper lips curling as she shook her head. But that was a secret you’d take to the grave.

After you ate, you brought a plate of breakfast down into the dungeon.

It was still … odd to know Ralph was just down there, and if you thought about it too long, a cold shudder went down your spine. But, you brought him fresh food twice a day, and every time you came downstairs you could hear his Xbox running. You never lingered around too long, always rushed back upstairs, where the place smelled of lavender, roses and something simmering on the stove. Wanda had a whole town under mind control, including everyone you knew. A single guy in Agatha’s basement really wasn’t that bad in comparison. Right?

Next off, you fed the bunny. Señor Scratchy seemed to just move around the house freely, although his favourite room was the one deep down in the dungeon, where the Darkhold levitated in the middle of the seven-cornered room with its sculptures of creatures, people and abstract shapes on the walls. And, most days at least, the little furball was munching on kale or carrots in one corner or another. You could only assume the rabbit was also some type of magick, or maybe it was just oblivious to the unsettling energy surrounding the book levitating right in the same room.

By the time you had fed the bunny, Agatha had either left the house to show up wherever Wanda was that day, or she sat in the living room, nose buried in one of her heavy, centuries old books. You shuffled around the house, kept the place clean, made tea for the two of you, and sometimes you tried to focus on one of the books she’d assigned you to read. However, especially when you were in the living room together, focusing on old, handwritten letters on yellow paper proved quite difficult. And it had less to do with the difficulties of outdated language and everything with the entire situation: Agatha lounging on the couch with her feet kicked up on the coffee table, wide skirts pooling around her, dark hair pinned back behind her ears, brows always slightly furrowed when she was focussing.

Why read about ages old legends when you could be looking at her instead?

There hadn’t been a conversation about the other night, but … something was different ever since you returned from your first little stake out. She kept you on your toes, made you jump when she suddenly brushed up against you, let her hands linger on your hip, or your lower back, and sometimes even your cheek or neck.

When she left the house she always called „See you later, honey!“, towards wherever in the house you were bustling around. And every night when she returned, she announced herself with a wholehearted „Honey, I‘m home!“

While the housewife role wasn’t something you had ever planned for in your future, you proved to be quite the natural. Or at least, Agatha made you feel like you were. She never missed a chance to comment on how nice it was that someone kept the place clean, how much she enjoyed dinner, how lovely it was to see your face when Wanda had dragged her to meet with the other wives again. That one almost made you drop the fork of food halfway to your mouth already, and you quickly feigned a coughing fit, face burning hot as you stared down at your plate, anywhere but right at her. In hindsight, you couldn’t tell whether the foot grazing up your calf was real or pure imagination.

You quickly learned that Agatha had a sweet tooth. Whenever you had the time to bake, whole trays of cookies or pies would disappear at a rapid pace, never surviving much more than three days. On Saturday night, after Wanda had kept her busy especially late with some dinner plans Agatha refused to explain to you, you came downstairs to find Agatha sat on the floor in front of the open fridge, rollers in her hair, a silk robe over her nightdress, eating a plum pie you‘d made right from the tray. There was an open bottle of red wine behind her on the kitchen counter.

„I was saving that for tomorrow you know“, you commented, and her head shot up in surprise, eyes wide for a millisecond before she realized it was just you, and her signature smirk returned to her lips.

„I guess you’ll have to make more tomorrow then“, her bottom lip pushed forward in a mocking pout, „That’s too bad!“ For a moment you just held her eye contact, watching the act slowly leave her face, until she was smirking

With a roll of your eyes you walked over, sitting down cross legged on the cool kitchen floor beside her.

„Good girl“, she hummed, and it was fleeting, rolling off her tongue as casually as a greeting. But you felt your heart do a leap in your chest, biting down on your bottom lip hard.

Agatha handed you the wine bottle, her thigh brushing up against yours, and as you took a large sip, she filled her fork up with whipped cream and pie crust. When she turned to you instead of eating it herself, you almost choked on the bitter liquor on your tongue. Pressing your lips together to suppress a cough, you swallowed, wide eyes staring at the fork in front of you and then at her.

Her brows wandered up, tilting her head to the sight ever so slightly. „Come on, honey“, she purred, and you felt her voice echo through your entire body, „Open up.“

For a moment, you just stared at her, wide eyed, your heart fluttering in your chest. You‘d never been more grateful that your thoughts were completely unavailable to her, because the ideas flashing through your mind were way too intimate, way too inappropriate. But then again, you were far from normal circumstances.

Your lips parted and she pushed the fork past them, never once tearing her eyes from your lips as you closed them around the metal, tasting cream and cinnamon and plum on your tongue. She pulled the fork out of your mouth way slower than necessary, watching every inch of it, her own lips parting. You felt her breath on your face, surprised by how hot the gentle gush of air hit your cheek. And when you swallowed, you felt her eyes on your throat, watching the exposed skin move, dipping lower to where nothing but flimsy fabric covered you up.

„A-“

“Shhh“, a hand on your cheek, fingers hooking underneath your chin to force you to look up at her. As if you wanted to look anywhere else right now.

„Silence, honey“, she breathed, tilting your head to one side, and then to the other. You weren’t sure if she was actually scanning your face or just seeing if you would let her. Which, of course, you did. You melted like soft butter under her touch, letting her shape you in any way she pleased. The realisation almost scared you.

A soft little sound left Agatha’s lips, a hum so quiet, if you hadn’t felt it against your skin, you probably would have missed it. She was so, so close, her face almost blurred before you. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, but there was a little twinkle in her gaze, the idea of something wicked. If only you‘d lean in one more inch—

Her lips were on yours. She was soft, so endlessly soft, and she fit perfectly against the curve of your own lips. A surprised gasp left your mouth, slipping right into hers. The world was spinning, one blur of black, white and endless shades of grey. If it wasn’t for your hand finding her shoulder, you would have lost any sense of direction. Up, down, left, right, none of it mattered. Not right now. Not with her lips on yours, with the taste of plum on your tongue, your fingers digging into the thin fabric of her nightgown, pulling her closer.

A low moan left her lips, you felt the sound vibrate against your lips. You gasped, and Agatha took the opportunity to slide her tongue between your lips, prodding gently, as if asking for permission. Your hand tightened on her shoulders, lips parting wider. The whine that left your throat when her tongue licked over yours was high and came from deep inside your stomach. Her hand found your chest, and before you knew it, she pushed you down firmly. Your back hit the cool tiled floor and you squeaked at the feeling. Her lips broke from yours, leaning away enough to look at you through heavy lashes. Agatha was on top of you, one hand pinning you firmly to the ground, the other supporting herself, propped up just beside your head. A few strands of hair had freed themselves from her rollers, falling around her face like a picture frame and her eyes, oh her eyes. They were dark with lust, glinting in the half darkness of the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed, you could tell even in the color drained world you were caught in. Whether it was from the wine or the kiss, you couldn’t tell. But God, you hoped it was the latter.

„Agatha“, you gasped. The hand that wasn’t fisting the silk of her nightgown found her arm, and you ran your fingers down her bare skin, delighted to feel goosebumps on your trail. You reached her wrist, fingers curling around it. „Agatha“, you repeated, holding eye contact as you dragged her hand slowly up your chest, past your collarbones, toward your throat. „I .. I want you-“

She was gone just as fast as she’d been on you. Her absence left a longing so much more urgent than before. You suddenly felt very cold on the floor. The silk of her nightgown slipped from your grip, and before you knew it she was back on her feet, snagging the half empty wine bottle from the kitchen island. She stared at it for a moment, and you caught a shake of her head as you wrapped your gown around you tighter. Suddenly, you felt very naked in the flimsy fabric.

„Agatha!“, you pushed yourself up, right behind her as she paced the tiled floor towards the door.

To your surprise, she turned around immediately. And to your relief, there was a smile on her face, even if it was small. But it was better than anything else.

Her free hand came up to cup your face, and you leaned into her touch before you even realised it.

„You should try to get some sleep, honey“, she said, her voice low and raw, none of the melodic singsong she put on when she talked to Wanda. This was Agatha, a centuries old witch with powers beyond your comprehension. Who had just made out with you on the kitchen floor.

„You work so hard around the house, you need some rest. And I have to prepare for the stupid meeting tomorrow. I‘ll see you for dinner tomorrow.“ In the half dark it was hard to tell, but you swore you saw her wink at you, before turning around on her heel, nightgown swishing through the air. You stood in the dark kitchen for a moment longer, fingers rubbing over the spot where her palm had pinned you down, still feeling the ghost of her touch lingering.

Something had changed tonight, and you knew there was no going back from this now. It was exhilarating.

…

Not even 24 hours later you were putting away freshly cleaned dishes. You’d made falafel bowls for dinner, and while Agatha had scolded you for not sticking to era accurate food, she had dug in and hummed with content, pointing out how much she missed the bigger variety of food the present day offered.

You did too. And music, you missed listening to something that wasn’t the same ten songs on the one single vinyl you’d found in the house.

While stacking freshly dried plates over each other, you couldn’t help but hum a tune that definitely wasn’t from the 60s. Neither of you had mentioned the prior night, and Agatha had left even earlier than usual this morning. In her absence, you had made another, identical pie like she‘d requested, that was cooling down on the kitchen island as you cleaned up. A part, no, every part of you hoped she’d comment on it, and then you could talk about it, and maybe you could kiss her again, longer this time, and maybe —

Suddenly, you felt a hand sneak around your waist. A palm came to rest on your stomach, pulling you back into the warm body behind you just slightly. The plates you held clinked together dangerously, and you put them down quickly, before you could drop them. On your heel, you spun around, and now the two of you were flush against each other, front to front, the kitchen counter pressed into your back. She’d been quiet all day, still frustrated with Wanda randomly changing the era of TV you were in, but you knew better than to ask too many questions. Now, you could basically feel the frustration cling to her, tension in the body pressed up against yours. It was exhilarating.

„Go sit“, Agatha told you, voice low while glancing from your wide eyes to your slightly parted lips and back. There was that twinkle in her eyes again, the same one from last night, when you two ate pie on the kitchen floor at 2 am. „I'll clean up tonight.“

„I don’t mind…“ you started, but the words got stuck in your throat when suddenly, a single index finger brushed over your bottom lip. Goosebumps rose on your arms, your neck, your entire skin. Agatha tilted her head, her other hand running over your exposed arm, chuckling at the goose skin.

„Just sit down," she repeated, more firmly. There was a smirk on her painted lips, eyes unreadable. „You deserve it.“

„But-“, this time, she shut your protest down by pushing her finger right past your lips the moment you parted them.

Your breath hitched, eyes widening, a high pitched sound leaving you from the back of your throat.

Agatha’s other hand slid around to the small of your back, tightening its grip, fabric of your dress creasing under her touch. Her stare never left yours, tip of her finger pressing down on your tongue, brows raised in silent expectation. A flash of heat shot up your spine, and if it wasn’t for the furniture right behind you, you might have melted into a puddle on the ground right now.

Once your initial surprise had worn off, your lips closed around her finger, tongue licking up against the pad of her finger. Agatha’s bright eyes were focused on your mouth, watching every microscopic movement, pupils wide and dark as you slowly, shakily began to suck her finger.

You couldn’t breathe, too scared to change even the smallest thing about the moment to do so. You could feel yourself trembling, and knew she could too, as another little whine left your throat, starting to bob your head back and forth, once, twice, settling into a rhythm.

Agatha watched you the entire time, her body pressed flush against you, hips pinning you to the kitchen counter. Her own lips were parted slightly, her breath hot on your face. She pulled her finger away, the curve of her mouth forming a subtle smirk as you gasped, sucking in a deep breath.

„You forgot to breathe“, she pointed out, a low chuckle before her finger came up, gently tapping the tip of your nose.

Your shoulders slumped, leaning against the counter to stay upright. You could feel the little wet spot of your own saliva on the tip of your nose. With the back of your hand, you wiped it off.

„Agatha-“

The witch let out a groan, her hands coming to rest on the counter on either side of you. She was leaning against the surface, so close to you without touching, and her forehead was wrinkled when her eyes found you after a long, exasperated sigh.

„Do you ever turn that pretty head of yours off for one second?“ Her lips quirked up into a knowing little smile, and she leaned forwards, her lips so close to yours, you could feel her breath ghost over your skin. Memories of how they felt against yours flooded your mind, her tongue dragging over yours, the taste of plums and jam. You swallowed hard, and Agatha watched your throat move without shame. Her pupils were dark, dragging up your neck, over your lips before holding eye contact again. The familiar twinkle in her bright eyes was a clear challenge.

„Do I make you nervous?“, she drawled and you felt one of her hands find the fabric of your dress, running over the little buttons holding it together in the front. Her index and middle finger ran up your front, all the way to the first open button right over your cleavage, where they hooked underneath the cotton. You gasped.

Agatha smirked as her eyes never left your heaving chest, watching the goosebumps on your skin rise.

„I bet you’ve done a lot of thinking today, huh?“ Her nail dug underneath the next button on your dress. Just one flick of her finger, and it came undone, the top of your bra peeking out. Delicate lace, one of the most revealing ones you‘d found in your period accurate closet. The wire was incredibly uncomfortable, but the way her lips parted just the smallest bit, tip of her tongue darting out as she undid another button, revealing more of the undergarment was worth the discomfort at least ten times.

„Naughty“, she commented, head tilting to the side. „Last night really hasn’t left your mind.“

All you could do was shake your head.

„Good.“ With a swift motion, she’d grabbed your undone collar with both hands, tugging the dress open and down your shoulders. Cold air touched your skin, skin that you desperately wanted her hands on. The high, breathy moan that left your mouth told her as much.

One of Agatha‘s brows raised in amusement. She was looking at you like a lioness ready to pounce. God, you hoped she would.

Her hands found your shoulders, palms running over your skin, smirk widening at your eyes fluttering shut as you sucked in the air sharply.

„So responsive“, Agatha purred, fingers running over your collarbones. Your chest pushed forward into her touch as if on instinct and she complied without hesitation. Her palms cupped the swell of your breasts, fingertips pressing into the silky fabric covering them, thumbs running over where your nipples hardened against lace.

You wanted to say something, tell her to just shut up and kiss you, beg her to touch you, to tear the last pieces of fabric off your body and take everything from you right now on the counter. But the words wouldn’t travel from your brain to your lips, so instead, you reached behind yourself, finding the clasps holding your bra together. A few moments of fumbling and then you had done it, the straps on your shoulders loosening, the fabric falling away from your body like a shell you‘d outgrown.

Agatha’s mouth fell open in a surprised „Oh!“, and the sound made your heart attempt to leap out of your chest. Her fingers pulled the fabric away from you, exposing bare skin, and the piece dropped to the ground somewhere besides you carelessly. Dark pupils were fixed on your bare chest and her hands returned to their original position, squeezing the soft flesh. Her thumbs running in featherlight circles over your bare nipples had your head roll back, and you let the low moan escape your throat without holding back. Agatha caught your gaze holding eye contact as she leaned down.

„Hold yourself up“, she purred, and you had just enough time to grasp the counter behind you with both hands before her lips were on you.

She planted a soft kiss to the rounded flesh of your breast, and then grazed her teeth over the same spot dragging just a little lower. Soft, wet lips closed around your nipple, sucking the sensitive skin in, where she then ran her tongue around it in little circles.

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering shut and one of your hands found her dark hair, nails grazing over her scalp as she snickered against your nipple, the vibrations shooting right through your spine.

„Ag- Ah!“, your voice was weaved with desire and she was right, if you weren’t holding yourself up with your other arm, your knees would have given out.

Agatha released your nipple with a wet pop, saliva coating your breast and her lips, a sight that made your stomach curl into a tight, burning hot knot. Bright eyes found yours and she held eye contact as her teeth slowly sank into the soft skin just above your nipple. The pain was sharp and hot, not enough to draw blood, but enough to fuel the fire she‘d started within you. Your hand in her hair gripped tighter, pulling her up towards you. She chuckled against your skin, not letting your urgency rush her in the slightest.

Instead, she placed a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses from your chest over your collarbone all the way up your neck. Her tongue darted out right at the spot just underneath your earlobe, and you mewled at the feeling. One hand came up to cup your jaw and she held you in place, taking her sweet time as her lips continued their journey along your jawline, up your chin. When she finally reached your lips, you leaned forwards expectantly, but her hold tightened, keeping you just out of reach.

„Agathaaa“, you whined, and genuinely had to resist the urge to stomp your foot. Of course, that only made her laugh, brows raised as she held you less than an inch away from her lips.

„You can have what you want“, she murmured, tongue darting out to wet her own bottom lip. And, you were sure of that, to taunt you further. It worked. „If you can tell me exactly what that is.“

A long, exasperated sigh left your mouth, fingers running through her dark curls.

„I‘ve wanted you to kiss me for the past ten minutes“, you mumbled, but that wasn’t quite true. You took a deep breath. „I‘ve wanted you to kiss me since the moment I stepped into this house.“

„That‘s my good girl“, she purred, finger running along your jaw, „I knew you had it in you.“

Finally, instead of keeping you just out of reach, she pulled you in. Your lips crashed together and it was nothing like last night.

Last night was too careful, almost anxious. You’d dipped a single finger into the waters to test the temperature, and if you weren’t in the position you were in right now, a part of you would have wondered if it had all just been a dream.

But now you were on fire. You‘d tested the waters, and now you were jumping right in. Agatha pushed her tongue past your lips with intent, and a moan slipped out as you granted her entry. Her arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you flush against her as your fingers dug into her hair, no care for the pins holding her curls in place.

Teeth clashed against teeth and you felt her groan against you, kicking your legs open before slotting a knee up between them.

You squealed, stomach twisting with desire, pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes. They were tainted with pure, unadulterated lust.

„Take me“, you panted against her lips, barely breaking contact enough to speak properly. „Take me now, Agatha. Please."

Her hands found your hips, giving the dress that had gathered there one last firm tug. It all fell to the ground, fabric pooling around your feet, easy to step out of.

„Such a quick learner“, she murmured, eyes raking down your body, over the garters holding your stockings up, the thin nylon covering your legs, the ruffles of your underwear. „You really are quite something, honey.“

Her forehead rested against yours for a moment, hot skin against skin as her fingers dug into the soft flesh right over your hips. „Turn around“, she commanded, voice low and heavy, more of a groan than anything else, a movement right against your own lips that left you breathless.

With one swift motion, you were flipped around, her hips pinning yours against the marble counter. A hand ran up your bare back, fingertips teasingly tracing the edge of your garterbelt before trailing up your spine, until her palm was right between your shoulder blades, pressing you down against the cool marble. You sucked in a sharp breath, and the sound made her chuckle. She enjoyed the power she had over you. Always had, since the moment she offered you a deal. But back then, you hadn’t realised just how much you wanted her in control, how much you craved it.

And yet here you were, her hand holding you firmly in place, knees pushed apart as her fingers slowly traced over the edges of your undergarments. Since you‘d moved on from the 50s style to a decade later, you had been able to drop the corset from your everyday wear, but still, as her nails dragged over the curve of your ass, digging underneath the elastic just to let it snap back against your skin, you wished there was still a little less fabric keeping you from her.

Hell, you‘d probably have to throw this pair of underwear out after this anyway. You were absolutely drenched.

Agatha’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass. Simultaneously, you felt her lips ghost over your ear, her body leaning over yours, pushing you further into the countertop. Her nails poked into your skin, leaving little crescent marks in their place.

„A part of me wants to spank that pretty ass of yours raw“, her voice dripped with sweetness, you swallowed hard.

„But how could I, when you’ve been nothing but good for me since you got here.“

She let go of your butt, gently rubbing over the little marks her nails left behind before dipping lower. Her tongue darted out, running over the shell of your ear. You whined, pushing back into her touch. You could feel her gentle hum vibrate against your ear. Her fingers found your clothed core, three fingers dragging slowly up and down the soaked fabric. You felt her breath hitch.

„So, so good“, Agatha purred, poking just over where nothing but white ruffles kept her from sliding right inside your drenched cunt.

„Tell me you want me.“

Your head was spinning, legs shaking, and the tight knot that had formed on your stomach wanted nothing more but to finally explode, so you almost didn’t catch her words. When you responded, your voice was weak, a mere whimper, and under any other circumstances you would have been embarrassed. But the more pathetic you sounded, the more you melted under her, the more Agatha seemed to delight in you. And right now, the only thing you could ever want was to please her, to hear her purr sweet praises in your ear, to finally have her way with you. Good God.

„I need you“, you rasped, and your needy plea was rewarded with a lingering kiss on your shoulder. Her fingers ran over your clothed centre one more time, and feeling her graze over your clit made your entire body shudder.

„I need you so bad“, you mewled, „Agatha please, I- Please just fuck me already.“

„Hm, mouthy“, she chuckled, teeth grazing over your skin one more time before she leaned back up. Her absence over you left your shoulders cold, but it was worth it when you felt her hand guide yours to the edge of the counter besides you.

„Hold tight honey. Yes, exactly like that.“ Two fingers hooked under the elastic of your underwear and you gasped.

„You‘re doing so well for me“, Agatha purred. Her free hand ran up your spine again, this time she wandered over the back of your neck, right to where her fingers could dig into your hair, that hadn’t been the intricate style you‘d pinned it into that morning for a hot minute then.

Her fist closed around the strands, twisting them in her grip until you felt a tug, back arching in response. You heard Agatha moan at the sight and you instinctively pushed your shoulders back even further back arched, ass pushed back, her fingers ghosting over the soft skin on your thigh.

„Gorgeous“, she hummed, grip on your roots tightening, „So good for Mommy, aren’t you?“

And then, at last, her fingers pushed past the fabric of your underwear, right between your folds, slick with arousal. She slid right through you, fingertips pressing down right onto your swollen clit. Desire pulsated through your veins.

„Agatha!“, you cried out, knuckles white as you held onto the countertop for dear life.

„What was that?“, she lulled, teasing, fingers staying right where they were. Your hips stuttered, trying to push down into the touch, but her grip on your hair kept you in position.

„Ah!“, your breath hitched, your mind was mush. „M.. Mommy please!“

Her fingers circled around the bundle of nerves they were pushing up against and you moaned with relief. That was exactly what you needed right now.

„You didn’t think I missed the way that makes you tick, did you honey?“ The low laugh behind you sounded almost evil, and it shot through your body right to your core. You were sure she could feel your pulse through your throbbing clit, swollen under her circular motions.

“You’re so easy“, she purred right by your ear, giving your clit one more swirl of her fingertips, „You‘re an open book to me honey.“

Her index finger slowly wandered downwards, collecting your liquid arousal on its way. Her lips found the back of your neck, pulling you up into her by your hair.

„And this is a spell I can do with the flick of a finger.“

Her finger slipped into you with no warning. You gasped, eyes pressed shut at the sudden intrusion.

Agatha hummed, holding her finger still for a moment, giving you the chance to adjust. „You‘re doing so well honey.“ Slowly, she dragged it back out, before pushing right back inside, all the way to the knuckle. „Taking it so well for Mommy.“

Her thumb grazed over your clit, and if she hadn’t such a tight grip in your hair, your head would have fallen forward.

Again, she thrust her finger, settling for a gentle, slow rhythm. You pushed back into her touch on instinct. You needed more. More of her inside of you, more sweet words dripping down your back like honey, more of her lips on your skin.

The latter was granted without even having to say anything. Agatha pressed her lips to the spot just behind your earlobe and the moan you let out in response was guttural.

„That‘s right“, you could feel her lips move against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. „Let me hear you.“

Her hand slowed down and you almost let out a frustrated mewl. But then, you felt a second finger prodding at your entrance, and the stretch made you hiss instead.

Slowly, she began to pick up a rhythm with two fingers this time, her back pressed to yours as she held you tight in place. The slight pain of her tugging on your hair mixed beautifully with the slow, steady motion of her fingers thrusting in and out of you, until all you felt was hot, white pleasure like stars dancing before your eyes.

Agatha’s lips trailed a line of kisses down your neck, her fingers speeding up with every time her lips met your bare skin.

Heat pooled in your stomach, the knot tightening. You were on a rollercoaster, rapidly approaching the very top of the ride, bracing yourself for the fall.

„Agatha“, you gasped, and then immediately corrected, „Mommy.“

She stopped her trail of kisses on your shoulder. „Let go honey“, she hummed, tongue running over the little mark she’d sucked into your skin, „Let yourself go for Mommy.“

Again, her thumb found your clit, fingers twisting inside of you. Her rhythm picked up, tips of her fingers grazing over your insides with every thrust. You felt every muscle in your body tighten, cunt clenching down on her hand,your knuckles white as they were gripping the countertop in a vice like grip. .

„Just like that“, Agatha’s voice was low, merely a whisper. And then her teeth found your skin, brushing over your shoulder for a moment before sinking into the flesh. You cried out, head falling back into the fist that held your hair tight.

The knot in your stomach exploded. A shiver ran down your spine, over your back and arms and your entire body as release washed over you like a cool tidal wave, drowning out everything else in its way.

Your hips bucked into her once, twice, and then it was over, and suddenly you felt drained, exhaustion tugging on every part of your body.

Agatha‘s fingers pulled out in one smooth motion, and when you dropped forward onto the counter, her hand gently untangled from your hair.

„Fuck“, you whispered, chest heaving, legs feeling jelly.

A pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you upwards. „Come here“, Agatha’s voice was very soft all of a sudden, steadying your shaky stance against her. You noticed a wet stench on the counter but chose to ignore it for now, instead using your energy to turn around in her grasp.

„Can you stand?“, she asked when your weight leaned into her, arms wrapped around you almost protectively. It felt nice.

Ignoring her question, you leaned forward after turning around and caught her lips in a quick kiss, tasting the salty stench of sweat and sex on her lips.

„I‘m fine, Agatha“, you promised, unable to stop laughing at your own words. „I‘m fucking fantastic, actually.“

Still, she held you at just an arms length, eyeing you up and down.

There were bruises already blooming where your hips had pushed into the hard edge of the counter over and over. Agatha‘s fingers ran over the irritated skin.

„See, we could have done this on the couch if you’d just listen to me.“ Agatha panted, arms wrapped tightly around your shivering form, holding you close. You felt her lips ghost over the crown of your head, placing a featherlight kiss there.

„We could have done this last night in your bed like normal people if you’d just made up your mind then“, you teased back, arms wrapping around her neck as you leaned against her. If it wasn’t for her support, there was no way you‘d still be standing up straight.

Agatha‘s eyes hardened. „If you don’t watch your manners you’re not seeing that bed at all.“

But the kiss she caught your lips in gave her empty threat away immediately. You smiled against her lips, tugging her closer by her neck. A quick peck was placed at the corner of her mouth. Pulling away just enough to catch her eyes, you smirked.

„I don‘t have to be able to read your mind to know that’s not true. But alright“, your hands found hers, tugging her with you as you took a step towards the living room. Your dress lay forgotten on the floor. That was a task for tomorrow, like sanitising the entire kitchen counter.

Right now, you were too busy feeling delighted when Agatha let you tug her towards the living room, unable to tear her eyes off you even for a moment.

„We can have a turn on the couch before we go to bed!“ You chuckled, grabbing her face with both hands, kissing her firmly as you fell backwards onto the couch, pulling Agatha down with you.

[a-new-romantic]

lucky charm ♡ (hogwarts!au azriel x reader)

a/n: this is entirely inspired by those "xxx quidditch entrance song" tiktoks. i have no other excuse, but i hope you like it! (and if you hate it, don't read it!)

summary: ravenclaw!azriel plays against the slytherin quidditch team. you're his good luck charm.

"please", Rhysand, muttered as he caught up to you and Feyre going to breakfast. "Ravenclaw is NOT going to win," he said - pointedly staring at your blue and bronze robes.

"Yeah," Feyre agreed, her green tie seeming brighter than ever. "We're going to win, cause our team has us on it." she said, grinning slyly at you all entered the great hall.

"We'll see..." you sung to your friends, rolling your eyes as you got up from the table, heading over to the Ravenclaw table.

"Hey Luc!" you say, spotting your friend eating in what looked like a fit of nerves. "Ready for the game, keeper?" you asked, patting him on the back as you took a seat next to him - your favorite food appearing in front of you.

"Honestly? No," he said, "Rhysand is a damn good chaser and Feyre is the best seeker we've seen in a while," he said.

"And you're the best keeper we've had in centuries! Don't even worry Lucien, you're going to do great. I have full faith that Ravenclaw will win." you said, despite not being 100% certain yourself. He was right, Feyre and Rhysand (and the rest of Slytherin) were damn good.

"Sure, sure. You only say that cause Azriel is on Ravenclaw too." he said, wiggling his eyebrows at you with a teasing tone. It seemed the whole school knew of your budding relationship with your teams star beater.

"Whatever, don't you have to practice or something?" you said around a bite of waffles. His eye widened as he glanced up at the clock before shoveling the rest of his eggs into his mouth. He gave you a quick wave goodbye before grabbing his broom and running out of the hall.

You grinned and finished up your breakfast, heading back to your dorm to get ready for the big game.

----- ♡

The crowd roared around you as you climbed up to the highest seat you could get at the game. The wing whipped your hair around, as the blue and bronze scarf around your neck kept you warm.

"Nice makeup (Y/n)!" someone yelled out at you, as you gave them a grateful smile. You worked hard on it, blue and bronze surrounding your eyes, with Azriel's jersey number on your cheek as a last minute show of support.

Before you knew it, the opposing crowd started roaring, the Slytherin entrance song starting to play.

"everybody wants to rule the world.."

The song echoed throughout the stadium, green and sliver smoke filling the field. Silhouettes of the players started appearing to the left of the field, Rhys and Feyre's outlines clear as they appeared out of the smoke.

The beat dropped and the entire Slytherin team got on their brooms, flying to the middle of the field. Rhysand pumped his fist into the air, triggering a cascade of screams down the Slytherin side of the field. As the beat built up, the players got higher and higher. Suddenly, the music stopped and they all dropped down to eye level - getting into position for the game.

"Honestly? A 10/10 entrance." your friend piped up next to you. You couldn't help but agree.

The crowd started to die down from that amazing entrance: people talking to their friends and chit chatting, the Slytherin team talking strategy.

Suddenly, you hear faint whistles and clacks echoing through the stadium. The crowd went silent in anticipation of the incoming entrance by the Ravenclaw.

Then, the drums started resounding throughout the stadium - going directly through everyone and vibrating through their cores. You grinned, knowing that Az had taken your song suggestion for their entrance tonight. The drums ended with a flourish, blue and bronze confetti erupting throughout the stadium.

"all the birds of a feather.."

The Ravenclaw players entered through the confetti, flying in circles around the stadium - looking like blurs of blue just zooming past everyone. The beat ended and the players exited the circle one by one, flipping in the air before landing in place.

Azriel, unlike Rhysand didn't hype up the crowd at all. He didn't need to. At the sight of him, the entire crowd erupted.

He didn't care, he was looking directly at you. You flushed under his gaze, giving him a quick thumbs up as a show of support. He smiled gratefully before turning to roll his eyes at his brother on the opposing side.

Once the players were in position, the game began.

----- ♡

The game was neck and neck for the most part, with Azriel or Lucien blocking most of Rhysand's advances. Nevertheless, Slytherin was in the lead.

Your focus stayed on Azriel for the most part, tracking him as he shot across the field. He was completely in his element, and you were in nothing short of awe.

He could feel your stare as he played the game, loving you and loving the attention. Forgive him if he flexed a little harder, and showed off a little more during the game. He had a pretty person to impress after all.

Despite your attention attuned on Azriel, your gaze flickered away as you watched the Ravenclaw seeker and Feyre suddenly dive to the ground, spotting the snitch. If the seeker caught the snitch, Ravenclaw could overcome the lead Slytherin had on them and win the game.

The whole stadium went quiet as everyone watched the two seekers twist around one another, up and down through the field as they chased after the snitch.

Suddenly, Feyre swerved out of the way as a bludger appeared in her line of flight. Your eyebrows furrowed as you glanced up at Azriel, who smirked - knowing his plan worked. He shot a bludger in Feyre's direction (not intending to hurt her) to throw her off her path.

He was successful! The Ravenclaw seeker sped up and caught the snitch, flying up and thrusting her hand up in the air in victory. The half of the field you were on erupted in cheer as bronze and blue confetti erupted once again.

You cheered alongside everyone, joy overtaking everyone's face. You took the time to study Azriel's face, as he high fived and celebrated with his teammates. Then, he turned to face you - flying towards you.

"All because of my lucky charm, huh?" he said, as he leaned forward on his broom so his lips could meet you own. You smiled into the kiss, shaking your head while laughing.

He didn't need a lucky charm, but you were glad to be his lucky charm any day.

[yurozo]

the monomyth, (leon kennedy x reader)

the exodus, also aptly known as retirement, has been sending leon for a loop. you are there to pull him back down to earth. (smut/fluff/overuse of greek references)

a/n: 18+ readers only! anyone under eighteen will be personally chased by me at full running speed. i am very much a classics nerd, as will be glaringly obvious in about three seconds. i love you nerd leon, no one understands you like i do.

shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet who was forced to listen to me ramble about this fic for three entire days

a single structure repeats itself in an endless loop of tragedy and non-tragedy, operating through the cycles of aristotle’s poetics in order to create a universal narrative of the roman hero. prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and exodus– recycled and reused to form the endless configurations of misfortunes that befall the heroes. what is pervasive, and often tragic, about these heroes is not their moral struggles against the physical evils, but instead an internal and divine battle against a common enemy– time. 

ultimately, what defines the perfect tragedian hero is the prevailing feeling of inescapability. they cannot run from the ties of fate that rely on them as a catharsis for conflict, and instead must emotionally resolve themselves to their social positions as a weapon for the gods, regardless of the institution’s ideology. this priori of obligation forced by an infinite and perfect consciousness is what makes the tragic hero tragic; this life is not one that they choose for themselves, but one they are forced to live until that last grain of sand slips through the hourglass. 

leon’s eyes had started to burn thirty minutes ago, long ignored in favour of another jstor binge at a truly ungodly hour of the night. he, at least, had the chivalry of keeping his phone brightness on the lowest setting, screen carefully tilted away from your resting eyes. 

this whirlwind of information had started with the myth of perseus, followed by odysseus, and then a countless amount of papers analyzing the hubris of the tragedian heroes. supplementary material for tomorrow’s breakfast conversation, so that he can talk at length over eggs and coffee across from your bright eyes and eager expression. 

that’s what always killed him, just how genuinely interested you were in whatever he said. god knows that was especially rare, particularly from the other women in his life. claire was always half-listening whenever he lost himself on a tangent, and don’t get him started on trying to get ada interested in anything he had to say. 

but ada was long gone, and claire was always delighted on your talent of getting leon off her back. 

how contentedly boring his life has gotten that the most exciting part of his day is your opinion on his recent fixation, just to listen to you fill in all the missing pieces he never realized were absent. you were like that in almost every aspect of his life, the golden glue that slowly puts poor humpty dumpty back together again. 

wrong type of mythology. regardless, you were something he never realized he desperately needed until that warm feeling of being content started filling his chest. a passing comment on his resemblance to a greek god had established this whole spiral– a form delicately cut in marble and praised over the centuries for the countless deeds committed in a long war to protect his people. 

perseus, maybe. or odysseus, but that was too easy. too cliche. leon was never one for divine glory, instead preferring the silent type of satisfaction that came from finally putting some good back in this world. or preventing more terrible things from happening, more like. a careful balancing act, another stupid cycle of finally feeling like a person again until he can get home and stop the dreams of people screaming in your ever-so-loving arms. 

bellerophon is the final choice. a figure riding into battle against the monstrous chimeric beast with only a tamed ally and a lead-tipped weapon. a hero that was never satisfied, choosing bigger and bigger fights until he falls from the heavens and into the dirt below. a god angered at his success, a product of an institution that brought him into a war he never asked for as a weapon, and left him crippled to wander the world alone when he ascended too far. 

maybe retirement really was getting to him. this so-called period of exodus, a final parting song and the materialization of the final crisis. 

you stir in your sleep then, arm sliding across his chest until your head is tucked against his bicep. he moves to rest his arm  underneath your head instead, which instead of achieving its original purpose of comforting you, only causes your eyes to blink blearily up at him. 

“get off wikipedia,” you mumble, shifting the blankets until it sufficiently covers the both of you. another thing he never noticed, how cold his legs were, sprawled uncovered on the mattress. this kind of comfortable routine is where you and leon thrived, so used to each other’s presence that accommodation was natural. “you should be sleeping, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“i’m on jstor. totally different site.” he supplies unhelpfully, earning a stern glare in return. his lips peck your forehead a moment after in apology. his version of proskynesis, a gesture of reverence towards his god that showed him admiration instead of ire.

“i was thinking of taking the bike,” the change in subject is nonchalant, like it’s not three thirty in the morning and you’re definitely functioning enough for idle conversation. 

“hell no,” you grumble, sinking further into the mattress. “i’m not getting on that thing with you.”

leon shifts until he’s on top of you, now wide awake and grinning slyly down. “not a fan of my chariot?”

“while i usually do love riding you, that thing is a death machine.” the glimmer of amusement in your eyes now match his own. finally, you’re actually awake. an unspoken question, a command, given from the divine to its mortal instrument. “and i’ve seen the way you drive it. i very much value my life.”

“that’s different. i can’t exactly go slow on those things when there’s rabid dogs chasing me.” he alleviates his statement with a slow string of kisses down your neck, soft and gentle like he can’t snap someone’s neck with his bare hands. “and i’ll be careful. promise.”

“like you promised not to get hurt in alcatraz?” your rebuttal doesn’t phase him, his mouth still preoccupied with tracing down your neck until his fingers start to pull the collar of your shirt down. 

“extenuating circumstances,” he mutters, lowering himself down the blankets until his mouth is in line with your hips. divine fate, maybe, or some other twisted machination of a higher being that decrees his near-death every six months. it’s hard to stare up and curse at the gods when they brought you to him, his own piece of olympus pliant in his hands. 

your hips lift off the mattress as he pulls at your shorts, another directive he is all too happy to follow. hunnigan would be furious at his obedience, like a dog all too happy to head the leash. 

“besides,” he continues, lips brushing against the frail skin of your upper thighs. “i’m officially a retired man. long past my prime.”

why does tragedy exist? is it purely to show the power of the gods, that they so fiercely defend the threads of fate that control every aspect of their existence? is it simply a consequence of the endless cycle of war invited by a world whose very frame requires an institution to desire it? regardless of its source, a world born of this mindset cannot escape an endless cycle of war that legitimizes a world-destroying violence, with no true winner other than the institution that began it. 

his clothes are pulled off quickly, following yours. scraps of fabric thrown haphazardly around the room, ignored in favour of hands tracing along the contours of your body. gentle, reverent. nails tracing down every scar, every piece of evidence that you are real, that you are alive, and there’s nothing within these four walls that can take this away from him too. 

“not too far past to not be horny in the middle of the night.” you huff, curling your hand in his hair to pull him back down to you. his breath ghosts over your thighs, his tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips. 

“i’m a simple man,” he lowers his mouth to you, licking a premeditative stripe up your folds. “got a beautiful wife in my bed. just can’t help myself.”

the hand in his hair pulls him closer, and leon understands the simple action for what it is. a cue to stop talking and get to work, to use his mouth for something other than popping off one-liners at inopportune moments. a man’s place is on his knees, and all that.

where leon is rough in every aspect of his life, he is always careful with you. he eats you out like it’s somehow the last time he’s ever going to do it, and the first time he’s ever tasted anything so divine. equal parts eager and careful, even as his fingers prod at your entrance. 

you jut your hips up again, and he slips two in easily. every part of you is familiar with every part of him. his tongue and hands start a rhythm, a soft push and pull that slowly eases you to the peak. a peaceful trek to that coiled tension starting in your legs, thighs squeezing around his head in the way you know he likes. 

that one took a while for him to admit; that he liked the feeling of being crushed between you. it was a long-drawn experiment on how far on the pain threshold he could bear before it got too much for him, until it started to push past pleasure and more into the drowning in the too-high waters of a lab territory. years of experience has taught you where to stop, his secret little tells that no one else knew about burrowed deep into your memory for safekeeping. 

that furrow between his brow deepens, and you know to ease off a little. he kisses your clit in a silent thanks, before his rhythm resumes. while leon may not feel the decreased stamina of age yet, you are too aware of your limits to handle two orgasms, so you have the mind to pull him off before that point of no return. 

leon sprawls on the mattress next to you, hands gently easing you up until your knees are bracketing his hips. not usually his preferred position, considering his penchant for control. 

“my back hurts,” he mumbles softly, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles. “want you to ride me.”

“if you make another chariot joke, i’m seriously going to hit you.”

“ye’ of little faith,” his hand drops yours to line himself up with you, and a gentle push of his hips drives the tip of him into you. “i never make the same joke twice.”

your only answer is a shuddering gasp until you gain your bearings enough to sink down onto him fully. he lays still for a few seconds, letting you get used to the intrusion. his breath stutters in his chest as your hands lay flat onto it, right palm splayed right over his heart. 

an uneven thump, beating so fast in his chest that its a god-given miracle he hasn’t keeled over yet. 

there’s a unique type of mythmaking when it comes to the tragic heroine. it is a story of fear; innocence; fall from innocence; catharsis; being desired by the right people; being desired by the wrong people; by dangerous people; by excitingly dangerous people. revision is a privilege given to so few who desire it, and to be tender-hearted in a world defined by tragedy is to die. 

and yet, the fruit of consideration when it comes to tragedy is not the moral resignation that comes with that acceptance. instead, it is a revealing of the self’s utter dependency on others. the reason that tragedy works is that character is built through this adversity. just as the nature of goodness appears in the face of moral evil, tragedy shows what is fragile and ultimately human about us. 

but you are not a god, and he is not a myth. there is no divine fate here, only a random calculation of ethereal and clunky moments that controls so much of his life that he just has to live it. that dependence is the one good thing that has come from all the fighting, and the aching, and the loneliness. a perverted sort of serendipity that leon thanks the heavens for every waking moment. 

he is real, and you are real, and that’s enough for him. 

both of you are moving in tandem, chasing the upcoming release with a soft desperation. his hands are firmly grasping at your hips, kneading the flesh there like its the only thing tethering him to this reality. that heat of pleasure starts to coil in your gut, and judging by the twisted expression on leon’s face, he’s not too far behind. 

“please,” he gasps, shoving you down until your chest is pressed against his. “i need-”

“i know,” you answer softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that delightfully juxtapose the depraved way his hips are slamming against yours. 

it’s like falling  down from the heavens, except this time there’s no splatter of a body onto the earth. only a light feeling crawling through his limbs, like that final moment of peace before succumbing to the darkness. if the gods had asked him now for a sacrifice, he would have gotten on his knees all over again to keep you. when tranquility was once the bane of his existence, now it is the center of it. 

you tense above him, like a goddess struck in stone until you are returned to the flesh, crumpling on top of him. a soft cough escapes him, a wheezing sound that signifies that you are most definitely crushing his lungs. the forces that be roll the both of you to the side until you’re facing each other, his hand unconsciously reaching for yours under the mattress. happy, warm, and sated– leon’s husbandly duties have officially been achieved. 

“i love you,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even realize the tear escaping his eye until you gently wipe it away. every part of him now is soft and malleable, even the parts so carefully hidden from everyone else. 

“love you too, old man.” 

a final kiss to your forehead before he tucks you into his chest, “we’ll take the car tomorrow.”

two more hours until he can eat eggs and drink slightly shitty coffee, and finally fill you in on his newfound epiphany. his arms wrap around your half-conscious figure, body curling around you like something to protect. you hug him tightly in return, bare skin soft on your cheek. your arms hold him like he is sacred too. 

[takusan-no-ai]

Anytime Anywhere

PAIRING: Frieren x Male Reader (Romantic) (Fluff)

SUMMARY: Frieren and (Y/N) are an old married couple.

The sound of sizzling early in the morning as a smell of sweetness filled the air wasn’t nearly enough to awaken the slumbering elf. Two plates decorated the table whilst being piled on with food. (Y/N) huffed when he looked at the clock; She still wasn’t up yet.

He walked into their shared bedroom of over a hundred years and stared down at the sight before him. Frieren still fast asleep with her bed head creating a huge knot of hair. (Y/N) sat down next to her, admiring her sleeping beauty.

“At this rate you’ll sleep in so long that we won’t have anytime to collect those grimoires…,” he mumbled. Frieren’s eyes slowly opened up. She yawned and stretched before sitting up sluggish.

“…grimoires?…,” she made out in a barely audible whisper. (Y/N) grabbed the brush from inside the vanity desk and began brushing through his wife’s hair. “Eggs…bacon…sausages…toast…coffee. You made breakfast?” Frieren asked, finally waking up.

“As much as I’d love to go through the song and dance of chiding you for sleeping in so late, after a few centuries it becomes second nature to just make you breakfast; no matter the time of day.” Frieren huffed and pouted at his teasings.

She stood up and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Once she was out, Frieren walked into the dining room to see (Y/N) already reading his book. Just like they always do, she sat down and ate her brunch while he silently studied his magic.

Frieren smiled to herself, a small chuckle escaping her. “Is something amusing, elfy?” He asked. She leaned forward, staring directly at (Y/N).

“We have a routine that’s been the same for so long, and yet I feel like I’ll never grow tired of it; Of all the relationships I’ve made in my life, I’m glad the one I get to have for an extended period is ours.”

(Y/N) placed down his book and remained frozen, a distant look in his eyes. Then he smiled, finally back to earth, and said, “If I were born again, Frieren, I wouldn’t change a thing; I’d choose this place, I’d choose you, and our future all over again.”

- Fin

[heliosunny]

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Adventurine x Reader

The moment the egg cracked open, you expected something simple. A creature, perhaps a loyal companion to aid you in your travels, something small, manageable. But as the smooth shell split apart, the air shimmered with a strange energy, and a shadow emerged from within.

A man.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and unfairly beautiful, he stretched as though shaking off centuries of sleep. Golden hair framed his face in wild, tousled strands, catching the light like threads of molten metal. His striking eyes, a combination of cyan and magenta, locked onto yours, vivid and sharp, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Well, well.” His voice was smooth, indulgent, laced with quiet amusement. “Aren’t you lucky?”

Before you could even process what was happening, he moved. A strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into an embrace. His warmth pressed against you, a sharp contrast to the cool air of the room.

“I’m Aventurine~” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “And it looks like I’m yours.”

You knew what this was. You’d read about it before. Baby duck syndrome. The first thing a newborn creature sees, it imprints upon, forms an unbreakable bond.

You tried to step back. His arms didn’t budge.

“Aventurine” you said carefully, your voice wavering, “maybe we should-”

He chuckled, cutting you off. “There’s no need to be so stiff, treasure. You don’t have to worry.” His hand lifted, brushing strands of hair from your face. The touch was gentle. “I’ll take care of you.”

You swallowed. “That’s… not necessary.”

His smile widened. “Oh, but it is.”

“No need to be afraid” he murmured, tilting his head. “I already know everything about you.”

“What?”

His fingers trailed down your arm, slow and deliberate. “I was inside that egg for three days, listening. Watching. Learning. Every little thing about you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, almost reverent. “And now… I finally get to touch you.”

“That’s not—”

His thumb brushed over your pulse, feeling the rapid beat beneath your skin. A low hum of satisfaction rumbled in his throat.

“Excited?” He chuckled. “I can’t blame you. After all… you summoned me.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

You had put in the currency. You had pulled the lever. You had brought him into existence.

In his eyes, that meant one thing. You belonged to him. Panic rose in your throat, but before you could say anything else, Aventurine cupped your face between his hands, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“I’ll be good to you” he promised, his voice velvet-soft. “I’ll be everything you need. Everything you want.” His fingers pressed a little harder, just enough to make your heart hammer in warning. “And in return… you’ll be mine.”

Aventurine’s stomach growled. It was the first break in the tension since his… dramatic arrival.

His intense stare melted for a brief moment into something almost normal as he placed a hand over his stomach and huffed, looking mildly embarrassed.

You took the opportunity. If he’s hungry, then I have a reason to step away.

“I’ll cook something” you blurted out, turning toward the small kitchenette. “Why don’t you take a bath in the meantime?”

Aventurine blinked, then smiled lazily. “Taking care of me already? How sweet.”

You ignored the implication, already moving toward the ingredients you had. Not much. Barely enough for a proper meal, but you could make do.

Aventurine stretched, then smirked. “Guess I’ll take you up on that offer. But don’t miss me too much, alright?”

Oh, I won’t.

As soon as you heard the water running, you bolted. Not out the door, no, that would be reckless, but to quickly gather anything that would help. New clothes. A weapon. Supplies. An excuse to have some space from him.

The weapon shop was your first stop. If you were going to survive with him, he needed gear, something that would let him fight in the dungeons, earn his keep.

The shopkeeper eyed you as you browsed. “Buying for someone?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. He’s… new.”

That wasn’t a lie.

“Well, let’s see what he can handle.”

Aventurine arrived just as the shopkeeper was about to suggest something basic. He had changed into the spare clothes you found earlier, but they fit him loosely, still damp from his shower. His golden hair was dripping, and damn him, he still looked effortlessly elegant.

He immediately came to your side, standing just a bit too close. “You’re picking out a weapon for me?” His voice was teasing, but there was a pleased edge to it.

“It’s practical” you muttered. “If you’re staying with me, you’ll need to fight.”

“Oh? You want me to protect you?”

“That’s… not what I said.”

The shopkeeper, blissfully unaware of the tension, gestured toward a set of swords and daggers. “Here, try these.”

Aventurine barely spared them a glance. Instead, his fingers brushed over a dark-bladed dagger with intricate carvings. The moment he touched it, a faint shimmer of magic pulsed through the air.

The shopkeeper’s eyes widened. “That’s—”

Aventurine flipped the dagger in his hand, a smirk playing on his lips. “Defense magic, huh? That’s a useful trick.” He twirled the blade effortlessly before giving you a sidelong glance. “See? I can handle myself.”

You frowned. He’s skilled. More than you expected.

Still, you paid for the weapon. Better for him to have it and use it for dungeon runs than… whatever else he has in mind.

After stocking up, you both headed home, passing through the market district. That’s when Aventurine’s sharp gaze locked onto something.

A crowd.

A gambling crowd.

People were shouting excitedly, coins clinking as dice rolled.

His lips curled in amusement. “What’s this?”

You tensed. “A waste of time.”

His smirk widened. “Come on, treasure. A little gamble never hurt anyone.”

“It does when you lose all your money.”

“But what if I don’t lose?”

You exhaled sharply. “Aventurine—”

Too late. He was already striding forward.

You groaned, following reluctantly. This was a terrible idea.

The moment Aventurine placed a bet, something strange happened.

The dice always landed in his favor. Cards always turned in his favor.

People muttered, eyes narrowing. “Is he cheating?”

“Not a chance” the dealer said grimly. “I’ve been watching. He’s just… insanely lucky.”

Within minutes, Aventurine had doubled, then tripled his winnings. He turned to you, holding up a handful of winnings with a wicked grin. “See? I told you.”

You crossed your arms. “It’s dangerous to win too much.”

His eyes glowed with amusement. “Why? Afraid someone might get jealous?”

Yes. But that wasn’t the real problem. The problem was him. The way he enjoyed pushing limits.

You grabbed his wrist. “We’re leaving.”

Aventurine blinked, then smirked. “Oh? Possessive already?”

Still, he let you pull him away, even as the crowd buzzed behind you.

As you walked back home, Aventurine toyed with a golden coin between his fingers, glancing at you with unreadable intent.

“You know…” His voice was low, teasing. “Maybe I really am the luckiest man alive.”

You didn’t respond. But as he slipped his free hand into yours, holding it far too tightly, you realized something chilling: He wasn’t talking about the gambling.

You woke up to an empty room.

For a moment, panic gripped your chest. Had he left? Had he changed his mind?

But then, the glowing screen of your status interface caught your eye. Your points had skyrocketed. You blinked, staring at the numbers increasing in real-time. What the hell? The only explanation was him. He had gone out and soloed a dungeon. You exhaled, rubbing your temples.

With a sigh, you moved to the kitchen, deciding to cook breakfast while you had the chance. Whatever his reasons, he had at least earned a meal. You prepared an extra plate, leaving it on the table for him in case he returned while you were out.

You needed time to yourself.

After everything that had happened: the imprinting, the suffocating presence, the gambling spree,... You needed some space to breathe.

As you strolled through the bustling streets, you found your gaze lingering on pet owners. Dogs trotting beside their humans, birds perched on shoulders, even a few rare magical beasts following their companions. It was normal. Yet your egg had spawned a man.

Why?

Your fingers tightened around your bag. Was this normal? Was there something wrong with that machine?

By the time you returned home, you heard voices.

Aventurine’s smooth, teasing tone. And a woman’s sharp, irritated response.

He’s arguing with someone?

You stepped inside, eyes immediately locking onto the scene.

Aventurine stood near the entrance, arms crossed, expression smug. His golden hair caught the light, making him look deceptively relaxed. The woman in front of him looked less amused. She had striking violet eyes, dark robes, and an air of authority. A merchant? A guild member?

“You owe us” she hissed.

Aventurine tilted his head, all mock innocence. “Do I?”

The woman’s gaze flickered to you as you entered, lips pressing into a thin line.

“You!” she said flatly. “You’re his keeper, aren’t you?”

Before you could respond, Aventurine’s smile sharpened. “Now, now,” he murmured, stepping toward you. His hand landed firmly on your lower back, pulling you close. “There’s no need to drag my dear partner into this.”

The woman scoffed. “So you haven’t told them, huh?”

You looked between them. “Told me what?”

Aventurine sighed dramatically. “It’s nothing serious. Just a little misunderstanding.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “He cheated.”

You froze. “What?”

Aventurine chuckled. “That’s a strong accusation.”

The woman crossed her arms. “You won an unnatural amount of times. The casino wants their money back.”

You knew he was lucky. But was it really cheating?

You turned to Aventurine, watching the way his lips twitched in amusement.

“…Did you?”

He grinned. “Define cheating.”

The woman huffed. “Listen. Just return the winnings and we won’t cause trouble.”

You hadn’t touched a single coin from his gambling spree. You had no interest in dirty money, and you had told him as much.

You turned to Aventurine. “Just give it back.”

His grip on you tightened.

“I don’t think I will.”

The woman scoffed. “Typical.”

Aventurine sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, treasure. Why should I give up something I rightfully won?” His eyes glinted with amusement—and challenge. “Unless, of course, you don’t trust me?”

Before you could argue, the woman straightened. “Fine. If you won’t return it, then prove it wasn’t a fluke.”

Aventurine raised a brow. “Oh?”

She smirked. “A wager.”

His expression lit up with interest. “Now that,” he purred, “sounds fun.”

You barely resisted the urge to slam your head against the wall.

Aventurine’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “A wager, huh?”

The woman smirked, arms crossed. “That’s right. A proper gambling match. If you win, you keep the money. If you lose, you return every last coin.”

Aventurine thrived on risk, thrill, danger—this was just entertainment to him. But if the casino was challenging him, that meant they weren’t convinced his luck was natural.

You saw the way Aventurine was looking at you: expectant, testing. As if he was waiting to see if you would stop him.

“I accept.” Aventurine’s grin widened.

The woman exhaled sharply, clearly expecting this answer. “Fine. Tomorrow night. High-stakes table.”

You hated everything about this.

The woman gave you a sharp look before turning on her heel and leaving.

The moment the door shut, you rounded on Aventurine. “What the hell was that?!”

He chuckled. “Oh, treasure. Don’t look so upset.”

“You just agreed to gamble against a casino! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?!”

He hummed, stepping closer, hands sliding into his pockets. “Dangerous? Or exciting?”

You scowled. “Aventurine!”

He caught your wrist, gently but firmly. “You doubt me.”

You hesitated.

“I don’t—” You exhaled sharply. “I don’t trust them. They wouldn’t offer this bet unless they had a plan.”

Aventurine chuckled, tugging you closer. “And yet… you’re worried about me.”

His fingers brushed over your pulse. “How sweet.”

You swallowed. “Just be careful.”

Aventurine smirked, pleased. “Of course. After all…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I wouldn’t want to leave you all alone.”

The casino was packed.

Golden lights flickered overhead, the air thick with tension and anticipation. Aventurine looked completely at ease, dressed in sleek black, looking dangerously elegant. His golden hair fell in loose waves, eyes gleaming like polished gems under the chandeliers.

You felt out of place beside him, but Aventurine didn’t let you stray. His arm remained draped around your waist, his fingers tracing small circles against your skin.

“You’re nervous” he murmured, lips dangerously close to your ear.

You stiffened. “I don’t trust this.”

He chuckled. “Then trust me.”

Before you could respond, the dealer motioned for the game to begin.

High stakes. One match. Winner takes all.

Aventurine’s smile was sharp as a knife.

The cards were dealt. Dice rolled. Coins clinked.

Aventurine played with effortless confidence.

Every turn, every call, he moved like he already knew the outcome. As if fate itself bent to his will.

The other players grew tense. Whispers spread.

A final roll. A reveal.

Aventurine leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Well… looks like I win.”

Then the woman from before scowled. “This—this isn’t normal.”

Aventurine tilted his head. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

The casino staff shifted, uncertain. They wanted to. But there was no evidence.

Aventurine turned to you with a pleased smile. “See, treasure? Nothing to worry about.”

You exhaled shakily.

But as you looked at the dealer—at the way his hands trembled, his expression grim, you felt a creeping sense of unease.

Because Aventurine hadn’t just won. He had shattered the game entirely. And for the first time… you wondered if his luck was something more than just chance.

The moment you both stepped into your old apartment, you knew, you couldn’t stay here anymore. Not after the casino incident. Not after the way people had started watching you both. The absurd amount of points and money Aventurine had earned made you both a target. And that was the last thing you needed.

You exhaled. “We’re moving.”

Aventurine raised a brow, lounging lazily on the couch. “Oh?”

You crossed your arms. “We have the money for a better place. It’s safer this way.”

He tilted his head, studying you. Then, slowly, a pleased smile curled on his lips.

“Protecting me, are you?”

You stiffened. “I—no. I’m protecting myself.”

Aventurine only chuckled, stretching like a satisfied cat. “Mmm. Whatever you say, treasure.”

With a new apartment secured, you had another thought.

Aventurine looked like a disaster.

Not in the way you wanted, he was still frustratingly beautiful. But his clothes were either borrowed, stolen, or just not fitting his presence.

So you dragged him to the mall.

Aventurine smirked as you sifted through outfits, your eyes sharp with concentration. “I never took you for the type to play dress-up.”

You rolled your eyes. “You stick out too much in your usual mess. If we’re moving to a nicer place, you should at least look the part.”

He hummed in amusement but let you work. And, of course, the moment he tried on anything remotely elegant—he drew attention. Women whispered. Staff fawned over him. A group of admirers even giggled near the fitting rooms, watching as he adjusted a sleek black suit.

Aventurine was dangerous in a tailored outfit—sharp lines, golden hair effortlessly styled, eyes glinting with mischief. He thrived under the attention.

You, however, had enough.

Leaving him to entertain his admirers, you slipped away to the nearest bar. You just needed one drink. One moment to breathe without him watching you so closely.

The bar was dimly lit, quiet despite the low hum of conversation. You ordered something strong, letting the burn distract you from the ever-present weight of Aventurine’s presence.

But, of course…

It didn’t last long.

A glass clinked onto the counter beside you.

“You wound me, treasure.”

You tensed.

Aventurine slid into the seat beside you, smirking. His new outfit fit him far too well, making him look even more untouchable.

“You ran off” he murmured, swirling the drink in his hand. “Were you jealous?”

You scoffed. “I just needed a break.”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip. “And yet, here you are—drinking alone.”

You didn’t reply.

Aventurine leaned in, voice dangerously soft. “What am I going to do with you, hm?”

You ignored the shiver down your spine and ordered another drink.

The world blurred.

You hadn’t meant to drink so much, but Aventurine kept pushing.

Another glass. Another toast. Another teasing smile. By the time you stumbled out of the bar, the streets swayed beneath your feet.

Aventurine, of course, was perfectly fine.

He caught you easily, holding you upright with effortless strength.

“Tsk, tsk,” he hummed, lips brushing against your ear. “Look at you. Completely at my mercy.”

You hated how warm he felt.

Aventurine sighed, lifting you into his arms without effort.

“I guess I’ll have to take care of you, won’t I?”

You barely registered the journey back.

Soft sheets. A familiar scent. The feeling of being lowered onto the bed. Aventurine’s fingers brushed your forehead, tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear.

“…You shouldn’t be so reckless, treasure.”

Your vision blurred. “M’fine…”

He chuckled, low and dark. “No. You’re really not.”

You were slipping—consciousness fading.

But just before sleep took you, you felt it.

A hand on your cheek. Aventurine’s voice, barely a whisper.

“…You don’t even realize, do you?”

A slow, deliberate sigh.

“I was always meant to be yours.”

---

Visit - Lucky Egg series

[Phainon]

[multific]

Memories of A Past

Pennywise x Reader

Summary: Before Pennywise became the killing clown of Derry, he used to be a simple man, your man.

Before a meteor hit, before all the blood and children cries, he used to be a simple man.

A simple man who worked at the circus. A simple man who was in desperate love with you.

He was your man.

And you were his woman.

His name was Robert Gray, better known as Bob Gray, better known as Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

Bob was the love of your life. He could make you smile all the time. He always had something up his sleeve and he loved your laugh.

Your father was against Robert. He often said you deserved better than a clown.

But you didn't care.

You married him and joined the circus. 

It was a simple life, but it was your life. Yours and your Bobby's. 

And soon, you were blessed with a child. A beautiful daughter who was loved by you and Robert.

"She has your eyes." he said as he smiled at you, tears in your eyes as you watched him with your daughter.

You had a lovely life. Robert made everyone smile with his dancing clown persona and your daughter was growing fast.

But then, something changed. One day, you could have sworn the man in front of you wasn't your husband anymore.

The man holding you during nights, the man who kissed you good morning, wasn't your Bobby.

And it scared you.

He scared you.

"You are the most precious." he often told you, whispered into your ear.

Everywhere you went, death followed. Children were dying left and right and you were extremely concerned. 

Then during the Easter Egg Hunt you had a feeling your husband had something to do with it, you couldn't confirm it though.

That evening, when you arrived home to your trailer, you noticed your husband still wearing his clown costume, he turned to look at you and you wanted to ask him. 

You needed to confront him, you needed answers. But your voice never came.

You weren't too sure what happened after. All you could recall were three bright dots, shining bright as you fell asleep.

Pennywise woke every 27 years. He woke to incredible hunger which he needed to fulfil.

He had you down in the debts. Keeping you there for centuries now, asleep, dreaming away.

Pennywise had an attachment to you. He wondered if it was because of the host he took. Taking Robert, he took his memories, and Robert's memories were filled with you. At first, Pennywise wanted to kill you, he saw you as a weakness, but he couldn't. 

And even after so so many years, he still couldn't let go of you. He kept you in your dream, so he would have you, floating.

Every time he woke up, he went to see you. His sick and twisted mind saw the beauty that you were. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek.

"You are the most precious," he whispered.

And while he was out there eating and scaring children, you and your Bob were trapped in a dream along with your little girl.

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[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part Twenty

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x f!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, lots of violence, some of it graphic, blood, p n v, some dirty talk

A/N: Here it is, folks. The big one.

Perhaps it was fate, or some divine coincidence, that the worst sandstorm in recent memory happened to transpire on the wedding day of the Emperor's eldest daughter. You couldn't help but consider it as approval from the universe, that the fabrics of your world were convening to grant you success. And so, with thinly veiled delight, you watch the wedding guests descend from the sky in their lavish ships, framed by the whorls of sand and storm beyond the Shield Wall.

The storm was a perfect cover for your attack. You had planned it all down to the most finite detail -- the moment the storm arrived, Fremen soldiers would take out the noses of the Emperor's defense convoy, rendering them useless, and then Gurney would shortly after deploy the Atreides family explosives to break open the Wall like an overcooked egg.

"It's not truly an act of nuclear warfare against one of the Houses," Feyd pointed out in the midst of battle strategy, sensing your hesitance. The last thing you wanted was to incite a universe-wide war.

Nerves tremor just beneath your skin. Using your oil lens binoculars, you observe the last of the wedding guests filtering into the Emperor's Hutment, an impressive, pyramid-shape structure that contains legion of Sardaukar. You hoped to interrupt the whole affair before the marriage could be made official, for Irulan's sake. Although she had been the leading force behind the disruption of your failed coup, you still wanted to spare the golden-haired princess from your brother-in-law's beastliness.

Beside you, your husband remains perfectly still. You know from the small flicker of muscle under his eye that he's less than pleased about the next part of your plan -- at your signal, the Fremen would summon the sandworms and lead you into battle. "They're too large and unpredictable," he tried to argue before. You suspected that he just hated relinquishing control to them. Glancing at Feyd from the corner of your eye, you needle your elbow into his side.

"Remember our wedding?"

Truthfully, it hadn't been that long ago, though it felt like centuries had since passed.

"Of course," he replies, dark gaze sliding to you.

"A lot has changed."

"I disagree."

You let your amusement color your voice. "How so?"

"We're still together, still exacting revenge against our enemies." Feyd's attention returns towards the distance, but his fingers brush over yours. "Only the circumstances have changed. But never my devotion to you."

"A comforting thought," you sigh.

"Whatever happens today, you do not face it alone. You'll never face anything alone again."

Proper etiquette be damned, you capture his hand and give it a squeeze. If the Fremen wanted to complain about the affection between their commanding officers, then you would answer. They still didn't trust you anyway, so what did it matter? The ghost of a smile forms on Feyd's lips.

Just then, a voice crackles in your earpiece. "Storm is predicated to arrive in approximately five minutes." Stilgar. He was part of your forces laying in the sand. Waiting.

Above the howling wind, you swear you hear the notes of a wedding march. There's not much you can make sense of, however, especially when the storm finally does encroach upon you. You're decked in protective gear and safety goggles, but they do little to deter the whirl of sand and tiny pebbles scraping over the exposed skin of your face not covered by fabric. The storm consumes you, envelops you completely. You signal to the Fremen and moments later, in your earpiece, you hear them confirm that they've taken out the noses of the Starship Lighter and it's convoy.

"Gurney," you say, raising your voice.

At the Shield Wall there's a fleeting, pregnant pause as you wait for the explosives to ignore and, when they do, you're in awe at the display of power, blowing a hole in the Wall wide enough for your forces but not large enough to immediately garner attention. And certainly not with the storm raging, masking your efforts.

Overwhelmed by the sight and sheer weight of your intentions, the cry that leaves your throat is not any word but rather a rallying scream. It gets your point across all the same. Dum. Dum. Dum. Around you the Fremen summon the sandworms with carefully spaced thumpers, a heartbeat beneath the sand.

And then a thunderous rumbling joins the sand and the storm, and the sandworms crest over the dunes, answering the calls of the thumpers. Like the fins of shark slicing through rough waves, the sandworms announce their approach, and soon you're rising unsteadily to your feet and squashing the alarm in your head. You've never ridden a sandworm before, but you were thoroughly vetted by the others. Disbelief spirals in you as you burst into a sprint, arms pumping. You might as well have been running into the abyss. You can't see anything in the pummeling storm but you sense Feyd nearby. Without warning, the rumbling grows louder and the ground disappears beneath your feet and you've crossed the point of no return. You're flying, weightless, until the sandworm's segmented body rushes beneath you and you crash into it.

Distantly, you know that you need to grab hold of it before you fall. Gloved fingers scramble for purchase, but the rough skin slides away from you. You panic. You should've insisted upon practicing, you should've listened to Feyd --

A strong arm wraps around your middle, tucks you closer. Filled with relief, you manage to tilt your head up and catch Feyd's profile amidst the howling storm. He holds you tight.

The sandworm forges ahead, carries you over the shattered Wall. You manage to your feet as you pass the barrier, and notice several things all at once -- the Starship Lighter stalling, then the flight tiny black specks in the sky, Sardaukar transport ships.

"There's so many," you breathe. It looks like a swarm of flies over a corpse, attracted to the promise of violence and death.

On the ground, expertly dodging the path of the sandworms, Feyadkin slash through the Emperor's defenses. There's only a handful of his soldiers, a predecessor to Sardaukar ships, but you're proud to see the Fremen holding their own. It was clear from your time during field missions that they fought extremely well, but you had never seen it unfold at such a grand scale. Even with the surge of Sardaukar landing they never falter, pushing closer and closer to the Hutment.

"There's fights for us yet," Feyd yells over the cacophony of sound. You're both holding on for dear life as you're catapulted over the outskirts of Arrakeen.

You yell back, "I want to be down there with them!"

He nods but doesn't respond. Feyd is in rare form -- completely focused on the task at hand, every fiber of his being concentrated, tense, waiting to strike. It emboldens you. A jolt of adrenaline pulses through you, heady with the knowledge of your flawless execution. You would not fail this time. You had no other option.

The army of sandworms arc for the Hutment. Lasgun blasts ricochet off their tough outer shell. You brace yourself for the impact of the Hutment's flank, the rapid-fire sound of battle joining the terrible crunching of the worms through metal. Squeezing your eyes shut, you flinch as debris scatters, the soldiers within crying out in surprise. But you're unharmed. You exchange a glance with Feyd as you both disembark, weapons bared, sliding off the massive sides of the creatures and landing with a thud on the ground.

There's something sickeningly sweet about the release of energy, of months and months of pent-up anger. You waste no time launching towards the closest Sardaukar. It's a dance, really. You lead, aiming for his leg, then dancing back when he tries to overpower you. The feel of your blade slicing through his armor and into his abdomen shouldn't delight you as it does. Mind singing, thrilled, you remove the blade and whirl it on the next soldier. Bodies moving, pushing and pulling, the coppery smell of blood heavy in the air, all underscored by a symphony of blades and flesh. Despite yourself, you grin.

The plan is to forge a path to the main ceremony. You and the Fremen carve through the Sardaukar, artists in your own right, cutting through stone, through bone, years of injustice the instrument of your work, the brush in the hand of the master.

And at the center of it all, Feyd-Rautha.

The former na-Baron fends off his opponents with a preternatural grace, enacting his violence with deliberation. Blood splatters his alabaster skin. There's not one footstep that he misplaces, not a trace of hesitation, as if he anticipates each move of the Sardaukar before then can even decide it for themselves. Your chest swells with affection as you catch glimpses of him in the frenzy. You've never been more grateful to have him by your side, at your command.

Your blade finds the throat of an enemy, retracts, finds the heart of another. There's a faint protest in your muscles -- it's been too long since you've fought this intensely. If you ever had. No amount of training could prepare you for this slaughter.

As if sensing this, Feyd draws closer until you're back to back, his twin daggers slicing. His presence is like the warmth of the sun. There's no need for words. If he lunges, you feign; he cuts, and you thrust. It's quite romantic, how he handles this, not a lapse in faith but rather a reinforcement of your combined strength.

You strike out with your boot to the closest soldier, connecting with their solar plexus. He crumples and you've just reached out to slam the handle of your dagger into the back of his head when his companion snatches your wrists and twists viciously. You cry out. The dagger clatters to the ground. Without missing a beat, Feyd sweeps closer, bending nearly into a curtsey. You grab his thigh to steady yourself and lean back into him, lifting up your foot and kicking it into the soldier that unarmed you. He stumbles, surprised. Feyd dispatches his current opponent in a series of well-placed jabs, then spins you around to give you enough time to recover. You reclaim one of the fallen soldiers' weapons. While he takes care of that soldier, you attack the others flooding towards you.

You fight with everything in you. You're not only fighting for the Fremen but for yourself, your family.

When there's finally a lull, you catch Feyd snarling into the face of a Sardaukar before stabbing his blade into its eye. The man spits out a splash of blood, the collapses into his arms. Feyd, cradling the man like a sleeping child, murmurs something in his ear. He lays him down and once he's back to his normal height, flicks out a tongue to wipe away most of the blood from around his mouth. Noticing you watching, he flashes you a rare grin.

"Red is your color," you tell him. The Fremen fighters pick over the bodies, waiting for your command.

"It's a nice change." His are bright against the carnage on his face. "Are you ready to ruin a wedding, my jewel?"

The upper levels of the Hutment are mostly vacant. A team of Fremen clear the area and eliminate any lurking Sardaukar. Music swells as you climb. When you reach the enormous double doors at the topmost floor, there's a line of soldiers waiting for you.

You bristle. The soldiers aim their weapons. "Turn away now," one of them command, "and we won't kill you all."

"We didn't come all this way just to be frightened by you," a Fremen hisses in reply. The soldier fires a blast that strikes the Fremen in the shoulder. Anger flushes you. The rest of your army charges the soldiers at the door.

While they exuded confidence, it hardly took any time at all to have them all on the ground, either dead or moaning in pain.

Surely the ceremony had heard the fighting outside. The doors are fortified, but it only takes a few carefully placed shots from one of the soldiers' lasguns to blast it open. Metal creaks and slides across the floor, heralding your entrance. You step through the rubble.

As expected, it's a beautiful ceremony, dripping with elegance. There's swaths of white lace around the hall and candles flickering in the golden braziers. The guests are dressed in their finest, suits and expensive dresses rustling as they whirl around. And, at the far end of the hall, stand Rabban and Irulan. The sight of Irulan stuns you -- she looks ethereal in her white gown and intricate veil and headdress. Rabban, on the other hand, looks like a monster stuffed into a suit.

His face morphs into one of pure rage. "WHAT?"

You can't imagine how you all look, bloodied and sandy, tanned by months in the sun. Feyd steps to your side.

"Hello, brother. Uncle. I'm afraid that you forgot our invitations. We didn't want to miss out on such a...joyous occasion." Feyd dips his chin to Irulan like this is all incredibly normal. "You look beautiful."

Irulan stifles what you imagine is a smirk.

"What is this? What are you doing here?" From near the front of the guests, the Baron floats into the air, a menacing image in all black.

"We've come to take back what's rightfully ours," you reply.

"Guards --" the Baron begins to order, but he's interrupted by the man at his feet.

"Stand down."

The Emperor doesn't look at all like the oil paintings you've seen of him. He's surprisingly small, hunched over like he's trying to fold in on himself. White hair sparsely covers his head. But it's his eyes -- deep-set and fiercely intelligent that startle you.

"You must be Leto's daughter. I've heard many things about you," he says, voice measured. "You're very brave, coming here today."

You hiss. "What do you know about bravery?"

You didn't need to explain yourself. He had been the one, after all, to orchestrate the fall of your House. Your father. In your chest your heart pangs, but you don't let the emotion translate onto your face.

"It's flattering, that you've done all of this just to speak to me." The Emperor sweeps out his arm, cloaked in a sleeve that drags on the floor. The silence in the hall is suffocating.

"It's not like I had any other opportunities," you say, "you were strangely absent at my wedding and any other function. You prefer to control everything from the shadows, don't you?"

"Why haven't you had them arrested for treason?" The Baron cries, huge form quivering with anger.

"We just want to talk," Feyd speaks up.

"Talk," the Baron spits, "you could've sent a message."

The Emperor turns his gaze to his daughter, who's staring at him expectantly. She drops Rabban's hands. He motions for her. "Irulan, my darling, come here. The ceremony will be...postponed."

Rabban storms down the altar's stairs after Irulan. "You can't ruin this wedding! I was going to be next in line for the Emperorship!"

"Don't put me in the ground yet, Rabban," the Emperor growls.

Rabban doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed.

"If you want to talk, then," the Emperor says, "talk."

You don't see any reason to mince your words. You thrust your chin into the air as you demand, "Step down from the throne."

Silence follows. A thin, brittle laugh leaves the Emperor, who's regarding you with a newfound interest. The guests chuckle nervously in return.

"And why would I do that, child?"

"We've dismantled your ship. You can't leave until you agree to our terms."

The Emperor's smile is lethal. "If you haven't noticed, we have an entire armada pointed at our ship. Unless you want to risk the lives of your men and everyone on Arrakeen, then you will stand down."

"I wouldn't do that if I was you," Feyd growls.

Your secret weapon.

"We've seized control of the spice mills. Of your spice sources. If anything happens to us, I'll give the signal to destroy them all."

This time, an uneasy rumble descends over the crowd. Not only would you deplete an export of spice, but the Guild Navigators wouldn't be able to pilot the ships without sufficient spice. The entire armada, including the Emperor and his Hutment, would be stuck permanently on Arrakis.

The Baron glares at you. "You wouldn't."

"I would." You shrug. "I do not obsess over it such as you."

"And what do you propose? That I just hand my crown over to you?"

The Emperor stands calmly besides his daughter, whose facial expression you can't quite read. You regard him thoughtfully. "Yes."

"This is absurd," he seethes.

"Just say the word, and I'll destroy the spice mills. All of them."

A moment passes, the few seconds before your world tilts on its axis. You don't see the poison dart, or hear it. It buries into your shoulder with surprisingly subtlety, cementing it's existence with a rush of heat in your bloodstream. You look at it, shocked. You waver.

Chaos explodes in the hall. The Emperor whips around to the Baron, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

It's been too long. You haven't dosed on poisons since your accident, not the kind embedded in the dart's needle-like tip.

You have just enough clarity to see Feyd transform in an instant, the image of a dignified soldier ripped away into the face of a beast. His face crumples. He roars, the sound tearing through the ruckus. Darkness floods the edges of your vision. As you stumble back, one of the Fremen catch you in her arms. Chani's voice washes over you, your name, over and over. "Stay awake!"

You have a feeble hold on reality, teetering in and out of your grasp. The hall erupts with screams. Flashes of Feyd dominate your fading vision. He's slashing through the wedding guests, snarling, effortlessly working his way towards the front of the hall. You squeeze your eyes shut. You try to focus on the poison, swimming in your veins with an unrelenting ferocity, and imagine yourself directing it out of your body. It can't end. Not like this.

All of your anger, you desperation, bubbles to the surface. In an effort to rid yourself of it, you push all of these feelings towards the poison, a defensive measure that feels too absurd to work.

The Fremen have joined Feyd in his rampage, shouting about Muad'dib -- about you. Violence swirls all around.

You can feel the poison retreating, shrinking in on itself like a cowering animal. A terrified shriek rings out and your attention wavers slightly, redirected towards the front of the hall, where Feyd is locked in combat with his brother, who is trying to defend the Baron. The Emperor and Irulan have been seized by two Fedaykin, the former who thrashes angrily. Irulan's eyes are on you.

Her fingers twitch and, even in your drugged state, you understand what she's telling you. You mean to bring peace.

Let me, you sign back, please.

She nods, delicate chin dipping. Irulan shrugs off the Fedaykin, suggesting that she had just been letting them restrain her, then raises both of her hands. "CEASE!"

The Voice reverberates through the hall. Such a powerful display -- you had never seen anyone command so many at once. But the weapons all clatter to the ground, the movements stilling. Everyone but one, it seems.

Feyd steps around Rabban, who has frozen in place. He leaps onto a pew and pushes off the back, launching himself upward onto the Baron. The Gom Jabbar glints in his fist. The sound of the needle jabbing into his fat neck echoes, the subsequent fall of the patriarch, crashing onto the floor and twitching with great enthusiasm until he finally lays still. Feyd steps away from the mass of his uncle.

"Irulan!" The Emperor yells, horrified. "What are you doing?"

"He sent the call for the poison dart. There didn't need to be more violence," Irulan hisses in reply.

The Emperor growls at the Fedaykin. "Unhand me!"

"Father, stop." She's not using The Voice, but her tone is powerful enough without. "No more fighting. No more betrayal. Whatever she has to say, you will listen."

Residue of poison still lurking in your veins, you do your best to pull yourself into a respectable position. Feyd relaxes slightly. You fix a stare at the Emperor. "You will revoke your claim on the crown."

Irulan glares at her father. He sags, defeated. "I...I relinquish my control to you."

"Not to me," you say, "but your daughter." The golden-haired princess startles, blinking at you. You continue, "She is deserving of the title. And my husband and I will work in tandem with her as the Duke and Duchess of both Arrakis and Giedi Prime. I appoint Stilgar as the Governor to rule in our place when we are away."

It's not something you've talked about before, but you know in that moment that it's the right decision. You find his face in the gathered crowd and he nods his agreement.

This proposal surprises the Emperor, but he softens as he looks at his daughter. She nearly shines in her white dress, a celestial being, a slant of light falling over her. "Fine," he says. His shoulders shake slightly. "And what will you do with me? My supporters?"

"They will either swear their fealty to Emperess Irulan or die. As for you," you say, anger flaring, "you will be taken prisoner to answer for your crimes against the House Atreides. Against Arrakis and it's people and everyone else you have ever impacted."

“Prisoner.” The Emperor’s upper lip curls.

“Unless you want to die with the others who won’t swear their fealty?” You ask.

“Just go with them,” Irulan tells her father. The words for now go unspoken. You ignore this. Unlike the Baron, whose body lays at the altar, he won’t get such an easy escape.

The Fremen start collecting the wedding guests, herding them through the hall and back into the Hutment. You informed them earlier to lead any resisters to the palace — you looked forward to reclaiming it again. The last few people are escorted from the hall when the chanting starts.

“Muad’dib! Akrab! Muad’dib! Akrab!”

Hope buoys inside you. The Emperor brushes past you, and you shout, “Empress Irulan!”

The chant shifts to her name, until all three of your names are lifted to the sky like an offering.

Feyd eventually orders them to leave, to prepare the palace for your arrival. They don’t question him, which leaves you both alone in the hall. It’s the first time that you’ve really looked at him since this morning. He’s soaked in blood, and there’s a bruise forming on his cheek, but you’ve never seen him look so beautiful before.

He’s a physical manifestation of everything you’ve done, what you’ve done for each other.

“Jewel —”

You run to him.

Feyd crashes into you, arm coiling around your middle and pulling you into him, his mouth bruising yours. He’s damp with blood, the smell of copper flooding your senses. Despite it all, you groan, clambering to get as close to him as you can. His hand moves to cup the back of your head as his tongue drives past your lips, hungrily seeking you out. Desire pulses through you. When he crumbles to his knees, he takes you with him, lowering you onto him.

You straddle him. Beneath you, he is a righteous angel, the smears of blood on the floor like crimson wings.

“Take these off,” he rasps, tugging at your clothes, “now.”

It’s not easy, but you manage, hovering over him as you peel off your armor and underclothes, then finally your underwear. Feyd watches intently as you pull the material down your hips and over your thighs, his calloused hands grabbing at you, gaze roaming over every new inch of exposed flesh. Impatient, a growl rumbles in his chest, and he pulls you down onto him. He smears streaks of crimson on your breasts as he works his thumb over your stiff nipples, taking the other in his mouth and sucking, teeth grazing.

You inhale sharply. With fervor, you grind your hips into him, desperate for friction. Feyd pushes up into you. His cock, straining at his pants, rubs against your center. Eager, you roll with him, his pupils blown as he watches you, fingers digging into your hips and guiding your movement.

There’s something wild about him in this moment. Feyd is laid bare, bloodied and violent, plush lips parted. And you somehow love him more like this than you ever have, stripped of any pretenses or expectations, just dangerous and ugly and raw — and he’s seen every corner of your own darkness and never flinched away.

Suddenly aware that he’s overly dressed, you begin tugging at his armor until he gets the hint and helps the process, muscles flexing as he pulls it over his head and discards it nearby. You can’t help it, you slide your hands over his chest and down his stomach. When you reach the waistband of his pants, he inhales through his teeth, cock twitching and sending a pulse to your cunt. “Such a dirty whore,” he teases you, “so eager for my cock, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, fumbling for the latch.

“You want it inside you?”

You squirm in anticipation. “Yes.”

Feyd pushes your hands away. He manages to shed his pants in a single movement and kick them to the side, revealing his long, thick cock to your gaze. Your cunt clenches. Feyd rocks you forward slightly then fists his cock, giving it a few languid strokes before guiding it into you. You sink into him, shivering with the pleasure of him, warm and filling, and crying out when he drives impossibly deep inside you, splitting you open.

You rock deeper, pain erupting in your knees from the hard floor as you spread your legs to take him. And he fucks into you with blinding intensity, slamming into you up to the hilt, drawing out an embarrassing amount of gasps and squeaks from you. You feel as if you might be on fire, seared by his passion, body aching with every thrust, trembling with the force of him. He hisses and a look of pure lust, pure concentration, crosses his handsome face, brows furrowed, breath sawing from chest with the effort. Feyd snarls — actually snarls — and pumps into you harder, faster, hips snapping at a speed that dizzies you.

“Fuck, Feyd,” you hiss, “you feel so good.”

“Shut up,” he growls. As if in punishment, he throws you off him and now you’re beneath him and he’s looming over you, burning fiercely with passion. Feyd grabs each of your ankles and lifts your lower body so that you’re exposed to him, then spears into you fully. You cry out.

Pleasure shoots through you with each jolt. Overcome with it all, with him, your head rolls to the side. Only a few feet away, the body of Vladimir Harkonnen lays in a heap. You stiffen in shock — how had you forgotten?

A rough hand grabs your face, forces you to look straight into the eyes of Feyd-Rautha. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

He’s adjusted your position to do this, to keep you staring at him even as your emotions surge and tears spring to your eyes, propping one of your legs onto his shoulder. Feyd applies pressure to your clit, smearing more blood on your lower belly, massaging and rolling your most sensitive spot as he ruts into you over and over, building with his own desire.

You lose all sense of time, of yourself. You might as well have been spiraling out of control, stuck in weightless suspension. All you focus on is him. Feyd-Rautha. Former na-Baron. Your husband. He’s the center of your world. And when you come you wail his name like a prayer, Feyd follows shortly after, pumping his seed inside you.

You lay like that for some time, entwined, panting and trying to catch your breath. Once you’ve mustered enough clarity, you ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” There’s no trace of turmoil or regret in his dark eyes. “Are you?”

“Fine,” you repeat back to him. You touch the spot at your shoulder where the flip dart had been embedded. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Perhaps it was leftover tolerance.”

“Perhaps.” Admittedly, you don’t want to think about how you had practically willed the poison away. You don’t want to think about anything. Frankly, you just want a hot shower.

As if reading your mind, Feyd says, “There’s a celebration waiting for us at the palace.”

“I know,” you sigh. Both of you collect your clothes, leaving your armor where it is. There’s a strange calm that’s settled itself around your shoulders. When you finish dressing, you catch Feyd glaring at the Baron. You touch his arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He tears his gaze away. “It happened so…easily.”

“I can’t say that I’m sorry you did it.”

“He hurt you.” Feyd’s face closes like a fist. “After all this time, I thought — nevermind what I thought. He can’t hurt anyone again.” He starts towards the door, leaving you to scurry after him. You know he’s more anguished about the situation than he’s willing to share, but you’ll wait to wrest the truth from him.

For now, you just want to be with him.

As he expected, the celebration is raging at the palace, Fremen and other Arrakeen residents brimming out in the heat-scorched courtyard and within the corridors. They congratulate you and pat you on the back as you pass by, their previous animosity forgotten in the post-battle victory.

You smile warily at them and do your best to appear as ecstatic as they are. You can’t believe that you’ve done it, that you’ve found an unlikely ally in Princess Irulan. Without her, you’re not sure that you would’ve achieved what you did — taking control of the Known Universe, seating its positions of power with those that you trust. The first thing you do is seek out the golden-haired princess who, despite having just been crowned Empress, is found by herself nursing a drink.

“It’s about time,” Irulan says with an inkling of amusement. She takes in your disheveled state, smeared with blood, but thankfully doesn’t comment on it. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It was the right choice,” you say, sidling beside her.

“My Father won’t go down without a fight.”

“So we’ll fight.” You lift a shoulder. “Thank you. For what you did.”

“I owe you, from before. I’m sorry —”

You reach out and squeeze her hand. “Don’t be. We’re allies now. Friends.”

Irulan smiles. “Friends.”

Speaking of friends. You hear a familiar voice call your name, prompting you to whirl around in surprise. “Asha?”

“You’re here! You’re alive!” Your old friend sweeps you into her arms. She looks thin, thinner than you’ve seen her, but her eyes are glowing.

“What happened to you?” You ask. You can’t properly parse out all of the emotions that are crashing into you. When you left her behind —

Asha withdraws, holding you at arms length. “I was taken by the Baron. They kept me prisoner here. They released us, though, once they found us. The Fremen.” She smiles. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.”

You hug her again. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m glad that you’re okay, Asha.”

And, for the first time in a very long time, everything seemed to be perfect. At least, as perfect as they could be. Asha joined you at the table beside Irulan, who you promptly introduced; across the room Feyd kept his gaze trained on you, winking when you catch his eye.

You wanted to preserve that moment, contain it to later be marveled. You had done so much to get here — if only you knew how much more you would have to endure.

A/N 2.0: Did anyone catch my TLJ reference?👀 Also, Jewel's brief happiness before her life falls apart

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @sp4ceboo @dacreshoney @stopeatread @therealslimshady-1 @aoi-targaryen @psychoffin @lauratang @austinswhitewolf @bloodyziggy @aleemendoza2425-blog @forgedfromthestars @lovemyselfyay

[sunsetchicane]

cowboy like me [LN4]

lando x fem!reader

word count: 8.2k

summary: The one where you work on a ranch and it’s everything you know. There’s nothing that can come between you and your love for your home. Not even a handsome stranger who seems to pull the best out of you.

warnings: slight angst, some fluff, horses!, brief sexual innuendo, a singular swear word, and one [sad] kiss.

author’s note: hey! hi! hello! this is my first fic on here (omgggg 🤭) so please, please, please let me know your thoughts/comments/questions! might write a second part to this…thoughts??[xoxo elle]

~~~

Buxton Ranch has been in the Buxton family before Montana even became an official Union state in 1889. Land wasn’t simply a commodity or property back then; it was life or death. William T. Buxton and his wife, Mary Anne, put their boots down on this land along with their four children and they’ve never left. They fought their way over the mountains, survived the unbearable, and have reaped the benefits of their resilience for over a century and a half.

Willamina T. Buxton I, my boss, is the great-something granddaughter of William T. Buxton I. Her father, William T. Buxton VII handed over the ranch to her on her 30th birthday a few years back. The controversy caused ripples through the entire community because even though Willamina is Mr. Buxton’s first born, the ranch has always been handed down to the eldest son. Willa is the first woman to ever have ownership of the ranch.

My family hasn’t been in Montana nearly as long as the Buxtons. My mom and I moved out here in the spring the year I was born. My father skipped out before my mom could even hold herself upright in her hospital bed after laboring with me. She tells me that we came here to Montana for a fresh start, and what better place to go than where the sky is bigger and the air is pure. The mountains became our safe haven, our buffer from the rest of the world and, more importantly, our history. It’s easy to forget up here, to allow your mind to rest. I’ve never been at a loss for why the Buxtons came and never left. Sometimes, in the dark of my room, I pretend that I really am a Buxton, that I truly belong.

However, when the sun breaks across the mountain peaks and the world comes alive once again, I’m forced to realize that I don’t belong to the Buxton dynasty. I simply work for them.

My alarm blares to my right, causing me to shoot upright. With fumbling fingers, I seek for the power button of my alarm clock. When I finally find it and shut off the hellish noise, I fling my legs over the side of my bed. With the heels of my hands, I rub the sleep from my eyes. The world around me is painted in a deep blue, still fast asleep and undisturbed by my alarm. I envy it as I rise from my bed and get ready for the day.

Silently, I pull on my bootcut Wranglers and a light green long sleeved button down. My belt and beat up old boots complete the ensemble for the moment being. My next stop is the bathroom where I brush my teeth and comb my hair. Tying my hair off into a low braid so it’ll sit right under my hat takes only a couple minutes. I’ve been wearing my hair the same way to work every day for the past seven years.

Once I’m done in the bathroom, I make my way to the kitchen where a pot of coffee is automatically brewing on schedule. I toss a few eggs into a pan as well as two pieces of bread into the toaster. The breakfast of champions and me every single day. After crushing a cup of coffee and my plain breakfast, it’s time to head out. Instead of living on-site with the rest of the ranch hands, I still live with my mom. I’ve been wanting to move out to the ranch for over a year now since I finished college, but the possibility of breaking my mom’s heart stops me from even mentioning it to her.

Glancing at the clock, I know I have plenty of time to spare, but I start to pack up and head out the door anyway. I enjoy being early to the ranch. It’s peaceful and serene before it wakes and rises. Grabbing my work jacket because the winter’s just turning over to spring, my chaps, and my lunch sack, I head out the door. My mom and I share an old, sunburnt orange Chevy truck that just barely runs. I toss my things into the bed of the pickup before sliding into the worn out driver’s seat. As I slide the key into the ignition, I send up a quick prayer that she turns over. When I press the key forward, the engine roars to life. Prayers have been answered this morning and I hope it’s a good omen for the rest of the day.

The drive to Buxton Ranch is short and sweet, all dirt roads and drifting grassy fields. The radio sounds quietly and the engine hums loudly, but everything else is completely still. A distant light orange is just starting to brush the very edges of the horizon in the east. Nature is starting to reach out and stretch its sleepy limbs.

As I pull up to the place where I always park near a stretch of fence, I see a figure dressed in shadows leaning over the wood a few yards away. Once I’ve tossed the pickup into park and yanked out the keys, I jump down from my seat so I can walk over to her. She’s always out here before everyone. Sometimes I see her, most times I don’t. When I do, it feels like fate, like there’s something about today that’s meant to happen this way. Or maybe it’s just Willamina Buxton.

“Good morning, y/n,” she rasps without glancing over at me. Crossing my arms, I lean over the log fence and take in the view. I don’t think there’s a better view in all of Montana than that from Buxton Ranch.

“Good morning, Willa,” I answer quietly. Her brother, Wyatt, was my best friend growing up. She’s only 12 years older than the two of us, but somehow she seems infinitely older and wiser. She’s been a role model for me. We grew closer after Wyatt left for college a few years back. Of course he came back in the summers to visit, but he never stayed long. He wasn’t born for this life. Instead of horses, he dealt with horse power. He always wanted to become an engineer for Formula One. When the opportunity came to go overseas to study in England and intern at McLaren, he hadn’t even thought twice. One day he was here, and the next he was gone.

I struggled with feeling abandoned for a while, but I came to terms with it quickly. I realized that dreams were meant to be chased and he was incredibly fortunate to get this opportunity. I was also chasing my dream, I just had to go down the street instead of across an ocean. We keep in touch, calling frequently and texting nearly every day, but it’s not the same. I miss him.

“Heard from Wyatt recently?” Willa says quietly then takes a sip from her mug of iron black coffee.

“Not in a couple of days. Seems busy,” I mumble. Wyatt’s leaving is a bit of a sore spot for Willa. She wanted him to stay on the ranch and in the family business. Her asking about him is a bit of an anomaly.

She hums, then pauses, then sighs. “Lots to do today. We better get going.”

And just like that the work day starts.

I tend to the horses right away, leading them out into the corral so I can wash out their stalls from over the weekend. I give each of them fresh hay and fill up large troughs of water for the more temperamental ones. Then I lead them one at a time back into their stalls and give them a thorough once over to check how they’re doing.

The last one I have to put away is the youngest of the group. He came to us only last year, unbroke and wild as the river. He’s a black Morgan stallion, sleek and athletic. He’s larger than your typical Morgan, with rippling muscle, and a proud face. He’s beautiful. We call him Jupe.

“Jupe,” I coo kindly to the untamed stallion. “Come on, Jupe.”

He casts a look over his back at me telling me everything I need to know. Sighing, I toss myself over the fence and into the corral. With my palms raised up and in front of me, I show him the leather lead in my hand as I walk over to him slowly.

“Come on, Jupe, we gotta go back inside. I cleaned up real nice for you, boy. Fresh hay, new water, you’re living the five star life, buddy,” I say while creeping up on him. He doesn’t move, but simply tracks my movements with his black eyes. Nerves claw at my stomach as I approach him. Reaching out slowly, I praise him and repeat his name over and over. Finally, I slide the clip of the lead around a loop in his bridle. But there’s no relief yet. I still have to get him into the stables without incident.

“Good boy, Jupe,” I say, reaching out gently to stroke his nose. He pushes at my hand playfully. A surge of pride washes over me. Maybe the two of us are finally making progress. Jupe lets me lead him out of the corral and back to his stall with ease. Today really is my day.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the stallion as I slide the lock shut on his door. Jupe’s head hangs over the short door, his head coming down to level with mine. Patting him gently, I pull a couple sugar cubes from my pack. I hold them up to him on my flat palm and he slurps them up gratefully. A smile that I can do nothing to stop breaks across my face. I’m gonna saddle him up one day. And maybe that day is sooner than I’d anticipated.

“Only you would give that stubborn Morgan a treat,” I hear a familiar voice say. I whip around in disbelief as the tone and inflexion registers in my mind.

“Then again, maybe the two of you have bonded over your mutual stubbornness.” Wyatt hardly gets the words out before I’m taking his arm in mine and wrapping him up in a hug with the other. We laugh as we sway side to side. My hat careens to the side of my head as I hug him and I know I must be getting him all sweaty and dirty, but I can’t find it in myself to care about vanity at the moment. Wyatt’s back.

“Surprise!” He says when I finally let go of him. He’s wearing a bright smile as I pull back. Wyatt reaches up and straightens out my hat for me.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming!” I say while smacking the back of my hand against his shoulder. “I would’ve gotten off work and…”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” he laughs as I slide past him to finish up sweeping this side of the stables.

“You’re right,” I laugh along with him while I sweep. He knows that I love my job too much to step away from it. I hate missing a day and he knows that.

Wyatt takes a seat on a stack of unused hay bales that I’ll have to load back up. He chats with me about school and England and McLaren. I don’t know much about Formula One, just what I picked up on from Wyatt constantly chatting my ear off about it. Most of the stuff that Wyatt has told me, however, goes way over my head. What I do know is that this boy is an engineering genius and McLaren is lucky to have him now as a full-time employee. They offered him a job straight out of university. He’ll be living full time in the UK. My stomach twists at the thought.

“So, what do you have going on for the rest of the day?” Wyatt asks after I’ve finished sweeping. I place my hands on top of the broom and lean my chin over my fingers.

“Riley and I were going to take down that rickety south fence and…” I start to say while mentally checking my to-do list.

“Sandy’s helping Riley with that,” Wyatt says matter-of-factly. I cast him a questioning look to which he simply blinks at.

“Alright. Then I have to go to the cattle and check on all of the pregnant…”

“Louise has that covered,” Wyatt informs me while picking at his nails. What is he getting at?

“Why…well, then I have to…” I begin, trying to move away from things that he could possibly know of.

“Go riding with me and my friends!” Wyatt exclaims while hopping off the hay bales and clapping his hands together. “Wonderful idea.”

My jaw drops. There’s no way that he’s trying to make me skip the rest of the day to go riding. Not after we just had a conversation over the fact that I would never do that. That I could never do that. I have an obligation to be here, to get things done.

“Wy, you know I’d love to, but I’ve got work to do,” I say firmly while walking over to hang up my broom. Jupe huffs and brays at Wyatt as he walks briskly over to me.

“No you don’t. I made sure of it,” Wyatt says while grabbing my hands so I have no choice but to stand in front of him. “Willa’s told me to inform you that if you’re found working this afternoon, there’ll be severe consequences.”

At that, I know I have to oblige with Wyatt’s request. If Willa gave the all clear, there’s no reason for me to try and argue. One thing about the Buxtons is they’re nearly as strong-willed as the horses they hold. Not to mention it would be incredibly rude of me to not accept Willa’s generosity. This doesn’t stop me from letting Wyatt know exactly how I feel about him pulling me away from my work. I do so in colorful language the entire walk over to the house.

“You don’t even want to go riding with me, you just want me to be your guide,” I feign an accusation as we approach a small crowd of people on the large front deck of the Buxtons glorious ranch home. I see a few ranch hands and two other men that I don’t know, who must be Wyatt’s friends.

“You are the best guide out here.” His backhanded compliment earns him an eye roll. As we approach the house, he tells me to wait for a second while he calls over his friends. Their heads turn quickly to the two of us when Wyatt calls to them. They say hasty goodbyes to the staff they were chatting with before walking over to Wyatt and I. One is tall and pale, with pale eyes, and pale hair. His cheeks are flushed a slight pink from the chill that still hangs in the spring air. He looks lively and excited, his eyes bouncing around from one thing to another at lightning speed.

The other man is shorter with cropped, dark, curly hair. His hazel eyes are sharp and brilliant against his tanned skin. As he draws nearer, I can tell that he’s very physically fit. He’s wearing a tight long sleeve shirt that hugs his arms, brand new boot cut jeans, and a shiny pair of boots that have obviously never been worn. His eyes, unlike his friend, don’t wander while he walks over to us; they stay trained on me. A small smile falls across his pretty pink lips as he finds me watching him swagger his way over. He’s attractive.

“Never seen a British boy in cowboy boots before,” I say when they stop in front of us, glancing down at the brunette's footwear. When my eyes flick up to his, he still hasn’t stopped looking at me. Clearing my throat, I extend a hand to the blonde.

“Hi, y/n,” I introduce myself while shaking his hand.

“Mitchel,” he says, his accent is sharp and acutely German, which takes me by surprise. I nod, casting him a warm smile. I watch as Mitchel’s eyes flick to Wyatt over my shoulder. Following suit, I catch Wy smiling like a fool and a slight blush that I don’t think has anything to do with the weather coating his cheeks. When he sees me looking at him, he quickly crosses his arms and looks away. My smile widens. Mitchel drops my hand and then stuffs his back into his pockets.

“Y/n,” I say to Wyatt’s other friend who has a bit of a staring problem. He takes my hand in his slowly.

“Lando Norris,” He says crisply, his accent confirming my previous assessment. “Nice to finally meet you, y/n.”

His name catches in my mind, as if I’ve heard it before but I can’t place it. Wyatt must have mentioned him at some point, but for the life of me I can’t remember what about. A moment passes and our hands stay held together in the space between us as I try to place him. My eyes scan over his face and catalog his freckles and scars and the way his eyes sparkle when he smiles. When it dawns on me that I’m now the one with a staring problem, I swiftly pull my hand from his. Briefly, his jaw clenches.

“Finally, huh?” I take his previous statement and run with it. Turning my back to Lando, I glance over at Wyatt. “Just what have you been saying about me?”

“All good things, all good things,” Wy assures me while coming up to clasp me on the shoulder. He leans into me with a big smile that makes my stomach churn at the thought of what he’s actually told his friends. What does Lando think of me? Why does it matter what Lando thinks of me?

“Well,” I say quickly, trying to shake the thought of Lando from my head. “I suppose we should get going if we want to be back by sundown.”

The three boys nod their heads in agreement. The four of us walk over to the stables. Wyatt and Mitchel walk slowly behind me as they chit chat and laugh. Casting a glance over my shoulder at them, I watch as their shoulders bump together and their fingers brush intentionally. I bite my lip to keep myself from smiling. Wyatt’s alway had a hard time with romance and partnership just because of where we grew up and the hate he received for simply being himself. Seeing him this way, happy and smitten, makes me feel proud. It affirms that his leaving was necessary in so many ways.

“How long have you been working here?” Lando’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. My attention slides over to him. He’s come up to my left, his hands folded behind his back. His eyes are wide and curious as he looks at me. I can’t help but feel like I’m being analyzed.

“Seven years. But I’ve been on the ranch all my life. I took riding lessons from Willa and then became fast friends with Wyatt,” I tell him while pulling my eyes from his. Returning his gaze seems difficult, so I keep my eyes trained on the stable. He hums in acknowledgement of my response. I can feel his eyes on me still.

“Do you work at McLaren with Wyatt?” I ask my new acquaintance. He chuckles to himself a little, his pretty eyes squinting from his large smile.

“Yeah, you could say that,” he says, making me feel like I’m missing something. I scoff at his vague response, but don’t press the issue. If he wanted to explain himself, he would. His aura is interesting. He seems so sure of himself, completely at ease with who he is. It’s captivating.

We make it to the entrance of the stable and I instruct Lando and Mitchel to take a seat while Wyatt and I saddle up the horses. It takes us a while to get everyone ready for the trail ride, but with every passing minute, the more excited I get. Wyatt and I used to go out on the trails all the time. During the summer as teenagers, we would stuff our packs full of camping supplies and go for days at a time. Those memories are my most cherished possessions, things that I will never forget. Now whenever I take others up there, I feel as though I’m bearing a part of my soul to them.

Once we’re done getting everything ready, Wyatt leads his and Mitchel’s horses, Rudy and Molly, outside with Mitchel in tow. This leaves me alone with Lando. My stomach twists nervously when I feel his presence looming to my right.

“Ever ridden before?” I ask while petting Luna, a beautiful sorrel tovero paint. She’s older, but strong and steady, a good horse for a beginner.

“Yeah, loads,” Lando says while joining me in stroking Luna. I cast him a critical glance. If he sees it, he ignores me. Rolling my eyes, I really can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. It’s important to know what you’re doing while working with large animals. I make the mental note to keep him in my line of sight at all times while riding.

“Oh, good. Then you’ll be good to lead Ms. Luna out? She’s yours for the day,” I tell him while handing over the reins. I watch his adam's apple bob and his eyebrows lift slightly before nodding and accepting the reins from my hand. When his fingers brush over mine, goosebumps run across my arm. Quickly, I pull my hand away and turn towards Beau, my stallion for today. Fiddling aimlessly with his bridle, I wait until the steps of Luna and Lando have disappeared before releasing a breath. Leaning my forehead against Beau’s neck, I sigh at my stupid behavior. Am I really so touch starved that I get goosebumps at my finger brushing against his? That’s sad.

I take Beau’s reins in my hand and start leading him out to the waiting pack of boys. Just as I’m about to exit the stables, I look over at Jupe. He’s looking at me like he knows exactly what’s going on in my mind.

“Don’t give me attitude,” I tell him.

He just blinks at me.

Beau and I join everyone. Wyatt’s running Mitchel through the basics while Lando watches on. He’s pretending to not be listening by petting Luna and quietly talking to her, but I still catch the way he glances over when Wy demonstrates something. I walk around and do a quick double check on everyone’s gear before returning to Beau’s side. With the ease of muscle memory that I don’t think I’ll ever lose, I toss myself up and onto the saddle. Wyatt assists Mitchel into his saddle before climbing into his own. Lando glances over at me before sliding his foot into the stirrup and attempting to pull himself up. He looks out of his depth and slightly awkward as he hauls himself onto the saddle seat. Biting back a laugh, I click my tongue and squeeze my legs a little to get Beau to move for me. The two of us saunter up next to Lando. His easy continence is long gone, replaced by nerves and uncertainty. His hands shake as he grabs onto the reins incorrectly.

“Here, like this,” I correct while reaching out to his hands. My fingers pry his anxious fists open and fix where he’s holding the leather cord. I’m surprised to find calluses littering his palms, a mirror of my own. I maneuver his palm to rest in the right way so he doesn’t agitate Luna. I can feel Lando watching me as I touch and hold his hands. I’ve done this a hundred times when teaching lessons, but this is the first time that I feel an uncomfortable blush creeping onto my cheeks. Lando’s presence has me off axis, spinning out of my routine. I’ve known him for maybe an hour and he’s already getting under my skin.

“Just trust Luna, she knows the way,” I say quietly as I pull away from him. He bites at his lip but nods along with my words. Smiling as warmly as I can, I leave his side to ride up to Wyatt. However, I can’t help but glance back over my shoulder at him. He’s not looking at me, thankfully. Instead, his eyes are trained on his hands as he flexes them on the reins the way I showed him. His focus is endearing, almost cute.

But when his eyes rise to find mine, I snap my head forward in hopes that he didn’t catch me staring at him. The last thing I need is to develop some sort of childish crush on a stranger that I’ll never see again after a few days. I just have to keep my head down and my thoughts off of him.

“Time’s wasting!” Wyatt calls to me, letting me know that everyone is ready to go. Nodding, I take the lead while Wyatt falls to the back. We keep Mitchel and Lando between us so they don’t get caught straying off the path.

Going out for a ride is one of my favorite things. I love going into the mountains, walking along the thin paths, and enjoying the earth. As we go, I hear Mitchel and Wyatt quietly chatting at the back of the pack. However, once we get to the treeline, their voices fall away from my earshot. My senses are overcome by our surroundings. The budding trees are gorgeous as they filter the sunlight into sultry beams that fall onto the new grass along the sides of the gravel path.

“Beautiful,” I hear Lando speak for the first time since we left. I’ve been distracted thankfully, leaving me free from his effect on me. Now, though, I find myself turning to the side to look at him as he comes up next to me. I’m surprised to find him staring at me instead of the lively forest that hems us in. A thought that he might be making a comment about me instead of the scenery flashes through my mind. Quickly, I shove the absurd thought away and chalk it up to wishful thinking.

“It is,” I agree, giving him a small smile. He chuckles a little before turning to look around him. Suddenly, I’m acutely aware of him. Somehow he adds to the already perfect scene around me. His hair is being ruffled by the slight, cool breeze, which also lends his skin a gorgeous pink flush. Bright hazel eyes track the swishing branches and fluttering wildlife. His muscles are on display as he engages them to ride Luna. He looks less stiff than he did earlier, as if he’s finding himself at ease here. The idea makes me giddy. I find myself agreeing with Lando’s previous assessment. Beautiful.

“See something you like, cowgirl?” Lando laughs when he catches me staring at him yet again. My eyes go wide and my mouth parts as I scramble for a proper response, a defense, anything. There’s just something about him that makes it nearly impossible to look away. I think I’d like to be able to see him a lot more.

“Cowgirl?” Is all I can come up with. It’s not an inaccurate title, but the way he said it made it sound different. It was tacked onto his question almost like an endearment, or a tease. I laugh a little at his choice of words and the way it sounds in his accent.

“I see a lot of things I like, cowboy. You’ll have to be more specific,” I challenge. This successfully pulls a proper laugh from him. It’s the type of laugh that sends birds flying frantically from their perches and the creatures hidden in the grass scurrying away. It’s impossible to not laugh along with him. My heart flutters and I have to hold on tighter to my reins so I don’t fall off the saddle.

“I may be a lot of things, but I am no cowboy,” he corrects. I nod while continuing to laugh.

“I could have told you that,” I confirm while adjusting my hat.

“Oh really?” Lando says, urging me to explain myself. He tilts his head to the side while his mouth pulls into a closed lipped smile.

“If the brand new jeans and boots didn’t give you away, then you’re riding definitely does. You ride stiff as a board,” I inform him while glancing down at his boots and jeans. His denim clad thighs are tight around Luna’s middle, tense muscles visible through the fabric.

“Alright, teach me then,” he says, his free hand coming to rest on his hip. “Cowgirl.”

I roll my eyes at his words once again, but am resolved to help him nonetheless. There’s nothing like going out and being able to ride properly. I want to ask him why he lied to me about his experience with riding, but I don’t want to bruise his ego any further. Trying something new is challenging enough, and if he’s willing to learn, then I don’t want to jeopardize that.

“Keep sitting up straight, but relax your body. Your hips should shift back and forth in the seat a little. Don’t fight what feels natural. Just watch me,” I tell him. His eyes slide slowly from my face down to my hips. I watch as his eyes track my hips back and forth just slightly with Beau’s steps. Lando’s breathing goes uneven and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth. He’s staring at me like there’s nothing else he’d ever want to look at. It makes my heart race and nerves flutter in my stomach. I hadn’t really thought about the more sensual implications of having him watch my hips, but it seems rather obvious now. However, I don’t really mind the way he’s looking at me, or the way his focus is completely attuned to me. Selfishly, I really wish he wouldn’t look at anything else ever again. But that can’t happen.

“Eyes up, cowboy,” I tell him after a few more seconds of letting him watch. “Go ahead.”

Clearing his throat, he shifts a little in the saddle before settling in to do what I asked. I don’t miss the way he avoids looking me in the eye, as if he’s embarrassed. Have I flustered him? The thought makes me just a tiny bit proud. He doesn’t seem like the type to be flustered easily. He sits up straight and attempts to relax his body. His lower half starts to shift the right way, looking more natural and less jerky than before. Indulging myself, I watch for a few more seconds. I bite the inside of my cheek as he rocks back and forth in the saddle. My mind goes wandering to places that I shouldn’t be thinking about with a man I’ve only known for a day. Less than a day. And yet, I can’t stop myself.

“Maybe we’ll make a real cowboy out of you yet, Lando Norris,” I tell him after I’ve noticed improvements. His focus fractures and he looks over to me.

“I think I’d like that,” He shoots back, a sly smile accompanying his words. The look twists my stomach into nervous knots. There’s something about him, something intangible, that draws you in. Maybe it’s charm or charisma, or maybe it’s just the way he was made. Whatever the circumstances or reasons are, it’s not fair. I feel as though I have hardly a fighting chance to ward off any sort of desire that’s bubbling to the surface. I want to keep getting to know him; I want to teach him anything he asks; I want to never let go of the way he makes me feel.

The walk back to the ranch grounds is much faster than I would have liked. Lando chats with me the entire way back about this and that. He’s smart and funny and my chances of not having a crush on him grow slimmer with every passing minute I spend with him. When we get back to the stables, I find myself taking much longer than I normally would to put everything away. Mitchel and Wyatt decided that a fire would be the best way to end the night, so they ran out to get it started while Lando and I finished up with the horses. He tried his best to help, but kept getting distracted by visiting all of the stalls.

“Who’s this?” Lando says as I finish putting away the last saddle. I say a quick goodbye to Beau before heading down to the last stall near the open barn doors. Lando is standing in front of Jupe’s stall, his arms crossed over his chest. I stop next to him, leaving an appropriate amount of space between us, even though I want to come up right next to him and press my shoulder to his.

“This is Jupe. He’s our newest. Bit ornery, but a good boy,” I say while reaching my hand out to pat Jupe’s head. He brays at my touch, but doesn’t pull away. I give him a quick kiss on the nose and coddle him a little. Positive reinforcement does wonders.

“My turn,” Lando says from behind me. Astounded, I turn my face toward him. He’s insinuating that he wants me to kiss him. My brain short circuits at the thought. He’s just standing there with his arms still crossed over his chest and a stupid smile playing across his handsome face. I scoff at his joke, trying not to let on how much it affected me.

“Careful what you wish for, you might end up with a stall of your own,” I jab back. However, keeping him here doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

“Being praised, kissed, and ridden by you? Sounds like these guys are living the dream,” Lando says. My jaw hangs loose as his words hit me like a freight train. Shock courses through me, leaving me beyond speechless. Is he being serious? Who says things like that? I blink at him, unsure of how to continue. I can’t lie and say that the images that popped into my head when he spoke were entirely unpleasant. If he’s being serious, there’s a lot to consider here. I could deny my feelings and spare myself the heartache. Or the alternative, which is letting my emotions get the better of me. This would mean that in a few days after spending time together, I would have to deal with heartbreak and come to terms with the fact that I’ll maybe never see him again. Or maybe I could, if there’s something really here. Maybe I have to give into hope for once. There’s never really been anyone who I’ve put ahead of my goals or dreams. I’ve never been tempted to stray from my path by anyone. Sure, I’ve gone out with guys, had a boyfriend for a while. But if something didn’t line up, I made cuts so my life would fit together how I needed it to. Suddenly now, as I stand here in this stable with a man I met only hours ago, I’m finding myself bending my rules for the first time. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my whole life.

“Alright, cowboy,” I say while taking a tentative step toward him, I’m ready to play this little game of his. His hands have fallen to his side, so I gently slide my fingers into his. Shining eyes lock onto mine. His tan skin is set aglow by the dying sunrise, highlighting the ridges and curves of his face. I want to memorize every freckle, every line, every corner of him. I’m lost in the way his hand feels around mine and in the way he’s looking at me, and I don’t ever want to find my way out. One of his fingers comes to the front of my hat and pushes the brim up. He draws closer now, his face mere inches from mine. His jaw flexes and his large neck muscles twitch with tension as he dips his head down just enough for his lips to hover over mine.

“We have a fire to get to,” I finish my earlier thought in a whisper. With hooded eyes, I look into his wide ones. Smiling smally, I step away from him. Adjusting my hat back to its original place, I begin walking out the door. Lando is hauled after me with my hand still grasped in his. Giddiness takes me over as I walk hand in hand with him towards the fire pit near the house. My small smile breaks into a much larger one as I pick up my pace, breaking into a jog. Lando’s hand clasps around mine tighter as he adjusts to the new pace. A laugh bubbles from my chest as I bring my free hand to hold onto my hat as I run harder. A sense of carefreeness has corrupted my usual serious disposition. Rarely do I feel as free as I do now. Lando’s lightness has infected me, and I can’t help but fall in love with how it’s buoyed my spirits. It feels like the first hit of a drug; it’s the type of high I’ll be chasing for the rest of my life.

As we approach the house, I can hear Wyatt’s laugh ring out from around the corner to the back. Just as we’re about to turn that last corner, Lando’s arms reach around my waist, stopping me from moving another inch. His chest hits my back with no small amount of force, tossing my hat from my head. I’m bent over in his arms as both of our laughs pull the last threads of air from our tired lungs. He hauls us both upright and my head falls back against his shoulder. I suck in a deep breath of the cool, dusk air. It cools me from the inside out. A feeling stirs deep in my stomach as I stare up into the sky while basking in the feeling of Lando’s arms wrapped around me.

Belonging.

It’s something I’ve been chasing my whole life; a sense of knowing where I belong and who I am. And now I feel as though I’ve finally found it: a home; a place to belong; a knowledge of exactly who I am.

Once we’ve regulated our breathing, I break out of his arms. Leaving them isn’t what I want, and as I pull away, I immediately feel much colder. However, we have to accompany Wyatt and Mitchel before they grow suspicious. Carefully, I pick up my hat, but don’t place it back on my head.

“Are you coming?” I ask quickly, tossing a glance to Lando over my shoulder. He shakes his head with a smile, but follows me around the corner without a word. Wyatt’s eyes find us over the roaring fire he’s built. Mitchel is seated right next to him on a log, a thick blanket spread over their laps. Between the warmth of the fire, the blanket, and the present company, I know that the nighttime chill won’t be able to touch me. As I approach Wyatt, he reaches to the side to pick up another blanket with a couple beers and s’mores supplies stacked on top. I accept it with a quick thank you before plopping down on the log next to them. Lando saunters after me, slowly taking a seat to my right.

“Hold this?” I ask while placing the blanket onto his lap. Gently, I set my hat down behind me, then reach over my shoulder to grab the end of my braid. I pull the elastic from the end and go about undoing the braid.

“So, Lando, how was the ride for you?” Wy asks as he brings his beer to his lips. My eyes are on the fire as he speaks, my mind slipping out of focus for a brief moment while I concentrate on my hair. But I’m aware of the fact that Lando doesn’t answer. When I turn to look at him, I find his eyes already on me, following my fingers as they finish pulling out my braid. I run my fingers through my roots to shake out the nasty hat hair that I undoubtedly have.

“Lando?” Wyatt laughs.

“What?” Lando says as he snaps out of his dazed state. His eyes go wide as they shift over to Wyatt who’s chuckling to himself. A goofy smile breaks across Lando’s face as Wyatt restates his question.

“I think I might have to switch professions,” Lando says, his eyes flicking down to me. The fire is lighting his skin with a warm glow. The flames flash lazily in his glossy eyes.

“I think it would be best for you to stick with McLaren,” I joke while cracking both of our cold beers. With a small smile, I hand over one of the bottles to a slightly offended Lando. Laughing to myself, I nudge his shoulder and click the neck of my beer to his. The liquid is cold and fresh against my lips, sending the perfect chill cascading down into my neck and chest.

“Yeah, mate, I think it’s best if you stay in the cockpit rather than the saddle,” Mitchel adds. “Play to your strengths and all that.”

The cockpit? As in the cockpit of a Formula One car? The realization hits me with all the grace of a drunk elephant. Lando Norris; I recognized his name earlier because Wyatt works as an engineer for a driver named Lando Norris. A Formula One driver named Lando Norris. With wide eyes, I stare forward into the fire. Every possibility that I’ve just dreamt up has suddenly become nothing but a fantasy. My body tenses as it physically revolts against my idiocy and naivety. Reality settles into my bones and I have to chide myself for being so stupid to ignore it for as long as I have. Not only did I ignore it, but I created a work of fiction where maybe we could end up together.

“Shit,” I hear Lando breathe next to me. His face is one I don’t recognize, one of seriousness. For the few hours that I’ve known him, which feel more like years, I haven’t seen him lose that little spark that makes him so him. Now it’s nowhere to be seen. He didn’t want me to know that he was a professional driver, one of the most elite in the whole world. It stings because I don’t understand exactly what his intentions were and it allowed me the space to concoct some seriously messed up notions. There’s no way that anything could happen between us now. It’s hard enough to maintain a friendship of years over an ocean with an engineer; imagine trying to hold together a relationship with a driver across continents and seas that constantly change. However, I can’t justify being angry with him. It is his life to be in the public eye constantly. If he came out here to not be recognized for a while and to be treated like just a normal guy, then who am I to deny him that. I just wish he would have given me the opportunity to do that with knowing who he really is. Now I’m stuck with feelings that I know won’t go away in a hurry and thorough embarrassment.

The rest of the night passes monotonously. Wyatt and Mitchel are wrapped up into their own little world, so they hardly notice the ever eroding gap that suddenly formed between Lando and I. We chat a little, but it’s not the same anymore. Roasting marshmallows has suddenly become my new favorite thing because it gives me an excuse to not look at him. I know that if I do, I’ll start to adore his curly hair and the scar over the bridge of his nose and the way that he looks right into your soul with his pretty eyes. I know that if I dare to look at him, I’ll start to believe in fiction once again. That’s not something I can allow; I won’t be the person who falls in love with the idea of something they can never have.

I won’t be the person that falls for someone they can never have.

Wyatt and Mitchel bid us goodnight before walking hand in hand into the house. Envy flares in my chest, jealousy turning my heart an ugly shade of green. The crackling of the dying fire and the rustling of wind through the grass and trees are the only things that greet my ears. Usually, I would be incredibly fond of this quietness. But now, it simply feels like a life sentence of silence. And once again, as the world turns to night, I feel the loneliness creep in at the edges. The night chill has crept into my fingers and toes, slowly creeping inward.

“I’m sorry,” Lando’s voice is gravelly from lack of use. “I should have…”

“You should have,” I agree. My voice isn’t harsh or condescending, it’s soft, softer than I’ve ever heard it. “I understand, though. I just wish I had known before…”

My voice trails off and gets blown away with the smoke that floats lazily into the atmosphere. Clouds have collected across the sky, cutting the stars from our view. With a melancholy heart, I can’t help but admit how fitting that is. I suppose we really weren’t written in the stars. We are the opposite of destined.

Lando’s hand wraps around my cold fingers, but instead of warming me, it burns. The kiss he leaves on my knuckles feels as though my hand was dipped into the embers of a fire. Blinking back the prick in my eyes from impending tears, I watch his face fall into a frown. I hate the way his eyebrows are creased in the middle and the concern that’s painfully evident in his stubborn eyes. It’s not the look I wanted from him tonight. It’s not the face that’s become my brand new favorite. It’s not Lando.

“How long are you staying for?” I find myself asking. I have to know how long I’ll have to endure his presence. But what’s worse: having him here and knowing I can’t have him, or watching him leave and knowing that I’ll never have him?

“We leave on Monday,” he says. Just for the weekend then. I’ll only have to see him on Monday and then I’ll be free of him. I know he’ll torment me in my sleep, when I see someone walking down the street who looks a little like him, when I look at Luna. I’ll never truly escape him.

“Alright,” I mumble. A beat passes without any more conversation. Then Lando’s hand is slipping under my hair and around the side of my neck. My head turns toward him, his touch unprompted and sending a wave of goosebumps across my skin.

“I’m sorry, but I have to know. Just once and then we can put it away forever. Alright?” He’s closing that gap between us, both physically and emotionally. His face slows as it hovers in front of mine. My breathing has ceased and fear has seized my heart. Is this the right thing to do? Or will it make it worse?

“Alright,” I find myself agreeing without thinking. Maybe I have to know, too, if this is everything I think it is; if this really is everything that I’m losing.

His kiss is light at first, lips just barely brushing mine. It’s soft and gentle as he uses his hand to bring my face closer to his. When his lips are fully on mine, my mind bursts into stars and streams of color. He kisses me with quiet passion, slow and strong. That belonging that I felt when he had his arms around me flares back to life in my chest. His fingers flex under my jaw, holding onto me tighter like he’s scared I’ll slip out of his grip. Which I am. When we break away from our first and last kiss, I feel as we filter through each other’s fingertips. We’re lost now, never to be found.

A crack in my chest sends me to my feet. Tears suddenly blur my vision.

“Goodbye, Lando,” I find myself saying, my words taking every bit of strength I have left. As I turn away from him for the last time, I find myself wishing I'd have said no to his kiss. As I walk away from him for the last time, I know now that I’m losing the one real thing I’ve ever known.

The truth is he isn’t a cowboy like me.

[blossom-hwa]

a very fine line, indeed [2] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre:  fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 9.3k notes:  — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true.  Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3

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Beomgyu might have to go down in history as one of the great geniuses of the century, because it is no exaggeration to say that his plan is working splendidly. This isn’t to say there haven’t been a few hiccups—you’ve had to get used to telling your cover story to different people, not to mention having to learn to tolerate one other’s presences for hours at a time, which was no small feat for either of you. For the first few days there were more people than ever trying to get your and his attention because apparently the sight of you two together was just too bizarre to comprehend. Whistledown herself expressed her astonishment for two entire paragraphs in her gossip column, which did give him a good laugh. Overall, though, especially now that those first hellish days are over, Beomgyu feels that the results now far outweigh the initial complications. 

And results there are, even after just a week of pretending to court you. Mostly for him—at the last ball, after the news of this new relationship had spread, only perhaps a third of the mamas from before kept trying to hog his attention. With some luck, in a couple of weeks, even those will disappear too. 

Though there have been results for you too. At that very same ball, after dancing with you not once but twice (following the proper protocol of ninety minutes between each dance, of course), Beomgyu could point out no less than three of his gentleman peers eyeing you in a different light. And for all of your skepticism, when he pointed it out, you had to admit he was right.

Ha. When this is over, Beomgyu will just have to rub this success in your face every time you meet, just to see your teeth grind in that amusing way of yours.

The two of you are promenading in the park today. It is not the sunniest of afternoons, with several grey clouds drifting slowly across the sky, but there is a nice breeze in the air and Beomgyu likes the way it feels against his skin, cool and refreshing compared to the crowded ballrooms. This is nicer than he thought it would be, really. Not just the weather, but you on his arm as well. When you decide to be civil, you can be a strangely pleasant presence.

He would die before admitting this, of course.

On Beomgyu’s arm, you’re also looking at the sky. “This is strange,” you say. 

He blinks. “Strange how?”

“It’s a nice day and I’m promenading in the park with a gentleman and that gentleman is you,” you state plainly. “I never really thought this would happen.”

Beomgyu frowns. “You’ve never gone promenading before?”

“With my family, many times. With suitors, perhaps once or twice. Maybe three times.” You shrug. “My family doesn’t have much money, Mr. Choi. I know it can be difficult to look past my radiant exterior, but once they remember my background and lack of dowry, it is a bit harder to forget.”

Radiant exterior. Beomgyu wants to roll his eyes. Sure, you are beautiful and it’s not something anyone would deny, but you could stand to maintain a humbler image, even if it isn’t quite truthful. “Men are very easily blinded by pretty things, though,” he says, snickering when you roll your own eyes. “I really do find it hard to believe that you have not had a proposal from anyone better than Mr. Thompson.”

“Oh, so you think that I’m pretty?”

Beomgyu gives you the stink eye in response to your mocking grin. “Your beauty is well known throughout the ton, Miss L/N,” he deadpans. “I would be in extremely poor taste if I did not acknowledge it.”

“That is true,” you say, adopting a supercilious expression that Beomgyu almost wants to laugh at. “But...well, I have had one other proposal. It was much less offensive than Mr. Thompson’s. I would rather go insane than marry him,” you add, and this time Beomgyu does give in to the urge to laugh. “Don’t spread the word, for he is now happily married and I do not wish to embarrass him but…Lord Kierston.” You sigh and your gaze turns a little regretful. “Maybe I should have said yes.”

Beomgyu stares. “…The man is at least twice your age. And his breath smells rotten.”

“That is true.” A flicker of a smile shows on your lips, just like the night of that first ball, but before Beomgyu can really catch it, it disappears immediately. “But for all his rotten breath, at least he wouldn’t assault me.”

Beomgyu instantly feels like a jackass. “I apologize. That was insensitive of me.”

“Don’t apologize.” You look at him with half a smile on your face. “If I were in your place I probably would have said the same thing, and then had the exact same reaction.” 

The two of you walk in silence for a few moments. “Maybe that’s why we have never gotten along,” Beomgyu finally muses aloud. 

You look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Why?”

“We’re too much alike,” he replies, smirking. “And because we are the type to butt heads at the slightest invitation, we butt heads with each other far too often.”

“Never compare me to you again.” You shudder. “But I can concede that there might be some truth to your statement.”

“Don’t make that face, you should be honored to be compared to me.” Beomgyu snickers as you roll your eyes again. “But no, in all seriousness, you might not want to make that face. There is a group of men observing you beyond those trees.”

Beomgyu marvels at how quickly you rearrange your features into a pleasant mask, placid and pretty and bland, nothing like the scowls he usually finds himself on the receiving end of. If he didn’t know you he’d say you were the picture of a perfect debutante. You look up at him with a lovely little smile, batting your eyelids just so as your fan flutters gently in your hand, and for just a moment Beomgyu finds himself at a loss for words. 

“What say you?” you whisper, oblivious to his current predicament. “Do I look like I’m actually enjoying your presence?”

He coughs. “Unfortunately, yes,” he says, because he can currently form only two coherent words without needing to choke. He clears his throat slightly. “Christ, where did you learn to playact so well?”

You look around with that same little genuine-but-not smile. It is so unsettling to see that on your face. “Well, when the people around you don’t care much for your wit or sarcasm in favor of your beauty, you find ways to lean into it.” You turn back to him with a meaningful expression. “Only I’m not quite so adept at holding up the façade when it comes to things I dislike.”

Beomgyu squints, affronted. “Did you just refer to me as a thing?”

“Apologies, my lord. Even I couldn’t be so demeaning.” You flash him a brighter, far more sarcastic smile that looks so much more genuine than before, and that he finds much easier to stomach. “Allow me to correct myself. I’m not quite so adept at holding up facades when it comes to things and people I dislike.”

“Well, you’re doing quite an admirable job now,” Beomgyu mutters, casting a wary glance at the group of men. “They seem quite interested in you.” He peers at you, narrowing his eyes just a touch too much to be sincere. “Where did you learn to bat your eyes like that? You almost look normal.”

You glare at him for a split second before returning to your previous serene expression. “It’s a skill all ladies eventually acquire,” you snip back. “You men are very simple. Very weak to perceived beauty.” As if to accentuate your point, you flutter your fan ever so gracefully to coquettishly hide your face. 

Beomgyu raises an amused eyebrow. “Are we truly so simple as that?”

“Of course you are. You said so yourself, earlier.” You snort, then cast a glance over the small group naturally, so naturally. “Lord Fife, is it not?” you say out of the corner of your mouth, giving them a little wave. To Beomgyu’s disgust, one of them actually looks a little starstruck. “And his usual group of friends.”

“I believe so.” He looks away from the scene. They are not the best group of people in the ton, but a far sight better than the likes of Mr. Thompson. “One of them looks quite entranced by you.”

A small snort puffs out of your nose. Against his will, Beomgyu almost finds it endearing. “He might be starstruck, but his mother gave me the cut direct once when she found out I had no dowry.” You roll your eyes, but your smile has dimmed. “I won’t say it is hopeless, but his mother isn’t the type to allow her son to marry someone like me. At least not without a fight.”

“Then he should grow a spine and stand up to her, if he really wanted you,” Beomgyu mutters. You look at him sharply, eyes narrowed, but before he can try to decipher your expression his eye catches on a familiar couple in the distance and he blanches. “Oh, God.”

You follow his gaze and react equally as badly. “Why did you not tell me they’d be here?” you hiss. 

“Does it look like I knew they would?” he hisses back. 

Fast approaching the two of you are Soobin and his wife. Unfortunately for Beomgyu, Soobin is his damn brother and his wife is, if he remembers correctly, one of your good friends. Soobin decided to stay in the country for a couple weeks longer than Beomgyu did so he hasn’t been around to ask questions, but apparently that respite is gone now too. “Just remember the cover story,” he mutters. 

“You remember the cover story,” you snipe back. “I know it just fine.”

He wants to retort but Soobin is waving, which means Beomgyu has to acknowledge his brother’s presence. He pastes a smile onto his face, making it as phony as possible. “Good afternoon,” he says with false cheerfulness, shooting his brother a look. “Soobin, I didn’t know you would be back today.”

“We only returned a few hours ago,” Soobin replies, smiling brightly at Beomgyu’s nonplussed expression. “My wife and I wanted some fresh air after so long spent in the carriage, so we came out for a walk. And what good fortune—” his gaze slides to you somewhat warily— “to see the two of you here.”

“It is lovely to see you,” you say prettily, bobbing a little curtsy. “Especially you, Lady Choi.” The two of you smile brightly at each other, and Beomgyu is once again privy to a side of you that has never appeared before him. “How was the country?”

“Most refreshing, though I suppose it is good to be back in town,” Lady Choi answers for the two of them. Beomgyu fakes a gag at Soobin’s doe-eyed expression of bliss when he turns to his wife, which earns him a pinch from you. “Might I ask…” Her eyes turn curious as she gestures to the two of you. “When did this happen? Certainly we have not missed so much in just a few weeks.”

“You did miss quite a bit, unfortunately,” you reply. Your face betrays no fear but Beomgyu feels your grip tighten on his arm. With his own heart beating a little faster than usual, he honestly welcomes it. “Quite a few things happen in the span of weeks.”

Lady Choi looks at you, nonplussed. “With all due respect to you both, this—” she waves a hand at the two of you again—“is not something that could have happened in just a week or two.”

If only you knew. 

Judging by the tightness of your arm in his, your thoughts are the same, but when you look up at him with a pleasant smile, Beomgyu is certain he would never be able to tell by looking at your face alone. “Well, you are correct. This didn’t happen overnight.” You laugh so naturally, with just the right hint of shyness and embarrassment that one would expect from your enemies to courtship situation. “Last summer, we agreed that our…ongoing feud was too childish to continue. So we decided to finally put it behind us.”

“Yes,” Beomgyu jumps in. As well as you are handling the situation, he can’t exactly leave you to do everything alone. “We began exchanging letters shortly after.” Thank God he’d gotten into the habit of writing regular correspondence with Kai and Taehyun over the past year, or else Soobin would smell a rat immediately. “And when the season came…well, we decided to see how a courtship would work between the two of us.”

“I see,” Soobin says slowly, looking between the two of you. “And how exactly is it working?”

You shrug with the perfect amount of levity. Again, Beomgyu is in unfortunate awe at how well you act. Maybe it is a good thing you can’t hold yourself back when it comes to dislike or aggravation—otherwise, you would be unsettlingly perfect. “Well enough.”

“Well, it is good to see my good friend and brother in law finally getting along.” Lady Choi claps her hands together, smile bright, hopefully oblivious to Beomgyu privately wanting to gag. “We shall have to have the two of you over sometime, shouldn’t we, Soobin?”

“Of course we should,” Soobin agrees with a little too much enthusiasm. Beomgyu’s heart spasms unsteadily as his brother smiles at him cryptically. “I suppose our teasing last season about you finding your lady love in your own sworn enemy did have some level of truth to it?”

You look at him curiously, something mischievously dangerous glinting in your eyes. Beomgyu does not look back at you. “I suppose it did,” he replies through mildly gritted teeth. 

“Well, we will not keep you any longer,” Lady Choi says with a smile that leaves Beomgyu—and you, if your expression is anything to go by—a little warier than before. “Soobin, let’s leave the young couple to their promenade. Us married folks can’t relate to them, nowadays.” Ignoring your sputters of “you are hardly three years older than me!”, she tucks her arm merrily into Soobin’s and leads him away, though Soobin sends Beomgyu one last meaningful glance before he allows himself to be dragged off. 

You and Beomgyu travel on sedately for a few steps before Beomgyu casts a glance backward and says, “We’re safe.”

Immediately you let out a massive sigh, and your grip on his arm loosens significantly. Christ, he hadn’t realized you were holding onto him so tightly until you let go. “That was not in my hand of cards for today,” you mutter. “Though perhaps it is better we got that out of the way sooner rather than later.” You look at him. “Do you think they believed us?”

“If they don’t, it will have not been any fault of yours,” he answers frankly. He’s loath to admit it, but it’s true. “You acted very well.”

Your mouth opens in surprise. “Well, thank you,” you reply slowly, like you’re not quite sure what to make of his words. Beomgyu privately feels the same way, but he also feels the need to give credit where credit is due, so he shoves the strangeness of the feeling away to process later. Maybe never. “I could say the same for you.”

“Thank you,” he says, still feeling slightly off-kilter for whatever reason. It’s probably just the conversation with Soobin. Then he groans. “Did she say they’d invite us to dinner?”

You sigh. “Unfortunately, I think she did.” You mutter something under your breath in addition that Beomgyu doesn’t really hear. He catches something that sounds like evil friends, though, and decides that he probably agrees with your sentiment. “Anyway, what did Lord Choi say about last season? Something about teasing you about your worst enemy?” You narrow your eyes, evil amusement glinting in your eyes. “I am assuming he spoke of me.”

“Oh, that.” Beomgyu silently curses his brother for being the annoyance that he is. “If you must know, my friends decided to take our disagreements out of context and thought that because I had never paid more attention to a woman in my life, I must actually be in love with you, otherwise I’d never have held on to this grudge for as long as I have.”

For a moment, you remain silent. Then you burst into hysterical laughter. 

Beomgyu watches, bemused, as you hide behind your fan, still trembling with giggles as he continues to lead you forward. “I didn’t think it was that funny,” he mutters when you eventually start to calm down.

“Oh, but it is hilarious.” You wipe a tear from your eye, the last few rounds of laughter still shaking your chest. “You, being in love with me because we disagree so often? Tell me, are your friends quite all right in the head? Perhaps I should ask Lady Choi to get her husband checked.” 

“Well, I would agree with you on that front.” Beomgyu gives in to your amusement and cracks a smile. “But in their defense, I am almost certain they were joking.”

“Almost certain.” You snort, looking up at him with a sardonic half-smile that looks so much more natural than the pretty, placid expression you had on earlier. “Well, good thing their delusion isn’t true, because that would be simply absurd.”

Despite himself, Beomgyu returns your conspiratorial smile. How ironic it is that he feels much closer to you in this moment, sharing this secret and laughing at his friends, than any other time before. “You’re right,” he agrees, snickering. “It would be absolutely absurd.”

. . . . .

Dry the linens, scrub pots, clean the kitchen… You hurry down the corridors of your home, listing your tasks over and over so you won’t forget. Last time you missed something, your stepmother slapped you hard across the face. She’s been doing that more often lately—frustrated at your lack of marriage prospects, you think, even though you’d think that having to heal from her bruising you black and blue would only hurt your chances even more. It’s a small miracle that the scratch mark from her ring healed enough for you to hide before the next ball you were set to attend. 

“Here, let me help with that, Miss L/N.” A familiar voice sounds by your ear, and then your load lightens as a pair of hands takes half the linens out of your tub. “Drying, right?”

You shoot Soyoung a very grateful smile. “Yes. And how many times have I told you to call me by my name?” you scold. “It’s awfully stuffy to hear you call me that—we can be casual together.”

“Even though your stepmother may not treat you like it, you are still a lady of the house,” Soyoung retorts. The two of you exit the house into the fresh air of the garden. “I will not disrespect you or myself by behaving otherwise.”

“Come now, Soyoung,” you beseech as the two of you pull one of the linens out of the tubs. Each holding one end, you begin twisting to get as much of the water out as possible. “You must admit that it’s a bit awkward for me to call you by your name when you won’t do the same for me.” Which is true, and which is why you’ve brought the topic up time and time again even though Soyoung—and the other servants’—response is always the same. 

You’ve managed to squeeze most of the water out of the sheet by now, so you toss it over one of the drying lines hanging outside. Soyoung helps you pull it flat on both sides until it hangs properly, then looks at you with more solemnity than you’ve ever seen on her face. “My lady, I and the staff respect you,” she says seriously. “Not because we are required to, like with your stepmother, but because you have always been good and kind to us even before she started ordering you around like one of us. Thus, I must show you the respect we would give the lady of the house.” She huffs. “You shouldn’t even have to do any of this, yet you handle everything without complaint on top of all your own embroidery and mending—”

You clap a hand over her mouth. Then you wince, because your hands are still wet. “Shh,” you hiss, searching the garden. No sign of your stepmother, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t near. “Not too loudly.”

Soyoung gulps when you release her. “Of course. I apologize.”

“It’s all right.” You smile. “And I must apologize for pushing you so hard on the matter of my name. If you truly feel this way, I shall not try to move you any further.”

She smiles back, and the two of you begin on another one of the sheets. “Thank you, my lady.”

Water drips on the grass, dotting the hem of your dress and seeping into the cracks on your hands. You keep a smile on your face as Soyoung chatters on about some gossip she heard from other servants in town, but inside you can’t help but feel a little more alone. It is true you have friends, both in the noble sphere and among your fellow servants, but with your in-between status as half a lady, half a servant, you can’t help but wonder where you stand. Your noble friends do not know of your home situation. Your servant friends do, but while they laugh and joke around you more easily than most, there is still a status difference.

You sigh. If it wouldn’t bring the worst of your family’s financial troubles to light, you might tell Lady Choi. But being worked as a servant would bring even worse ridicule to yourself than your lack of a dowry—not to mention there's not a single man in the ton who would deign to marry a servant, even half a servant like you. If you want to leave this house, you need to marry, so no one can know your situation...but it doesn’t mean you don’t feel alone. 

“Oh!” Soyoung’s exclamation jolts you out of your brief wallow in self-pity. “I heard something about you, my lady.” Suddenly her face is in front of yours, her dark eyes wide with curiosity and mischief. “Is it true that Mr. Choi is courting you?”

“What—” You choke on air and start coughing.

“My lady?” Soyoung pats your back, but she’s far too gentle for it to actually do anything. “Are you all right?”

“Quite,” you manage, holding out a hand. You wheeze out a few more coughs before you can finally look at her. “What did you ask me, again?”

She looks at you with wide, eager eyes. “Is it true that Mr. Choi is courting you?”

Good God. Well, you should have expected it. If the nobles are talking about it, the servants most definitely are. They hear far more than anyone ever expects—many times you’ve learned things about society that you never wanted to know from Soyoung and the others. You sigh. “It’s not quite true,” you hedge. Not the truth, but not a lie either. “We patched our relationship, somewhat. And so we decided to see what would come of a courtship. Do not misunderstand things,” you warn when Soyoung’s smile grows too bright. “I don’t know what will come of it. Neither of us does.”

Soyoung’s shoulders slump. “Oh. I see.” She looks up at you. “Forgive me, my lady. I was only…I was so happy when I heard he might have an interest in you. I know you have had your disagreements in the past, but whenever I have seen him he has always been a kind man. I thought the two of you could be quite happy together.”

Damn. Now you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy. Even though Soyoung’s interpretation of the situation is almost laughable—how could you and Mr. Choi be happy together? Even now you still have to keep yourself from hissing obscenities at him every time you see him—but she’s still your friend and only wants your happiness. “I mean, we don’t know how things will proceed,” you say, hanging up the second sheet. “Anything could happen.“ A gust of wind blows the still damp cloth onto your face. “Ugh—”

“Miss L/N!”

You flail around for a moment before you manage to tug the wet sheet off your face. “Huh? Brighton?”

Your family butler always looks put together, but for the first time ever, you detect a hint of panic in his eyes. “My lady,” he says. “Mr. Choi has come to call on you.”

. . .

You never thought you could get cleaned and dressed so quickly. 

In all honesty, you’re not sure what happened over the past twenty minutes. It was a whirlwind of activity—Soyoung nearly choked, Brighton said something about telling Mr. Choi you were out, and then Soyoung was dragging you back into the house via the kitchen all the while hissing something like you said he wasn’t really courting you! Then somehow you were smuggled to your room and Soyoung had pulled out a dress and Sabine popped out of nowhere to pick out your accessories and then you were being dragged out of the house again through the servants’ quarters to make it look like you just arrived back from town—

And now you are in your own drawing room, still processing the events of the past half hour with Mr. Choi standing in front of you, flowers in hand. 

“Miss L/N,” he says, bowing slightly as he extends the flowers to you. “A pleasure to see you today.”

You take the bouquet with numb fingers. “And a pleasure to see you as well.” Thankfully, the practiced words roll off your tongue easily even in your frazzled state. “Thank you for the flowers. I hope I didn’t leave you waiting too long.”

“Not long at all,” he replies smoothly. “I understand you were in town?”

“Oh, yes. I was trying to find some…” You rack your mind for something to say that might be believable, painfully aware of the growing silence. “Gloves,” you finally blurt out, looking down at the thin cloth covering your hands. You just mended them yesterday, and thank God for that. “Please, do sit down,” you say, wincing internally at Mr. Choi’s lingering glance on your hands, and the slightly raised eyebrow he shows you as he sits on the couch. “I’m not quite sure where my stepmother is, but Brighton should serve as an adequate chaperone until—”

“Y/N.” Your stepmother’s voice rings sharply from the corridor and in your surprise, you flinch. Mr. Choi looks at you sharply, a strange expression on his face—concern? Strange indeed, coming from him—but you’ve already schooled your features into what you hope is a bland, pleasant façade. Her footsteps echo ominously on the floor as her voice grows louder. “Why do I hear you in the drawing room? I thought I told you to—”

“My lady.” Brighton cuts in, saving you from a near panic attack. “A Mr. Choi has come to call.”

“A caller?” Her voice suddenly switches from its previous cold tones to the much silkier, smoother voice she uses in society. You look down to see your hands clutching your gown far too tightly and force yourself to release them. The footsteps get faster. “For my Y/N?”

My Y/N. You barely manage not to gag. Though apparently you don’t quite hide it well enough, because Mr. Choi looks at you even more closely. “Miss L/N,” he murmurs, and you can see that there is real concern in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

Fortunately—or unfortunately, really—you’re saved from having to give him a coherent response when your mother sweeps into the room. You’ve always marveled at how she is able to keep her snooty, evil countenance at bay whenever she is in the presence of company. You’re no blood relation of hers, but the sickening thought occurs to you that you may have learned a thing or two about switching faces from her. “Mr. Choi,” she says warmly, like she didn’t yell at you for hours earlier this morning about not having the drawing room dusted quickly enough. “I apologize for not being here to welcome you in.”

The two of you stand. “Do not worry at all, my lady.” Mr. Choi bows slightly, the smile returned to his face. “Your daughter did the job admirably.”

“Of course she did.” She spares you the briefest of glances—good, because you wouldn’t be able to continue smiling if she decided to look right at you—and gestures for you to sit down again. “Please, do not stand on my account. I will have someone bring in biscuits. Y/N, how could you have forgotten to give our guest some refreshment?” And with that parting jab, she whisks out of the room, leaving you feeling murderous and somewhat lightheaded all at once. 

Mr. Choi looks after her a moment, then turns to you. “Your stepmother,” he says, looking vaguely bemused. He clearly doesn’t know what to say. If you weren’t still struggling to breathe normally, you’d laugh at him. 

Unfortunately, your conversational skills seem to have been swept away by your stepmother’s arrival, so all you can do is echo his words. “Yes,” you say. “My stepmother.”

You lapse into awkward silence that you don’t know how to break. Even yelling would be better than this dead quiet, but you don’t know how to break it. Eventually Beomgyu clears his throat. “Miss L/N, are you sure this is a good time?” he asks quietly. “I can call another day if it would suit you better.”

You glance at the clock. It has hardly been five minutes since you entered the room, and for all you dislike him, you feel bad turning him away this early, especially after he waited for so long. Also, your stepmother might yell at you for chasing away yet another suitor who might take you off her hands. But keeping him longer means less time that you have for finishing your chores, not to mention that you’re starting to get a headache…

Well, if your stepmother is displeased with you, she’ll end up giving you more chores and maybe a slap to boot. You can stomach Mr. Choi for a short while longer. Besides, it will at least keep up your pretense of courtship. Aware of all the servants’ eyes in the room, and aware that they truly believe you and Mr. Choi to be courting, you manage to paste a small smile on your lips. “No, don’t leave so soon.” You force the smile a little wider. “My stepmother has already gone to find you some refreshment—you must not leave without having tried them first.” You lean closer, lowering your voice as though to tell him a secret. “Our cook’s butter biscuits are the best.” 

Mr. Choi scrutinizes you for a long moment, during which you try your best to decipher what his expression means to no avail. “Very well,” he says finally with a soft smile to mirror your own and even though you know he dislikes you, in this moment, he seems very genuine. For some idiotic reason this threatens to bring tears to your eyes but you manage to push them back. “For the butter biscuits, I will stay.”

You manage to make some small talk until there’s a commotion in the hall. Your stepmother appears in the doorway, looking harried and vaguely annoyed, and you see the reason when your little sister blinks her mischievous eyes behind her mother. “Delia, no,” she hisses, as a servant maneuvers a tray of biscuits around the two of them. “It is not proper!”

“But I want to see Y/N and her suitor!” Delia cries. Despite the situation, you smile. “You said I could be there when I was older, it’s not fair—”

“Please don’t have her leave on my account,” Mr. Choi interrupts. You look at him in surprise, but he’s already smiling warmly at your younger sister. “Delia, is it?” he asks, holding out his hands. 

For all her previous bravado, Delia shuffles forward somewhat shyly, shrinking away slightly when Mr. Choi takes her little hands. “Hello,” she mumbles. 

You pat her head gently. “Mr. Choi, please meet my younger sister, Delia.” You smile at her. “Introduce yourself, Delia.”

Not for the first time, you have to hide how adorable you find your little sister as she looks up at Mr. Choi with her big, soft eyes. “My name is Delia,” she whispers. 

“A pleasure to meet you. That is a lovely name,” Mr. Choi says, and he sounds perfectly sincere. For a moment you hold as still as you can just to take in the picture of his soft smile directed right at your sister, his large hands holding her small ones, her wide eyes blinking trustingly into his. It’s a strange portrait, but a surprisingly lovely one. “How old are you, Delia?”

“Ten,” she whispers. 

“Almost eleven,” you add. “Her birthday will be in a few months.”

“A very good age to be.” Mr. Choi nods approvingly. 

Delia blinks, her face solemn. “Are you going to marry my sister?” she asks. 

You choke. So does Mr. Choi. Someone hands the two of you some water and your stepmother steps in, her lips pinched in disapproval as she makes apologies and tries to take Delia away, but Mr. Choi waves her off. “Well, nothing is set in stone yet,” he says conversationally, though you still detect some redness in his cheeks. “But if all goes well, it is possible.”

Your sister nods solemnly. “I see.”

“I apologize, Mr. Choi, but this really isn’t proper.” Your stepmother takes Delia by the hand and tugs her away. “Delia, come back to the nursery. You can play with your brother there.”

You have to stifle a laugh when Delia starts complaining that Henry is annoying, that he’s boring and only ever wants to play with his toy soldiers, and when you look to Mr. Choi, he seems to be having trouble suppressing his smile, too. “She’s adorable,” he says when they’ve left the room. 

“Very much so,” you agree. One of the few bright spots about your stepmother marrying your father. “You’re very good with children.”

“It depends on the child,” he says, and you almost snort. He gives you a half smile that doesn’t even look forced. “I jest. They are very interesting creatures, and see the world so differently from us jaded elders. They are very adorable, and I like them very much.”

This time, you can’t hold back your laugh. It’s a strange feeling, holding polite, natural conversation with Mr. Choi without it devolving into some argument, but you can’t say you don’t find it pleasant. You know that if he provoked you at this moment, you’d still rise to the bait in a second, but right now you can’t help but let your feelings toward him soften ever so slightly. “I do agree with you,” you say, smiling. 

He looks at the clock, then, and turns back to you, looking vaguely put out. “I apologize, but I must go now,” he says, standing up. You follow suit. “I have an appointment with my family’s solicitor. But it was very good to see you, Miss L/N, and to meet your family.” He glances at the biscuits and smiles. “The butter biscuits were wonderful as well.”

You make your goodbyes, and then your stepmother comes in just in time to catch Mr. Choi before he’s fully out the door so she fusses over him some more. When he leaves, you try to sneak out of the room before she can start questioning you, but to no avail. “Y/N.”

You sigh, then turn around. “Yes?”

“Mr. Choi?” she states. Her eyes are narrow, flinty, sharp. “I was under the impression you disliked him.”

You hold yourself as still as possible. “Things change, Stepmother.”

For a long moment, you hold her gaze, saying nothing. She finally breaks the silence with a sharp tch. “Well, as long as he takes you off my hands, I don’t care what your relations with him are,” she says. “Take care not to sour them.” She sneers at you. “Now get back to your chores. You should be finished before our supper with the Haynesworths.”

Supper with the Haynesworths. As if the day could get any worse. You grit your teeth and nod, giving her a brief curtsy. If murder were legal… “Of course, Stepmother.”

. . . . .

If murder were legal, Beomgyu isn’t certain his brother would still be the heir. In his defense, Soobin would deserve it—no one so evil as to force his poor younger brother to attend the annual Smythe-Smith musicale with him is suited for the family title. 

Unfortunately, murder isn’t legal, and honestly, Soobin’s own attendance at the dreaded musicale might be punishment enough for his crimes against Beomgyu. Why people still show up, Beomgyu has no idea—he suspects it has something to do with politeness—but one has to wonder how the Smythe-Smith family has gone generations without hearing a single comment about how truly little talent their daughters have. If the Smythe-Smiths weren’t so influential and kind, surely someone would have said something already. 

They are just—terrible. Beomgyu himself is no musician but he can at least carry a tune. The Smythe-Smith girls don’t seem to even know what a tune is. According to Taehyun, who by unfortunate chance happened to be in town last year when the musicale took place, no one should be able to play a string instrument like that, all screechy and squeaky and off-tune. And yet, apparently, the tradition of Smythe-Smith daughters performing an annual quartet has continued for several generations. 

They actually think that they are good. 

All of which is to say that because Yeonjun has oh-so-regretfully cited baby related concerns as his reason not to attend this year, Soobin is forcing Beomgyu to go. And when Beomgyu pointed out that Taehyun was also attending, Taehyun immediately stated that because Kai wasn’t going to be there, Beomgyu would have to take his place. To share in the misery, or something like that. 

(Beomgyu feels very bad for Taehyun’s wife. She’s never been to one of the musicales before and keeps asking how bad it really could be. Unfortunately for her ears, she is a world-renowned pianist, and Beomgyu isn’t certain she will come out of the musicale alive.)

Which is why on this fine evening, Beomgyu finds himself being dragged kicking and screaming to the Smythe-Smith’s grand London home. Soobin is extremely adamant in his philosophy of “if I have to suffer, so do you,” and his wife just likes to see the world burn—Beomgyu’s world, specifically. “I’m going to get you both back for this,” he mutters under his breath as they join the crowd thronging into the Smythe-Smith’s home. 

“Did you say something, Beomgyu?” his sister in law asks sweetly, glancing back at him with a sickly smile. 

Beomgyu returns the smile with equal sincerity. “Nothing at all, sister.”

They enter the reception room, where they find Taehyun and his wife standing morosely in a corner. “—can’t be that bad,” Beomgyu hears as they approach. “Not if they’ve been holding performances for generations.”

“Oh, they are that bad. Possibly worse,” Soobin mutters. 

Lady Kang still looks unconvinced. Bless her musician heart.

“The musicale hasn’t started yet,” Beomgyu says hopefully. “There is still time to fake a horrific headache or the plague and make it back home safely.”

“And exactly how would the five of us manage to get away with that?” Taehyun says, raising an eyebrow. He tosses back the rest of his drink like his life depends on it, which it very well might. “No,” he declares with grim certainty. “If one of us has to be here, all of us have to be.”

Beomgyu groans, but deep inside he knows it really is too late to run anyway, so he just picks up a drink and prays that it will get him through what is to come. Lady Choi leads Lady Kang off to a group of their friends, so Beomgyu makes idle chatter with Taehyun and his brother until a familiar face catches his eye. 

Your expression is so blank when you meet his gaze that Beomgyu almost laughs. He’s never seen a person more resigned to their fate than you in this moment, plodding along just behind your stepmother with about as much will to live as Beomgyu feels right now. Even without asking, he knows you’ve been to one of the musicales before, and he knows you’ve been dragged along this time too. 

“Is that Miss L/N?” Soobin asks, squinting. “Poor woman.”

Poor woman, indeed. For all the ill will between the two of you, Beomgyu wouldn’t wish the Smythe-Smith musicale on anyone, not even you. 

By now you’ve caught Beomgyu’s eye as well. A tiny smirk lifts the corners of your mouth, and without hesitation, you begin wading your way through the mess of people over towards his little group. “Lord Choi, Mr. Choi. Lord Kang.” You make a short, pretty curtsy. “Allow me to convey my deepest apologies for seeing you here this evening. Not because I don’t particularly wish to see any of you, but because if you are here, you might be carted out on a hospital wagon within the next hour or so.”

Beomgyu chokes into his drink. Next to him, Taehyun looks to be biting back some sort of chuckle, and Soobin just laughs. “A pleasure to see you too, Miss L/N,” he says, smiling warmly. “I take it you’ve been to one of these before.”

“Two years ago.” You shudder, and it doesn’t even look exaggerated. “I am no accomplished musician, but I am almost certain the piano is not meant to be played the way I saw.” Your expression turns mischievous. “I’m afraid I found myself ill the next year.”

“Not ill this year, then?” Beomgyu asks. 

You look at him, and to Beomgyu’s surprise, a moment of genuine amusement passes between you two. “My illness was unfortunately not believed.”

Soobin bursts into laughter. “Miss L/N, I’m so glad you are on better terms with my brother now,” he snickers, hopefully not seeing the sidelong glance you and Beomgyu share. “Your wit was always the best part of our gatherings when we were younger.”

You shoot Beomgyu a triumphant glance that makes him want to grind his teeth. “I am honored to hear that you hold me in such high regard,” you say sweetly, so sweetly Beomgyu thinks he’s going to have a headache. He’d certainly fake it and leave if he wasn’t supposed to be courting you. Unfortunately, though, the crowd is starting to shift towards the hall, so even if he tried to escape Soobin or Taehyun would definitely catch him. “It looks like the music is starting soon,” Beomgyu says, hoping you catch the hint.

Fortunately, you do. “I will leave you for the musicale, then,” you say, searching the crowd for someone. “I must find my stepmother.” 

Unfortunately, Soobin does not catch any hints whatsoever, so he interrupts. “Sit with us,” he invites, oblivious to Beomgyu screaming at him with his mind. “You can bring your stepmother, I’m sure no one would mind.”

If Beomgyu hadn’t been looking at you, he would have missed the slight shadow that passes over your eyes, the miniscule wince that pinches the corner of your mouth at the mention of your stepmother. Your features turn pleasant so fast that he almost wonders if he was imagining things, but even as you agree and go to wave your stepmother over, a feeling of unease settles at the back of his mind. You look the same, act the same even as you follow your stepmother into the hall, but only when you settle into seats next to each other does something finally twig for Beomgyu.

You sat together like this in your drawing room when he called on you last week. When you hurried in, having just come back from town on a search for gloves, when your stepmother walked in and you froze for a moment. Beomgyu looks at you sideways, sitting placidly on your chair, hands folded neatly in your lap. Is it just his imagination, or do your fingers look more clenched than usual?

And aren’t those the same gloves you were wearing last week? In fact, the same gloves you almost always wear? He frowns. Last week you just said you went shopping for a new pair—did you not buy any?

The sound of muted applause temporarily distracts him as the musicians step onto the stage. He dutifully joins in, but as the crowd begins to settle, Beomgyu allows his mind to wander back to you and your small miscellany of strange actions he’s seen this evening. It might be disrespectful not to listen to the music—good God, even their tuning sounds terrible—but Beomgyu is already being respectful enough by showing up. The only other requirement for respect as far as he’s concerned is to just get through the program, and everyone knows the best way to get through a Smythe-Smith musicale is to focus on anything other than the music. 

A cacophony of screeching starts sounding from the stage. Beomgyu peeks over at Lady Kang and almost cackles out loud. Horror, disgust, and regret war on her features while Taehyun looks quietly miserable next to her. On their other side, Soobin has already spaced out and is staring blankly into the distance, and Lady Choi seems to be fighting back tears. 

Beomgyu looks sideways at you. You look even more resigned than before if that is even possible, your features arranged in an expression of silent pain and suffering. Your hands have changed position in your lap from their previous polite fold to clenched fists. Beomgyu agrees with that sentiment. But your clenched fingers remind him of the day he called, when your butler called your mother in and he looked down to see your hands balled in your gown, very similar to how they are now. 

He glances at your stepmother. Her face always seems to be pinched—pinched right now, pinched when she took Delia out of the drawing room, pinched even when she smiled to greet him that day. He’s never really heard anything about her—she married your father when Beomgyu was going off to boarding school, and anyway your families never really became close after it became abundantly clear that you and Beomgyu couldn’t be in the same room without trying to fight. She doesn’t walk in the same circles as he, and she doesn’t appear much in Whistledown. Come to think of it, in your family, the only one who keeps managing to make a fuss in society is you. 

All of this just means Beomgyu doesn’t know much about your stepmother, and thus based off of prior information, he can’t form much of an opinion on her. But there’s something about her continual sour countenance that rubs him the wrong way. And…

The day he called, before she knew Beomgyu was in the drawing room, your stepmother called for you. Instead of the screeching music piercing his ears from onstage, he hears her cold voice asking why you were in the drawing room, why you weren’t doing whatever it is she wanted you to do before the butler interrupted. As soon as he announced Beomgyu’s presence, her tone changed. 

Right. He remembers the sudden shift jarring him, then seeing your expression grow strange in a way he couldn’t describe—something like discomfort, but worse. 

Beomgyu glances over at you again. Well, you look uncomfortable now, but that could very well be because of the tragedy occurring onstage. He himself has half a mind to explode his eardrums right here and now.

No matter. Beomgyu thinks back to the other day. He asked if you were all right, and you said…well, you said nothing. Your stepmother interrupted with her welcome. And then there was the headache of having to hold small talk with you, then the flurry of meeting your absolutely adorable younger sister before he actually had to leave, and between all the legal discussion that followed at the solicitor’s and the drinks at Mondrich’s after, he didn’t think much of the day after that. 

Well, he’s thinking about it now. And now that he has actually applied his brain to your situation, Beomgyu finds himself coming to the conclusion that you don’t get along with your stepmother. At all. And not in the usual way that children fight with their parents every so often—this dislike seems to be deeply rooted somewhere else. 

Maybe that isn’t so surprising, given that your stepmother is not your birth mother. Beomgyu can understand how that might start conflict in a family. But he looks at your clenched hands and remembers how your fingers balled into your gown in something like…anxiety. Maybe even fear. 

Do you fear your stepmother?

No. That must be going too far. Beomgyu shakes his head slightly. How could you, a veritable spitfire, be frightened of anyone? Besides, all of this is based just off of speculation from one day. While he’s fairly certain you and your stepmother are not on good terms, to assume anything else would be pure conjecture, and he isn’t ready to go that far. 

Applause breaks out throughout the hall and Beomgyu nearly jumps. He hadn’t realized the program was over, but he’s so grateful that he joins in on the clapping with enthusiastic verve. As everyone begins filing out back into the previous reception room, he hears Lady Kang tell her husband they need to go home immediately. Smart woman. It would have been smarter to not have come at all, though. 

Next to him, you heave out an audible sigh of relief. “Oh my God,” you mutter. “It was so much worse than I remembered.”

“It always is,” Beomgyu mumbles back. “Oh, look—refreshments.” He jerks his head to a table laden with drinks and small trays. “Shall we?”

You glance back at your stepmother, and maybe it is just his imagination, but you seem slightly more relieved when you realize the refreshments table will be taking you far away from her. “That would be lovely.”

The two of you make your way through the crowd in time for Beomgyu to snag two of the last glasses of lemonade from the table. He hands one to you, then raises his. “To our everlasting health,” he says, “and the preservation of our eardrums.”

You laugh out loud. It’s a lovely, bright sound that almost takes Beomgyu aback for a moment—surely he could not have made something so genuinely happy leave your lips like this. But you only raise your glass with an accompanying smile, and Beomgyu can’t help but smile back when you echo his sentiments, then take a sip of your drink. “I will be honest, I found myself praying my eardrums would explode halfway through,” you admit under your breath. 

“Me too,” Beomgyu agrees. “I thought the performance would never end.” He snickers, a memory returning to him. “Did you see Lady Kang’s face?”

You laugh again, bright and genuine. “It was one of the first things I looked for,” you say, mischief entering your eyes. “And it was absolutely priceless.”

And that’s it. That’s how easy it is, apparently, to hold a conversation with you that isn’t full of barbs and taunts and teeth gritted between every retort. Beomgyu doesn’t know if you find this as strange as he does, but for all its strangeness, he likes it more than he probably should. So he says nothing of it, and neither do you, and as your glasses are slowly emptied, the only barbs you share are those Beomgyu would say are of…friends. 

Friends. He never thought he’d use that word in conjunction with you. But right here, with lemonade in hand and the screeching strains of a violin fading in his ears, it doesn’t seem so out of place. 

Too soon, you finish off your glasses. Beomgyu turns to the refilled table to pick up two more, but before he can extend another one to you, someone else’s hand appears in front of you. 

Beomgyu blinks. You blink. Both of you turn to meet eyes with Lord Kim, and a few other gentlemen standing behind him. 

“Mr. Choi. Miss L/N.” Lord Kim gives Beomgyu a brief nod before turning back to you. “Might I offer you a glass of lemonade?” 

You look at Lord Kim and his group, then at Beomgyu. Slowly, you reach out to take the glass from Lord Kim’s hand. “Thank you, my lord,” you say quietly. 

Beomgyu watches the exchange, feeling oddly detached from the scene. His brain is doing something strange in his head. Why is it that he resents Lord Kim for interrupting the two of you, and why is it that he seems to want to continue his conversation with you?

“Might I take the opportunity to speak with you, Miss L/N?” Lord Kim asks. “I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of being formally introduced, and I’d like to take the chance to do so.” He gives Beomgyu a little smile that seems to lack any fondness whatsoever. “It seems Mr. Choi has been keeping a rare jewel hidden from the rest of the ton.”

Inwardly, Beomgyu bristles. He never kept you hidden, and anyway, if Lord Kim thought you were such a jewel, why didn’t he pursue you during either of your previous seasons? Instead, though, he forces himself to smile back. After all, this is what he is here for. To help you find a husband. You’ve already done your part of driving away determined mamas and delusional admirers. It’s time for him to uphold his part of the bargain, and this is the first time a man has showed such direct interest in you. He has no right to refuse you the opportunity. “Could you blame me for wanting to keep such a gem to my own self?” he retorts with an easy grace honed only by years spent in society. “But should you like to speak with Miss L/N, I will not refuse you the chance to be in her presence.”

You give him a little smile before you leave, something like gratitude glinting softly in your eyes as you let Lord Kim lead you away. Beomgyu tells himself he’s happy, that he has you out of his hair and out of his realm of responsibility, that he no longer has to feign pleasantry he doesn’t actually feel around you. He can’t quite explain away the bitter feeling on his tongue as you leave, though.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[redcoralpot]

Smudged - Rodrick Heffley x FTM! Reader

Summary: Rodrick had been chasing after Heather for a year, now, even after ruining her birthday party. Chicks dig bad boys, right? However, one day, he stumbles upon a family member that even he didn't know she had, one that awakens a part of him that he didn't know existed.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3.3K

Notes: I had to fight Google Docs to finish this. AHHHHHHHHHH

-

The sun beat down on your arms, with rough concrete scratching your palms. Your ankles were dipped into the pool, a cool feeling enveloping them, and you used this to your advantage. A pink pool doughnut floated past, manipulated by the soft waves coming from other visitors, and you reached a foot out of the water with a splash! 

“What the hell!” Heather shrieked, attempting to paddle away from you. “Don’t get your toe-water on me, freak!”

“Like I care,” you snickered, raising your foot to do it again.

“You’re going to start caring when I dump your eyeliner in the toilet!”

A pout tugged on your lips, “Hey, now, that’s going a little far, don’t you think?”

“Like I care,” she sneered, rolling her eyes.

 The threat worked well enough, and you lowered your weapon, letting a hiss of air move a wisp out of your eyes. At least she wasn’t going to hide your pins inside the cookie jar… again. 

You spread a sheen of water across your biceps, attempting to quell the heat that built up from the minutes spent sitting on the edge. It only provided a sense of relief for a moment before a shadow loomed over your little spot, the temperature dropping with the rays missing. A groan built up in your throat; he was here.

Rodrick Heffley. The infamous man himself; the lead singer and drummer of the one band that ruined a girl’s birthday party for the sake of courting her, a serenade full of copyright instead of romance. That girl happened to be the most popular in the school, the one that every guy was tripping over himself over. The one who, rather unfortunately, happened to be your sister. 

Your neck twisted upwards, just to look at him, “What?”

“Didn’t know Heather had a brother,” he said, with a smug smile on his face.

“Huh.” You grinned, “I assumed you saw me at her party.”

The smile dropped, and was replaced with a sheepish look,  “Uh, yeah, I was busy.”

“That’s a gentle way to put it.”

He cleared his throat, struggling to not take the bait, “But, hey, what grade are you in? I’ve never seen you around.”

“Same grade, different schools. We’re twins.”

“Oh, damn, really? I couldn’t tell, you two don’t look the same, at all!”

You were used to getting that comment from older generations, who hadn’t been to school in the last half-a-century, but from a late teen? Health and biology should be fresh in everyone’s minds, they all took it two years ago. Though, who were you kidding, this was Rodrick you were talking about. He probably tricked his parents into doing all the homework for him, or worse, bullied his little brother into it. 

“Yeah, really. We’re fraternal twins, not identical.” You rolled your eyes.

There was no light bulb shining in his eyes, no signs that he even registered what you said, “Wait, what?”

“Two sperm, two eggs. Boom.”

“Still, it’s kinda sick that you two are complete,” he paused, “opposites.”

“Are you and Greg–”

“Me and that little nerd are not the same.”

“Then it’s the same concept.”

Rodrick kicked his sandals off before flopping on the edge beside you, cursing silently to himself when the rough ground scraped his hand. You gratefully took the chance to slide your own around your neck, cracking it out of its uncomfortable position. When you looked up again, he was watching you, his lips parted ever so slightly. He visibly swallowed, his Adam's apple betraying him.

“Where do’ya get your eyeliner from?”

“The pharmacy, duh. I won’t spend a lot on expensive eyeliner if I’m just going to smudge it in the end. By then, it all looks the same, why?”

“Just looking for some good brands to keep up my amazing makeup skills, that’s all.”

“So you don’t have to keep borrowing your mom’s?”

He squinted his eyes, peering at you, “How the hell do you know that?”

“Being Heather’s brother pays off sometimes; I hear all her calls.”

“She… talks about me?” You could hear the excitement, the hope growing in his voice. 

It took only a needle to pop it, “Yeah, shit-talks. She doesn't want you, man.”

“Nah, all chicks dig bad boys! They can’t act cool about it forever.”

“You’re more of a wannabe than a bad boy. Listen, if you’re hoping to get with Heather through me, you’re out of luck.”

He backed up, eyes wide, “Woah, woah, I never said that. It’d be a cool plus, sure, but I just wanted to talk to a cool dude.”

“Sure. Well, if you ever need some more eyeliner brands, I’m your man. Can’t promise that they won’t all be dumped in the toilet by tonight, though.”

“Why would they be–”

“Hey, newsflash,” A high voice called out from across the pool, doughnut in tow, “we promised to be back at home by five!”

“Oh, Heather, I have a show coming up; I could get you and the chicks some free tickets to it.” Rodrick hopped on one foot while struggling to get his sandals back on, that smirk creeping back onto his face.

You shook your head and decided to take your feet out of the pool, padding to your lounge chair. Drying them off on your towel, you roughhoused your socks and shoes on, worn to shreds after inspiration from Joey Ramone. Your father had been lucky enough to score tickets to one of his shows back in the late 80’s, and he recalls it as one of the best nights of his life. Not simply because he got to go to a concert, no, his buddy even had to convince him to go in the first place. It was one of his favorite recollections to tell to his two, and then three, children as they grew up.

Rodrick was promptly ignored by Heather as she walked over to you, and his eyes followed her as she dumped her float and bag into your arms. Only the tips of her hair were wet, and like you, had a dry pair of clothes on already. You had to wrestle with the weight until you had a clear view of the ground in front of your shoes.

After you passed the boy on your way to the exit, you called back, “Good luck with the show, Heffley!”

The walk back to the car was a short, but humid one; even from the distance you could see a slip of folded paper stuck in between your left windshield wiper, pale against the dark interior of the car. You managed to set your sister’s bag on the hood, and with light fingers, you plucked the note out of its hiding place, unfolding it.

“Looks like we had a visitor;” You couldn’t help but chuckle while reading it, “Löded Diper.”

Heather fumed, “Are you kidding me?”

“You don’t need to go, yeah?” You shrugged, ducking into the driver’s seat.

“It’s annoying!”

“I can’t exactly say it’s harmless after the party fiasco, but just know I’ll chase him off if he tries anything like that again.”

“Ugh.”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

You smiled, tucking the invitation deep into your pocket.

-

Dawdling with Heather’s time in the pool had earned you two missing sticks of makeup, and it was not hard to guess where they had gone the next time you took a piss. You forced yourself not to lash out at your sister, as surely that would make it worse, and just gritted your teeth as you flung the ruined containers into the trash. It truly made you wonder just how Rodrick had come to fall head over heels– literally, in some sense– for the girl. Hell, she treated him worse than you, from the things Holly had whispered to you at the dinner table.

The sun was just starting to set in the sky, light blue bleeding into orange as the pharmacy blocked the sun. You kicked a rock into the entrance, and the small clack caused the doors to slide open in front of you. It was a little late for the nightly rush; the very last of the families were finishing up their shopping, their kids squealing at the gum displayed by the cashier. He was a lean, stiff-looking guy, with sunken eyebags and a dim grin on his face. 

You whistled a tune under your breath, convincing him to turn to look at you, “You’re not paid enough for this, dude.”

“You think?” His smile dropped, and he rolled his eyes, “Why the hell are you here, anyway?”

“Holly isn’t sick, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“And?”

“But someone was sick enough to sabotage my makeup,” you said, flicking his silver name tag. Daniel.

Daniel slapped your hand away, gesturing to your bare eyes, “That part was obvious. Another guy with raccoon eyes slid in here only a few minutes earlier, looking for the same brand you always get, so I kind of assumed he was here to replenish your stash.”

“What? I’m here alone.”

“Really?” He came in close. “You’re sure you aren’t on a–”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You pushed his face back, your pointer finger squishing his nose.

A couple wandered up to the counter, baby in arms, snot running down its red chin. Their basket was full to the brim, and although Daniel’s winner grin instantly grew, you knew he just wanted to clock out. Snickering, you stuck your hands into your pockets, your wrists scratching against your studded belt as you disappeared into an aisle. The makeup section was located near the back of the pharmacy, filled with flickering lights and shelves full of a few select, cheap brands or clumps of dust. Typically, the only customers that wandered that far back were pre-teens or cigarette mothers; the kind of people who don’t give a shit about what they’re buying as long as it’s cheap.

However, as you sauntered over to the first row of shelves, a head full of brown, lazily styled hair greeted you instead. Not the odor of burnt tobacco, though it still stuck to the white walls in yellowish-gray globs, but the scent of the cheap cologne that followed you around the pool. Rodrick was hanging over quite a specific section, chewing his bottom lip. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as you looked on behind him in amusement. 

Leaning against the wall, you chuckled, “Took my advice, huh, Heffley?”

Rodrick jumped, and hissed under his breath. His posture shot up, his head turning to look at you; a pathetic attempt at saving face, really. No words were said for a long minute, only interrupted by the gargling screeches of a baby. What had Daniel done?

“I thought drug stores selling makeup was a lie, so I had to fact check!” He said, 

holding up his hands.

“You think I’d lie to you?”

“Hey, my mom taught me stranger danger.”

“Since when do you listen to your mom?” You reached past him, snatching up a container, “You obviously have no idea what to look for.”

Rodrick shuffled out of your way, and huffed at your comment. “I totally do!”

“Okay, then, pencil, felt, or liquid? Which do you prefer?”

“I think felt’s the best.”

At that confident response, you stepped closer, getting in his face. He didn’t have too much makeup on, actually; just messily applied eyeliner and a too-light eyebrow pencil. A light pink dusted his cheeks, now that you were able to get a good look at them– his eyes widened, preventing you from doing the same for his eyes. You bit your cheek, your own eyebrows furrowing.

“Relax, dude, I’m trying to look,” you snapped, and used his chin to force him to face upwards.

Even as his shoulders relaxed and his eyelids drooped, he mumbled, “You’re taller than I remember.”

You released his face. Without someone to lean on, Rodrick stumbled, his breathing heavy, despite him never doing anything but laze around. Stepping back, you gave him a knowing grin, pleased at your find. He didn’t seem to process it, lifting a hand to feel up his own jaw. It clicked shut with a snap.

“Liar, you’re wearing pencil eyeliner,” you snickered.

“How the hell could you tell?”

You reached for another container, “Unless you have shit coordination, it’s less precise than liquid is. Creamier, too.”

“That’s sick, man.”

Tapping the pencil into his hand, you kicked his foot, urging him to take it, “I recommend this brand if you’re a fan of that. It’s cheap, so you can stop using up all of your mom’s.”

“Ow!”

He pulled his foot up with one, gripping the eyeliner with the other. Hopping back, he seemed like a really pissed, wounded puppy as he glared at your boots, “Why’d you kick me with those monsters?”

“Monsters? These are Doc Martens, ‘1460’. How do you expect to impress Heather if you can’t even handle a tap to the heel?”

“Excuse me, I let it get run over by a car for her! Barely reacted.”

“So I heard.” You shook your head.

A voice shouted from the intercom, “Are you two done back there? The store’s closing in five, you’re the only ones left, and I’ll lock you in here if you make me work a minute overtime!”

The two of you rushed to the front, pushing and shoving each other into the aisles in order to get to the counter first. Rodrick, out of shape, lost after he landed back-first into packages of gauze. Daniel, the man himself, was even more unimpressed at the scene than he sounded over the intercom, and looked in back and forth between you. He cracked his knuckles, getting to work on scanning the two tiny pencils; he did not even bother to put them in a plastic bag. He scratched his chin, squinting at the screen.

“That’ll be $2.48.”

You pulled out a five dollar bill out of your wallet, “I’ll pay.”

“Shit, I’m okay with that.” Rodrick shrugged.

Daniel stared him down as he snatched the bill out of your hand, “Aren’t you Rodrick Heffley? Greg’s older brother?”

“Duh, the one and only!” Rodrick said, and Daniel turned to you.

“Since when were you buddy-buddy with him? Heather hates his guts.”

“We aren’t buddy-buddy,” you scoffed, and an affronted noise came from beside you. “I only officially met him yesterday, when he was harassing her again. Pretty sure he only talked to me to find out more about Heather.”

The register finished its business with a ding. The cashier handed you your change, taking the opportunity to slide his uniform vest off of his body. You pocketed it along with your stick of eyeliner, almost throwing Rodrick’s at him. Meanwhile, Daniel had disappeared behind a door locked to customers, a clear message to get out of the store while he still allowed it. Your shoes hit the tiled floor with heavy thumps; Rodrick’s steps were silent compared to yours. Your own footsteps quieted as soon as you exited the store, muted by the asphalt ground of the parking lot. 

Rodrick had pulled in with his van, clearly not the smartest move if he had wanted to be inconspicuous. It had a cheap, white paint job that was stained with words spray painted in black, uncentered and tilted. Your car, on the other hand, was a tiny thing that belonged to your mother, who would absolutely murder you if you even got a dent in it from a passing stick. The sun had long dipped under the horizon, causing the deep red color to read as crimson. However, before you could get in, one hand on the door, Rodrick called out to you.

“Thanks for… stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “That’s the first time I think anybody has ever witnessed you say thanks.”

You slammed your car door shut with you inside, watching Rodrick scramble for safety inside his van. The car’s windshield was dark with the fresh evening sky, and you could finally relax in privacy. Turning the key to start the engine, you then flicked on the radio, one arm occupied by resting near the window. An unfamiliar tune, a new release, started playing, as you backed out of your spot; speeding off. If someone asked you about it later, you would have sworn that you saw the boy staring at your fleeting vehicle. 

Truth be told, your family lived in a rich neighborhood that was too well put together for something so close to a highway. Your house wasn’t the biggest in the residency, but it was decent enough to see the golden lights shining through the treetops. Living near a long line of stores was an advantage, you supposed, if a zombie apocalypse happened; but that wouldn’t. At least while you were still alive or young enough to fight some off. Otherwise, it was noisy, and you had to drown out the sounds of motorcycles, cars, and fights breaking out to focus on anything after school.

Your driveway was smooth; any rocks had been smoothed out by the machines rolling over them daily. A few flower bushes lined it– your mother had been insistent about it– and their thorns occasionally caught on your pants when you walked past. Everyone seemed to still be awake as you slipped through the door, keys jingling, since Holly jumped down the stairs to greet you.

She whispered, “Where’d you go?”

“The pharmacy, why are we whispering?” You grinned, matching her energy.

“I didn’t know if mom and dad knew,” she responded, louder, “You got grounded for a month last time you snuck out.”

“Okay, okay, shh, back to whispering.”

You climbed up the stairs, not bothering to let Heather know you had returned. Her voice carried throughout the walls, as she was complaining on call about projects, about boys, about Rodrick. Every time she talked with her friends, she complained about the ‘tough guy’ who deluded himself into thinking she was secretly into him, every time he acted up. All the girls seemed to have formed a hate club for the drummer, and if Holly had anything to say about it, it was that some of the teachers joined it as well.

As soon as you shut your bedroom door, you bent down to untie your Doc’s purple ties, tugging the boots off and throwing them in your closet. You slipped your pants off, then your boxers, leaving only your secondary underwear to hold your pad inside. Before you could throw both garments in your hamper, you paused, feeling a crinkle underneath your hand. You reached down into the pocket, pulling out a wrinkled, ripped piece of paper. Thoughtfully, you smoothed it out, pinning it on your cork board as you tossed your clothes into the pile.

Two free tickets to their upcoming show, meant for Heather. It would take a lot in order to drag Daniel to the event with you, as a plus one, but you were sure you were capable. As you settled into bed, you thought back to all the things your twin had said about the band, and the party. That celebration had been the only time you had heard their music, and it wasn’t even their song, more so a cover.

You gently placed the pencil on your bedside, only able to see the outline of it in the moonlight. If he was only being nice to you for Heather’s approval, why had he taken your advice? That mystery should bother you, should keep you up, like it did last night. But truly?

You could not find it in yourself to care.

-

[aelenavelaryon]

Robert Baratheon x Reader (pt.2)

Summary: in which the Queen gets her revenge on her husband

The return of dragons came to a surprise for the realm. It was unexpected yet a blessing, especially for Rhaenyra. Finally, dragons returned to the world. Robert was not on board with having them in King's Landing at first but after watching Rhaenyra be happy after the loss of their child he agreed. Robert, despite marrying her without love came to enjoy her company as the two enjoyed making children.

Rhaenyra choose to let her dragons roamed free in a place where they were all away from people, to avoid harming innocent people. Prince Daemon was born in the year 283, near the end of the year. His brother Orys came days after his first name day in 284. In the year 286 came the twins, Aemon and Aemond. Just a year later in 287 she lost a child, it was then that Dragons were reborn.

By 290, Rhaenyra's dragons had grown a lot. The year prior they disappeared and when they returned they were the size of an adult dragon. So, for the first time in centuries a Targaryen finally took to the skies on dragonback. Balerion, the dragon she rode flew her to a part of the Keep that was abandoned and where he kept dragons eggs.

Rhaenyra brought Dragon Keepers to the Keep to help with the dragons and their eggs. The eggs, which were enough to give to each one of her children and brother, were kept warm and ready in the children's room. Finally, after five years of trying for a daughter, a girl finally came. Well, more like two. Rhaena and Helaena came during the summers of 290. By then, her children all had dragons eggs. Prince Daemon had claimed Caraxes, while his brother's hatched their eggs. Orys named his Eros. Aemon named his Moonfyre and Aemond named his Meraxes. Princess Rhaena and Helaena's dragon eggs hatched the same day of their birth.

King Robert threw a feast in honor of their first name day. By then, queen Rhaenyra had given him four sons and two daughters. Princess Rhaena was said to be as wild and defiant as her mother in her youth. Rhaena had the Targaryen hair and eyes, while her twin, princess Helaena had black hair and blue eyes like his father but she was as quiet and calm as her late grandmothers, queen Rhaella and Lady Cassana Baratheon. Robert was a decent king who took the input of his queen. They had a quiet a decent marriage.

Since the day they married Robert kept to his wife's and his own chambers. He slept with no other woman that was not his wife. Some had said he changed for the better and Eddard Stark could attest to that. Rhaenyra's life was good. She had no worries. Everything was just perfect.

The news reached her a few weeks later. Robert Baratheon had slept with Cersei Lannister or so she claimed. Cersei was a girl of three and twenty. She was yet to be married as her father hadn't found her a good match yet. Rhaenyra when she heard said nothing. Robert even thought she hadn't heard but she had. She knew, thanks to her little birds that Jaime was Cersei's lover. So, her plan was to take Jaime from Cersei. It was her goal to make him loyal to her.

Her plan began the very next day. She had asked Robert for a new guard. Stating that with six children it was better for them and her to have extra security. The king agreed. She smiled and acted as if nothing was happening. When Cersei was forced to move the keep by her father's order, Rhaenyra was forced to confront her husband.

Robert entered their shared chambers. "Nyra" she looked away. Rhaenyra was two and twenty. She had given her husband six children. She never complained nor did she cause him any problems. She simply did her duty, ever the dutiful her mother used to say. "I have never asked anything of you, nor have I ever caused you trouble or any problems. I have stood by you for the last seven years. I married you despite everything. I am no saint, nor have I ever been. I brought a son into a marriage that was not yours. You loved him and took care of him as if he was your own. And in return I gave your four sons with your blood and two daughters with your blood" there was a brief silence. "Where our children not enough?" she asked. "Was I not enough?" she asked.

Rhaenyra had never been insecure. How could she? She was a Targaryen, their beauty seemed to be god like and now, with her dragon being a god seemed far more possible than before. "I love you, Robert. But I will not be the person you treat like a common whore. If Cersei gives you a bastard child I will give you one too. And if she gives you another so will I" she said. Robert was too stunned to speak. She gave him on chance to speak before she left their shared chambers, Arthur and Jaime following behind.

Rhaenyra knew Cersei's greatest love was Jaime, and she rarely even allowed him to wonder far from her. Jaime didn't mind, watching over her gave him some sort of relief as he felt guilty for killing her father years back. He also wanted to keep her safe as he could not keep Elia and her children. Jaime was also avoiding his sister, as much as she would try to find him but he would walk the other way or ignore her pleas to talk. Over the months the good relationship between the queen and king perished in the blink of an eye. King Robert returned to his drunken and whoring ways.

Cersei Lannister gave birth to a son who she named Joffrey Baratheon, a boy with black hair and green eyes, he seemed to be all his father but the eyes. A year later, in the year 292, queen Rhaenyra gave birth to a son, a boy she named Rhaegar Targaryen and a daughter who she named Rhaella. The boy had blonde white hair. His eyes were the same eyes of princess Alyssa Targaryen, wife of Baelon Targaryen. One green eye and purple. Her daughter, princess Rhaella had a her grandmother's looks. Ser Jaime Lannister was the first one to hold his two children. A little princeling he used to call him and his little baby girl. Jaime and Rhaenyra were the ones who picked the names.

Robert knew but he said nothing as the guilt of returning to his old habits returned. Prince Jacaerys came four years after his sisters, then, a year after him came Lucerys. Princess Rhaenyra had always loved those names and had always wanted to name one of her sons like them. Prince Jacaerys had dark brown hair and purple eyes, his brother Lucerys was just like his brother. Queen Rhaenyra bore thirteen children at the short age of thirty. Her last two children were girls. Daughters. Visenya and Daenerys, daughters of Ser Arthur Dayne.

Eddard Stark never married, instead he served his queen Rhaenyra his entire life. And of course he took care of their two sons. Ned had became her closest companion alongside Arthur and Jaime Lannister. She had no other allies at court but them. At least, she didn't trust anyone else but them. Cersei gave Robert three more children. Tommen, Myrcella and Joanna but they were known as bastards since they were not married.

On the queen's name day, a thirtieth name day celebration was made in her honor. Every house in the realm attended, including Dorne, Driftmark and the North. By then, Prince Jaehaerys was nearly six and ten, Daemon was five and ten, Orys three and ten, Aemon and Aemond were one and ten, Helaena and Rhaena were eight, Rhaegar and Rhaella were nearly six, Jacaerys was four, prince Lucerys three and his sisters had just turned one.

Queen Rhaenyra, despite birthing thirteen children looked far better than most, she was grateful, she also took care great of her figure, she wanted to preserve herself as much as she could. Robert knew that seven of those children where not his. Jaehaerys had been claimed as a Targaryen despite Tywin's insistence to keep him as a bastard. Rhaenyra did not wish for her son to bear the name Baratheon or Stark. Brandon had written to her often wanting to know about his son but he not once had asked for the boy to visit him nor to be claimed as a Stark. She knew Catelyn did not like the idea of Brandon's bastard sons being in their home and possible taking Robb's birthright.

During the Queen's name day celebration things are said and revenge is plotted. They say when you play the game of thrones you win or you die, there is no middle ground. Queen Rhaenyra is going to win, no matter what. The question is, will she succeed or will she fail?

[crowandmousewritingco]

Foretold in the Scales

Pairing: dragon!Marcus Moreno x gn!reader

Words: 3.4 k

Rating: M (smut city. 18+ MDNI)

Summary: The dragon needs a new mate, and it's your turn.

Warnings: Fated mates, ceremonies, slight dub con (you didn't choose this, but later on you consent to it) breeding, ovipositing, mentions of pregnancy with an egg, dragon anatomy, oral (reader receiving)

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: This is my entry for the Monster (S)mash challenge hosted by the lovely @quinnnfabrgay-writes and @hauntedhowlett-writes. I loved this challenge so much! It makes me wanna write more monsters smut hehe.

That goodman dragon scale. It of course landed on you cause that was the last thing you needed today. But as it spun around as if it seemed to be “pulled” towards you. At least that's what the priests said, but you didn’t buy it. Unfortunately though for you, once the scale decided there was no going back, because if He found out that the village was lying, then they could find someone else to protect them. 

The rest of the day was a blur. Oils and perfumes were sprayed on your body creating a cloud of scents that made your head spin. Your hair was decorated with different local flowers while someone painted the ceremonial glyphs on your pale skin. You remember being dressed in the ceremonial ashen gray linens that hardly hid what lay underneath. Soon you were the spitting image of the sacrifice you were meant to be. 

The precession was a blur as four of the strongest warriors carried you on the dias up the long mountain trail that led to your future. Hymns and songs were sung as you climbed higher and higher until the village where you had called home for most of your life was now just a dot in the valley.

Stones piled up beside the entrance of the caves were carved with reliefs but you knew what they depicted. When every king tried to take the city those long centuries ago, there was only one person…or rather one creature that saved them. The Pewter Protector they called him. A massive dragon with a mouth full of flesh tearing teeth flew down from the heavens and slayed the enemy. The village begged for the dragon’s protection, and the Protector obliged. 

But that protection came at a price. He came from a dying breed and so to continue his safeguard, he required a sacrifice. It wasn’t food or money. No it was human. He required a mate. A mate that would carry another one of his kind. Someone to keep him company through the long nights and keep him warm during the mating season. 

Which is why you were here now, as the priestess sang out the chants that praised the Protector and called him from his dark chambers. You knew the ceremonies. The men would set their dias down and the procession would quietly leave as the priestess would continue their songs until their voices were lost in the winds. 

The high mountain winds whipped around you as you stared at the dark expanse of the cave. The silence was unnerving. Goosebumps ran up your skin making you wrap your arms around your torso, hoping for an ounce of warmth. Not even a pebble dropped as you waited for your husband to present himself. Soft tears threatened to spill from your eyes as time passed. As much as you wanted to be strong you were terrified. You squeezed your eyes shut waiting for your fate. 

“I keep telling them that I don’t want all of this,” You heard a voice break your silence and you opened your eyes in confusion. A tall dragonborn stood in front of you. Dark gray scales covered most of his body and arched across his neck and cheek like a stroke of charcoal. His eyes were dark to match the midnight hair that sprouted across his head and jawline. 

“W-What?” You whispered as you took him in. 

He sighed and slowly approached you. “I’m really sorry for all of this trouble,” He apologized as he held out his clawed hand out to your body. 

You looked down to his hand and back up to his face, confusion etched deep into your expression. “You…what?” 

“I’m sorry again. I know this is strange and I’ve been trying to tell them forever that I really don’t need them to use the scale. I promise them that I can tell who my mate is for the season just by…” He pauses as the wind changes, drifting your scent into his sensitive nose. 

“By what?” You asked, rising to your bare feet. 

“You smell sweet,” The Protector complimented as he turned back to you. 

“Um, thank you?” You asked. 

“Oh goodness, where are my manners? Please follow me.” He gestured to his cave and you followed him down into his lair. 

Though as you walked you were surprised grew even more. “I-It’s warm in here.” You comment as the walls turn more and more decorated with reliefs and other such designs. 

“That would be the mountain’s core. I know most dragonkind need their heat and we aren’t any different.” The dragon answers as you enter the biggest area so far. There wasn’t much in the way of furniture except for a large fire pit and a giant collection of pelts and pillows in the surrounding area. 

“This is…actually quite cozy.” You look around the room and find yourself smiling at the surroundings. 

“Please make yourself at home,” The Protector getured to his area. “Would you like some tea?” 

“Yes I would like some um…I don’t think I got your name?” 

“Marcus,” He smiled with his gleaming white teeth. He took his tea kettle out and filled it with water from the barrel in the corner. Gently he took the full kettle and hung it above the fire. With a groan he sat himself next to the fire. Carefully you sat near him warming yourself on the flames. 

“So you aren’t as vicious as they say.” You said, turning to look at him. 

He looked back with almost a hurt expression. “I don’t like to hurt humans. I only do harm when there’s a threat to the village.” 

“Then why do they do this whole ceremony? Since apparently I’ve only known a lie.” You chuckled softly. 

Marcus sighed. “I think they think they owe my kind for something we did long ago. But we did it because they helped us first.” 

“What did they do?” You asked as the kettle began to whistle. 

The dragon turned his torso to grab the two cups and set them in front of him. Carefully he grabbed the kettle’s handle and poured the tea. The leaves swirled as the hot water saturated them, filling your nose with the herbal scents. 

“They saved my daughter from poachers,” He answered as he handed you the tea and you thanked him. The mug was warm against your hand and you shivered when you realized how cold you were. 

“Here,” He said quietly and stood up taking one of the pelts from the bed. With a gentleness you weren’t expecting from a dragon, he draped it over your shoulders. 

You gently caressed the fur smiling at how comforting it was. “What’s your daughter’s name?” 

“Missy. She was out training one day and they surrounded her. Luckily some soldiers saw the situation and saved her. The Steel Clan is forever indebted to them,” He smiled softly drifting to his mug. “She’s got her own mountain to defend. Hatchlings always grow up too fast.” 

“Seems to be a trait no matter the species,” You smiled before taking a sip of the tea. The herbal aroma hit your tongue and you sighed. The scent drew you back to winter nights in your house, and a sense of both nostalgia and homesickness knotted in your stomach.

Marcus sensed your subtle body language frowned.  “You know you can leave. I don’t want to keep you here.” Marcus told you, taking you in with his charcoal eyes. 

You chuckled. “Did I say something wrong?” He asked with concern in his voice. 

“No no just,” Your thumb traces the rim of your cup. “You’re a lot different than I thought. I don’t mind staying. And you’re unlike what they tell us in the village.” 

“What do they tell you?” He asked with concern in his voice. 

“It’s a lot more authoritative and demanding,” You sighed, staring at the dark liquid in your cup. 

“That’s really what they say about me?” Marcus frowned, hurt laced in his dark eyes. 

“Something must have gotten lost in translation…because you really are sweet.” 

You swear you could see a scales flush. “You are too kind.” Marcus replied, taking a sip to hid his face. 

“I should thank you for not eating me,” You chuckled, but your mirth was quickly replaced by a yawn. 

“Here you should rest. Take my nest for tonight, I’ll sleep by the fire.” Before you could protest, he held his palm out. “I insist.” 

And honestly you didn’t have the energy to resist. Wrapping the pelt around your shoulders, you gave him a quick “Thank you,” before rising to your feet. Marcus watched you as you stumbled to the nest of blankets and settled yourself amongst the pile. 

Marcus kept an eye out until he heard your breathing even out, but stayed for longer just to make sure. As quietly as he could with his bulky form, he wandered to the entrance. A low grumble flowed from his mouth, as he stretched his hidden wings. Large veiny membranes spread out taking up most of the space. The wind furled against them and Marcus sighed at the feeling. It was a moment before he spoke to himself. “I must provide for my mate.” With a swoosh of his wings, he soared into the dark sky looking for prey to feed his beloved. 

The days passed without much excitement. Marcus cared for you which was more than kind of him. He insisted that you didn’t lift a finger, but you would sneakily tidy the area when he was out. You had to admit you didn’t hate the routine of it. Past you would hate staying in one place for too long. But the more time you spent in Marcus’s company, the more you found yourself being drawn to him unexpectedly. 

Your body began to warm whenever you were in his presence even if it was outside in the cold winds. Maybe it was just that he was the best company in a long time, or maybe it was something else but you loved staying near him. Until one day where everything clicked into place. 

The smell of cooking meats woke you from your slumber. A deep inhale filled your lungs with the aromatic scent and you closed your eyes to enjoy the moment. It smelt like the smoked meats from the village, earthly and savory all at the same time. Pushing yourself up from your cozy bed, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. 

Marcus stood with his back behind you, his wings now visible to you though constricted because of the small space. Rising to your feet, you slowly walked over to the fire. Curiously your fingers tough ridges. The skin was bumpy against your skin and you found the touch bringing you comfort. 

The dragon drew in a sharp inhale as you slowly caressed his wings. “Y-you shouldn’t do that.” 

You quickly retracted your hand. “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean well I hadn’t seen your wings,” You rambled. “Just thought they were pretty is all.” 

Marcus turned around and you were taken aback by how much he was panting. “Marcus?” 

“The problem isn’t you. The problem is that if you keep doing that, I won’t be able to control myself,” He purred, stepping closer to your form. Until now you never realized just how much he towered over you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s a reason the ceremony happens when it does. Mating season came quicker for me, and that’s because you entered my life. You’re my mate.” He answered. Your scent permeated his nostrils making him crave you more. “But I can’t mate you without your full consent. If you want to walk away and live a normal life I will not blame you.” 

“Your mate, how do you know?” You asked confused yet curious at the same time. 

“How do humans say? It’s like butterflies in your stomach, but we feel a physical tugging at our souls,” He answered gently, caressing his stomach. 

Something pulled you to do the same and your fingers slid under your thin covering. A pulse of electricity sparked in your eyes and you gasped. “W-What was…?” You began, but as you lifted your head to meet his gaze, there was something different about Marcus. The light from the fire lit him up like you’ve never noticed before. It was as if a bolt of magic filled the room and focused itself on Marcus. 

“Mate?” You whispered and you slowly reached up to cup his cheek in your hand. The rough scales sending comfort throughout your body as you caressed them with your thumb.  Marcus’s chest rumbled as he purred against your palm, nuzzling like a cat. You couldn’t help but giggle at this tall creature acting just like a household pet. 

“Yes my mate,” He purred and he leaned his head down just close enough to brush his lips against yours a silent ask for your consent. 

You quickly filled the space and kissed him passionately. His lips were both soft and rough at the same time. The scales brushed against your chin, and you found yourself falling in love with the feeling. Some part of you wanted to know how those felt in between your legs. 

A soft moan escaped your lips and Marcus paused gently, setting his hands on your hips as if they were made of the finest porcelain. “Are you sure about this?” He asked as his fingers gingerly caressed your hips. Claws carefully poking at your skin and you bit your lip. Suddenly the heat inside you was so much. You wanted…no…you craved Marcus. 

“I’m sure,” You leaned up and whispered in his ear. “Put an egg in me Marcus.” 

Marcus groaned at the sight of you round with his egg. “Bed. Now.” He moaned as he backed you into the nest. You smirked as you kissed him slowly pulling him on top of you. Hungrily he kissed you with his hands up and down your sides. His claws delicately teasing your chest making you gasp. 

“M-Marcus,” You moaned, tilting your head back against the furs. 

He chuckled and nibbled at your neck. “Such a handsome sight.” He kept one of his clawed hands on your chest and with one of his claws ripped the material away as gently rubbed your slit. “Mmmm already achingly needy for me darling. Getting you all ready to take my cock.” He growled and kissed his way down your body. Each one sending tingles to your hands and feet. 

He only stopped right between your legs. “Now let's see how you taste. I bet it’ll tell me how fertile you are.” He licked a long lap from your hole to your most sensitive area. You moaned loudly grabbing on his dark locks as you tried to ride his face. 

With a strong hand he kept your hips in place and gazed up at you licking his lip. “Be good for me baby. If you are, I’ll put a baby in you, and by the looks of it it won’t be too hard.” 

You moaned at his words as his tongue dipped inside you once more lapping up your arousal soaking his face. The taste was like nothing he had ever experienced and he would be damned if he ever stopped. Eternity wouldn’t be enough time to memorize your taste. 

“Fuck just the most divine taste,” He purred and nibbled your sensitive thigh. “You’re a perfect mate.” 

“Marcus,” You whined but you loved every second. Every lick and touch sent your bond pulsing. 

“Shhh baby let me take care of you,” He kissed the bite mark before pushing his tongue inside your hole once again. His movements were precise making sure you were opened up for him. He loved being a dragon, but the claws were something he couldn’t control. That just meant he became so prolific with his tongue. 

And the practice was evident on the way you writhed under his touch. Every lick and suck sent so much pleasure your way. The pressure in your stomach grew and grew as your legs began to shake. 

“Marcus!” You screamed in ecstasy as you came hard from his tongue. Stars danced in your eyes as you curled your legs around your mates back, pulling him into you more. Toes curling and legs shaking left you feeling high from your orgasm.

The dragon purred in contentment as his tongue slowed as your high slowed to stop leaving you breathless. “Such a handsome mate I have,” He grinned and kissed up your body, taking his time to explore and memorize every dip and curve of your body. “I’m never gonna get use to this canvas.” 

You whimpered under the praise and you pulled him against your chest. His cool scales soothing your heated skin as you kissed him deeply. Gently you nuzzled your face into his shoulder taking him in with every sense. 

Marcus leaned his mouth nibbling your earlobe gently. “I’m gonna put a egg in you,” He moaned as his hips rocked against your thigh. His hardening cock rubbing against the soft skin. Curiously you peaked down and blushed at the size. It was big. Nothing compared to the size of the men in the village. 

“Fuck,” You cursed as you reached down to take it in your hand. It pulsed under your touch as you stroked it tentatively. The bumps and ridges felt foreign to you, but gods did your thoughts wonder at the idea of that deep inside of you as he pumped you full of his cum. 

“It’s okay. I’ll be gentle,” Marcus whispered, nuzzling his nose into your neck. 

You were quiet for a moment, making Marcus lift his head in concern. You made eye contact with him. “I don’t think I want you to be,” You admitted. 

Marcus’s eyes darkened and he pressed his forehead into yours. You felt his cock bounce in your hand. “Are you sure? I won’t be able to hold back.” 

“Please mate,” You whispered. 

Marcus growled as he guided his cock away from your hand and pushed into you in one fluid motion. The penetration was sudden, but it sent such intense pleasure through you that you thought you could finish with just that. 

But the noises Marcus made were hymns to your ears. He panted and growled as he felt you around his cock. “I-I can’t wait any longer.” 

“Fuck me Marcus.” 

And that was all he needed. His hips pulled back and snapped forward back into your hole. Everything felt divine. The bumps, the length, everything made your head spin. “Fuck!” You moaned as Marcus set a fast pace. 

With every thrust, Marcus became more and more desperate. Desperate to fill you with his seed and desperate to plant an egg inside of you. The image of you round with his egg spurred him on. You squeezed around him like your soul depended on it. 

Whether it was your newly discovered bond, or the immaculate feeling of Marcus inside you, but you felt the heat rise in your stomach once again. The dragon thrusted faster as he felt you tighten around you. “Cum for your mate,” He moaned. 

Your pleasure snapped and you squeezed around him as you reached your high once again. This was enough for Marcus. 

“I’m gonna,” He grunted as his cock twitched, your tight hole making it hard to last. 

“Cum mate,” You moaned, and your words sent him over the edge. With a growl that filled the chamber, he came buried inside of you. You moaned with every quiver of his cock as his cum filled your hole. But it wasn’t quite normal. With each spurt, it felt bumpy, and it took you a moment to realize that it was eggs filling you up. And you moaned as each one filled you fuller and fuller. Marcus’s hand gently caressed the small bump in your stomach, please with the sight. 

Just as you thought Marcus would pull out, he gently lifted your hips, setting a pillow underneath your back. Confused, you looked back up at him. He smirked. “Not gonna let anything drip out of you. I want to make sure the eggs stay inside of you.” 

You moaned and bit your lips. Marcus smiled and carefully leaned over to kiss your forehead. “My sweet mate will be well taken care of. But for now rest. You need all the energy to incubate our eggs.” Sleepiness filled your head and your eyes slowly began to dip close. The hum of Marcus’s purring sending you into a very satisfied sleep.

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All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

Thank you the lovely @saradika-graphics for the dividers