#hozier x female reader

[padfootagain]

Coming Home

Hi!! Answering a request by @stevecore here! Thank you for your request!

Hope you like it! It’s pretty sweet! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem! Reader

Warning: Fluff, comfort, being reunited

Summary: After being separated for several weeks because of his touring, you and Andrew are finally reunited as you come pick him up at the airport.

Word Count: 1990

Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

By the window, you can see the planes landing. The dark tarmac, the rain falling, turning skies grey and the world blurry. Such busy places, airports. Happy ones, too, for the most part. You think about the journeys you have started in this place, the adventures you have gotten yourself into, the wonderful memories you have built.

A mother hushes her child past you, carrying the boys backpack, heading closer to the gate you were patiently waiting before as well. The boy seems excited, he must be waiting for someone, just like you are. You remain behind most of the group that has gathered in front of the large sign screaming ARRIVALS. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself, or to the person you’re waiting for. You don’t want anyone to notice who you’ve been missing, who you’re about to meet again.

You check your watch, for what has to be the thousandth time. Andrew should have reached you twenty minutes ago now, but planes are rarely on time. You heave a sigh, try to ignore the giddy feeling that tickles your stomach when you think of him, of holding the man you love again, of welcoming him home.

It’s a risky business, to come pick him up at the airport and to wait at the terminal instead of the car. Anyone could recognise him, take a picture, put it on social media, and you don’t want to be included in the public part of his life. None of you want to. This, what you share together, it’s just for the two of you. That’s what makes you a safe place for him, that’s what makes him be him when you’re around, that’s what keeps you safe, too. So, you’re extra careful not to be in anybody’s way, staying a few steps away from the small crowd. No one is paying attention to you, and you’re satisfied with that. The risk is worth it, though. Andrew’s been away for three months, it’s one of the longest runs he’s done without seeing you at all, and you’re missing him so much at this point, you’ve stopped functioning properly. This long distance part of your relationship is shit, but you love him, and you know he wouldn’t be happy without music in his life. So, it’s worth it. Besides, there are very few moments as happy as your reunions. Holding him against you again makes it worth the long, lonely wait.

The last time you were here, it was to help Andrew carry his stuff when he left. You can see yourself again, walking across the hall, putting on a brave face while your heart was breaking, carrying his guitar and one of his bags while Andrew carried the rest. You remember seeing Alex and Rory from afar, they were all leaving together, but Andrew had stopped while still being a fair distance away from them. He had turned to you, a gentle smile on his lips despite his eyes turning fully green with tears.

I’ll call you when I land.

You close your eyes for a second, feeling his arms around you, the way he had held you close that morning, three months ago.

Wait for me. I love you more than anything. Let me come back to you.

He says that every time he leaves, like he expects you to move on without him. How can he be so fucking stupid? How can he be so blind as to not see that you would wait a lifetime for him if you had to.

You can almost feel his lips onto yours, the skin tickles with the memory of his stubble brushing your chin, of his hot breath on your mouth, of his fingers on your cheeks.

You hear a small boy crying out, and you notice it’s the one who has walked by you just a moment before. He rushes through the crowd to an old man wearing a tweed cap and a long blue coat. Grey hair, a grin on his lips as he bends to scoop up the boy. You smile as you watch the cute reunion, grandfather and grandson together again.

That means your man should come out soon, too. Usually, Andrew lingers at the back of the groups of passengers, waiting for most people to be gone or too busy with their loved ones to pay any attention to him. So, you’re surprised when you see him towering above the crowd, a red cap on his head, his hair tied in a messy bun. He’s wearing a simple brown blazer, some blue jeans, an old black hoodie. At least three layers of clothing. Your eyes water at the sight, you can’t help the wave of fondness that washes over your heart. Him and his bloody layers…

You wave at him, trying to be discreet, but that’s enough for him to spot you, his eyes scanning the crowd until they find yours. You’re surprised again when he makes a bee line to you, moving awkwardly across the crowd, head down and apologies stumbling again and again from his lips. He’s not being discreet at all, but you don’t mind, because that means he’s almost reached you now. You don’t spot Alex, nor Rory behind him, and to be honest you don’t care at all about them. You guess they’re waiting patiently for the crowd to dissipate, but Andrew hasn’t. He’s almost running now, his long legs devouring the metres that still separate the two of you, and you move towards him as well. You catch his gaze with yours and see the same relief, the same haste, the same desperation in his eyes as the feelings you recognise in your own heart. You’re going to cry, any second now, but you don’t mind…

He lets his bags drop at his feet, his guitar case strapped to his back, and then his arms are wrapped around you, capturing you in a tight embrace, one that makes it hard to breathe, but you don’t mind. The mere sight of him has knocked all the air out of your lungs anyway, and you hold him with the same desperation.

You break when you breathe in his cologne, something woody and filled with rain, something so familiar, something that screams home to you…

“Christ…”

His voice is weak and shaking, deeper than usual, you know he’s crying too. Happy tears though. Your tears are happy and relieved. He tries to move away but you cling onto him, making him chuckle as he holds you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers in your ear, the arm around your waist helping you keep your balance while you’re on your tiptoes and he’s bent down to bury his face in your hair. “Jesus… I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

You can hear the tears in his voice, the way his throat has tightened, but you’re no better, so you can’t tease him about being a sap…

“I’ve missed you too. I’m so glad you’re home, baby…”

He relaxes in your arms as he hears the pet name. Your embrace is his true home, your sweet perfume numbs his senses and tells him he’s right where he belongs. Three months without you was too long, he’ll never make another run so long again, he can’t function properly anymore, and he would be lying, were he to pretend that he took care of himself. He knows that when you’re home you’ll worry when you help him out of his clothes, between kisses you’ll run your fingers down his chest and frown at the traces of his ribs under his skin. You won’t say anything, you’d never make a comment about his weight, but he knows what your frown will mean. That you’re noticing he’s lost some weight, and you’ll worry he’s not eating enough on the road, that he’s not taking care of himself. You’ll serve him an extra portion of pasta at lunch, a few hours later, after you’ve taken a shower together and spent a few hours catching up on the intimacy and pleasure you’ve missed on these past months. He’ll say nothing, and eat everything, and he won’t say it but he’ll feel that warm feeling, that radiant fondness he has only for you, because you take care of him… because you love him…

He's waited so long to hold you, it feels like a lifetime ago since he left. Touring is hectic and generally makes him lose track of time, but this time around he was away from you for too long. He had been counting down the days till he would be home for the past month. He’s never staying away for so long again… never again…

You move your head to kiss him, he knows that’s what your hand in his hair means, and he meets you halfway, turns to kiss you, at long last. He’s waited so long for this, and he doesn’t know how you do it. How kissing you, even after years of relationship, is still as exciting as your very first kiss. How he still has the same butterflies, the same warmth in his chest, the same stammering of his heart. Although, he’s wrong, it’s not quite the same, he realises it now. It’s better, thanks to all the time you have spent together, all the love you have nurtured for each other along the years.

When he pulls away, he holds your face in the palm of his hand to look at you, to study your face, committing each detail to memory, even if he already knows every millimetre of your face, of your entire body. He dries your cheek with his thumb, gives you an emotional yet bright grin.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, making you smile.

“Hey, handsome,” you answer, making him stupidly giggle.

He feels giddy, like a schoolboy, euphoric even.

And you feel the same. You straighten his cap on his head, you’ve messed it up when you kissed him and got a little carried away. You have a million things to say, a thousand stories to tell him despite talking with him on the phones almost daily, a billion kisses to shower him with and all you can think now that you stare at his handsome features is the bed you share together and the feeling of his skin against yours, how you long to feel it again.

You’re about to tell him that you should go home. He’s going to nod, and kiss you again before grabbing his things and heading out of the airport without waiting for Alex and Rory. He’s told them goodbye when they picked up their luggage, and he won’t even think about them when you hold onto his arm and pull him towards the exit. He’s going to let you drive because he’s tired after his flight, and it’s your car anyway. You’ll chat, and he’ll call you a goddess for having a thermos of black coffee waiting for him on the passenger seat. You’ll head home and spend the day together, and the week together, and the month together, as much time as you can, before he has to leave again.

But for now, there is something important that you must remind him of, the most important thing in your life. He too has something important to say, and you giggle when you both realise you’re saying the same thing at the same time.

“I love you.”

[pucksandpower]

Too Sweet

Toto Wolff x Reader

Max Verstappen x ex!Reader

Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)

I take my whiskеy neat

The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”

“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.

The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.

Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.

[scudslut]

too sweet

daryl x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, mdni

a/n: okay, is this like the song? IDK i listened to it on repeat tryna decipher shit and come up with a good plot but i think i got a little lost in the sauce, or maybe im just being mean to myself🫢 ANYWAY I HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON BYEEE🤍

you two never got along, never saw eye to eye.

years you���d known each other and all it ever did was reveal those differences all the more. highlighting them in bold letters for you to gaze at thoughtfully, but did that stop you?

it was a game you played, back and forth for so long that it became a routine. bicker and disagree till you were blue in the face and at each other's mercy for only the moon to bear witness too.

how many times had you dug into him for his habits. he smoked, kept to himself, he fought, but where had that ever gotten him? it was against your nature. a way of being that you genuinely could not understand.

and he’d be right there with you, matching each dig with his own. you were sweet, too soft. you pleased and walked among ice like you weighed as much as a feather, so predictable it was almost humorous. if you didn’t understand him, he was absolutely riddled by you.

“how do ya sleep at night? huh? don’ya ever get tired of keeping everyone so fuckin happy?” he’d mutter, all the while tearing articles of clothing off of your supple skin, one by one. skin that was pristine by default and worn as if only heaven itself had touched it.

“believe it or not, i actually want people to like me daryl. i like when i can make people happy. it’s not a fucking act,” you sneer back.

who was he to talk? he lived inside his own head. could go days… no, months by himself, not muttering a single word to a breathing soul. and you’d tried to reason, guide, and help, but if anyone knew daryl dixon, they knew he didn’t budge easily. he had to want it for himself and he simply didn’t see the glory in your people-pleasing nature, as he’d like to call it.

sure he saw the value in it, somewhat. but he liked things the way they were, as they were meant to be. if he disagreed with something he sure as shit wasn’t gonna prance around trying not to hurt no feelings.

“alright, you keep tellin’ yerself that, princess.”

so what was it that kept you two coming back for more? why was the tension and aversion between your minds so magnetic between your bodies? he wanted to snap those annoying, pretty lips shut with his. maybe if he kissed you hard enough something would click in that head of yours. maybe he could fuck some clarity into you.

his fingers would rub fast circles over your clit, watching you keen and moan into the pillow beneath you, “how’s that princess? good enough for ya? hm?” he’d mock, “faster? slower?”

“god, would you shut up already?” you tried to sneer only for it to come out as a breathy whine, adding fuel to his pride and smirk across his face. your lips crashed into his in an attempt to diminish it but it was right there, now pressed up against your face, and fuck, why was that so hot? why was his rugged stubble, his long hair kissing your shoulders, and his broad, strong body so infuriatingly sexy to you? muscles built from years of fights, kills, and hunting. you didn’t like it… but you did.

“fuck, i’m gonna-“ you cried to him softy.

“nuh, uh. not yet pretty girl.”

his belt was loud throughout the quiet room. your eyes were squeezed shut in pleasure but you heard the familiar clanks and zips, and then you felt his weight above you — warm and spicy. it pulled you so far and close that you sucked him in before he even got his pants all the way off.

“fuckin’ christ girl,” he groaned, snapping down to meet your hips flush. it was rapid and hot, both of you pouring all your frustrations into each push and pull. frustrations with each other, frustrations with yourselves that you liked this so fucking much.

he fucked you deep and hard like his body hated you, but somehow kissed you so tenderly through it all. his tongue massaging and tangling with yours as if you created his oxygen for him.

“so fucking sweet, princess, y’know that?” he whispered against you, “no good fer me.”

he was telling himself that; convincing himself and you knew it. your body rolled to meet his quickly, feeling every gooey, warm muscle against your skin and drooling over it, “more.”

as if to prove a point he slowed down, pulling out till just his tip was caught at your entrance, and then would thrust in, hard. over, and over, and over until you were singing his name and muffling it with his neck. warm and spicy.

“ya like that? thought ya wanted faster?”

he knew he was walking a line, but what had you guys ever been but a definitive line? a clear distinction of night and day, the only time ever seeing eye to eye being these moments. as one.

you were sent over the edge instantly, spasms of pleasure rolling languidly through your body. the tight swelling of your cunt causing daryl to finish with you and fuck if he didn’t cum the prettiest, sexiest way you had ever seen. straight out of your dirty, teenage fantasies and above you to soak in while you wreathed along with him.

he groaned and cursed into your chest, riding out each wave until he was shaking above you and so sensitive he couldn’t help but hiss as he pulled away, flopping down beside you.

a cigarette was quickly fished from his strewn jeans pockets and placed between his lips, lighting up and rolling back into the pillows lazily. every ounce of mending and merging you had just done was palpably tossed out the window, your scoff loudly filling the silence.

“that will kill you one day, hope you know that,” you muttered whilst gathering your clothes and slipping them on.

he didn’t bat an eye, nothing he hadn’t heard before from you and honestly, he didn’t really care. plenty of things in the world that’ll kill you, your naivety being one of them.

“lemme guess, gotta be up bright n’ early? tendin’ ta all yer charity cases?” he mused as he watched you head for the door. there had never been a night you’d spent together, probably would end up ripping each others faces off alone in room together for that long.

he didn’t get an answer, just an amused eye roll as you opened his bedroom door, “bye daryl.”

and then you were gone, quiet stomps heard as you floated up the stairs and he knew it would only be a matter of days before you were right back here, glued to his body and singing his name like you needed him to survive.

“figures,” he mumbled, taking a long drag from his smoke and smirking softly to himself.

what’s that saying? opposites always attract?

[the-palelady]

I love that u gave crime wife!reader a butterfly obsession like deep down she’s secretly super nerdy but her shitty husband doesn’t let her indulge in those things anymore.

Personally feel like Ghost would swoon at seeing her get all excited over seeing a certain butterfly or moth, especially ones she rarely gets to see.

I hope u write more of them in the future!!!

not but seriously he would fall to his knees seeing a woman like her, someone kept hidden from the outside world, get this sparkle in her eyes when she sees something she adores.

ghost, much like his name, ceases to exist when your husband is home. at first, you thought maybe him being there at all was just a figment of your imagination; your mind conjuring up some fake entity so you'd feel less lonely in the prison you were supposed to call your home.

as it turns out though, ghost was not a hallucination. in fact, he was a very real man who came around more and more as time went on. he knew your husbands routine, knew when he would leave the house for extended periods of time, and that's when he would make his appearance.

in the beginning, you never spoke, and ghost never pushed you to. you had grown accustomed to the silence between you and your husband, only ever speaking if he was scolding you or flatly informing you that'd he'd be gone for a few days.

ghost simply watched you water your flowers, sitting beside you on the plaid grey and white blanket you always brought out to sit on while you read. he spoke here and there, asking questions about the flowers you grew, what it was you were reading, or what you ate for dinner the previous night. admittedly, you found his awkwardness…reassuring?

it was like talking to others was unfamiliar territory for him as well.

you felt bad that you gave him little to work with. he was coming from a good place after all, keeping you company all through the afternoon and even late into the evenings while your husband was away. the least you could do was meet him in the middle.

but the more you thought about it the more you doubted yourself. you hadn’t talked to anyone besides your husband in so long. what if you sounded stupid? what if your topic of conversation was dull to ghost? you had been your husband’s little secret for so long, shut off from society, that you didn’t know much about current events, what was popular, what would be interesting. so you kept yourself shut out, continuing to only meet his questions with simple nods and shakes of your head.

until one warm summer afternoon when you sat on a gardening chair, looking over a gardening magazine that you’d read god only knows how many times.

ghost was situated in front of you, eyeing the magazine as well, not exactly interested but you supposed he was looking for something, anything to say. that was his usual way of driving the conversation and you didn’t mind it.

you flipped the page and he noticed a flower that looked awfully similar to a bed of flowers you had planted near the back door, to which he pointed at the page, and looked up at you.

“this where ya got the idea ta plant those?” he asked, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the pastel pink dahlia’s growing in the flower bed near the house. he looked over at the flowers, admiring the color of the petals and how well you had taken care of them until he noted how silent you had been. when he looked up, your eyes were practically bulging from your head, locked on something behind his shoulder.

however, when he made an attempt to turn around, your hands darted forward, keeping him in place before you placed your index finger over your lips, indicating for him to stay quiet.

ghost was beyond confused. even more so when you stood, shaking in your shoes as you tip toed to a large bush behind him.

“i can’t believe it…” a chill shot down his spine at the soft sound of your voice, a light rainfall trickling down during the spring.

he turned in his seat, being quiet like you had asked when his hooded whiskey eyes landed on you, hunched over, gazing at a butterfly that slowly flapped its wings together while it lay stationary on a leaf.

“wha’ is it?” he whispered back, and instead of answering with words, you beckoned him over. he didn’t hesitate to follow your command, a moth to a flame.

leaning forward, he consumed every last word you uttered to him, your voice music to his ears, a song he wanted to put on repeat.

“a purple emperor. i’ve never seen one before. they normally keep to the treetops in the woods. this one is probably a male, resting after his lunch.”

ghost felt his heart lurch forward at the sound of the giggle that left you, breathy and quiet, barely there, but there all the same.

“we should leave him be. i just couldn’t believe i got to see one. the purple on his wings was just too pretty to not want to get closer.”

when you turned to look at ghost, it took everything in him to keep himself from saying, “you’re too pretty.”

[waternilly]

"Pick you up at seven?"

Fandom: MCU Ship: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader (race neutral) Word count: 3.8k Genre: Fluff Warnings: none Ao3 link: here Summary: Almost two weeks after meeting Bucky, he finally asks you out to a proper date. | Sequel to "You're flustered." "Yeah, so?", but it is not necessary to have read it.

The low mumble of the radio playing in your boss' office reached your corner through the open door, the melody bouncing against the empty white walls and ceiling. You licked your lips, eyes fixed on the computer screen as your fingers typed away on the sleek keyboard. All Apple, per your companies' aesthetic.

The final dot was added to an e-mail, and after quickly reading it over, you pressed send.

"Y/N?" the familiar voice called over from the office next door.

Without answering, you stood up and grabbed a pencil and notepad, ready to scribble away if needed.

"Can you remind me of the schedule for the rest of the afternoon?" your boss asked the second you entered.

"At 3 o'clock, the board of representatives will meet you in conference room number 5. Tonight, dinner with your husband and daughter at Carl's, planned for 7 o'clock. A change of clothes for the occasion is awaiting in the closet," you recited from memory.

Your boss sighed, not looking away from the papers on their desk, but you noticed the small smile tugging at their lips.

"Very well," said they, removing the glasses from the bridge of their nose. With their free hand, they rubbed down their face. "Will you call Andrew? I'd like to have a word with him tomorrow about these offers."

Thinking back about their schedule for the upcoming day, you offered: "Would 11 o'clock suit you?"

"Yes, that would be perfect."

You quickly jotted down a few keywords on the notepad.

"Anything else?"

"No, that's all. Thank you."

Returning to your desk, you could not help the way crinkles formed around your eyes at the sight of the name appearing on your phone: Bucky. A text was awaiting you. One that piqued your interest from the preview alone.

Are you free...

You hurried to make the necessary professional phone call, fighting the smile in your voice with each syllable. Once the reunion was settled with Andrew for the next day, and added to the official agenda, you crossed the keywords with a pen and a certain satisfaction. The mailbox empty, you hurriedly unlocked your phone.

You did not try to keep your heartbeat under control, staring down at the amalgam of pixels that formed the words you had anticipated:

Are you free tomorrow evening?

Your fingertips danced over the digital keys, hurriedly forming your response.

Ready to show me your best?

You laughed under your breath, anticipating his answer.

Since the professional-event-turned-party at Avengers Tower eleven days prior, messages from Bucky had been scarce but thoughtful. He would ask seemingly random questions to get to know you better, whilst also putting effort into each reply to your own. A handful of texts had consisted of warnings regarding a temporary unavailability. Typically followed many hours later by a new one, announcing he was free again.

You never knew what caused his absences, assuming Bucky would tell you when he deemed it right, if ever.

The phone screen sprung to life again and you did not wait to open the message.

Ready to be properly flustered?

You chuckled to yourself, hiding a smile behind your palm, elbow propped up on the desk.

For all certainty, you verified the agenda for the next day.

Friday: - 11:00: Meeting with Andrew - 12:30: Lunch with Mr. Gaboni and Mr. Adrian at La Tartine - 14:30: Video call about the spring updates - 16:00: Debrief in conference room 2

You were only attending the latter two. Round ups usually lasted an hour, 90 minutes at most. You would be free to go at 5:30 latest.

You can certainly try.

Was the answer you settled on, with the added information of when you would be leaving work.

The glossy white phone on the desk rang then, pulling your attention away. You recited the usual opening line as you picked up the hook. The familiar voice of your boss' husband greeted you by name, asking to speak to their partner. After briefly putting them on hold to verify your higher-up was not already occupied, the call was transferred.

By then, Bucky's reply was awaiting you.

Pick you up at 7?

The corners of your lips tugged as you typed.

Perfect.

••• ○○○ ••• ☼☼☼ ••• ○○○ •••

The bell rang at 7 o'clock sharp.

You hurried to the intercom and pressed the button that connected you to the front door of the building.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, doll."

Bucky's voice was low and soft, deteriorated by an interference but all too recognizable. A small smile grew on your lips.

"I'll meet you downstairs," you answered before cutting the signal.

Fully prepared thanks to Bucky's text informing you of the dress code, all that remained was to slip on a coat. You threw one last glance at your reflection in the mirror by the entrance, checked the presence of the keys in your bag, and exited.

Bucky met you two floors lower, hands in his pockets, back to the iron fence that served as a door. When you passed the threshold, he instantly turned to you, a smile playing on his lips.

"Good evening," he greeted once more, offering his hand.

You raised your own, accepting.

"Good evening, sir."

Heat rose to your cheeks as Bucky leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles. The words you had thought of forming remained in your throat, glued to your tongue, thick as honey. You were too busy keeping your facial expressions under control, forcing your eyes back to normal instead of open wide.

Bucky chuckled when he straightened and interlaced your fingers with his.

"Don't tell me you're flustered already?"

Little shit.

You swallowed for good measure, but held your head up high as you answered: "It'll take more than that, Barnes."

He suppressed a laugh and shook his head.

After a sigh, he added: "Very well. It'll be more fun."

You took this moment to look him over. His hair was once again pulled back into a bun, albeit cleaner than the first time you had met him. He wore a dark grey suit over a black shirt, the top two buttons undone. The silver chain clung to his barely visible collarbone and you felt a ring against your palm. A black leather glove hid his metallic hand.

"Where are you taking me?" you wondered.

Bucky started walking, gently pulling you along.

"Brooklyn," he started. "There's an amusement park there I used to go to. Before the war."

You thought for a moment, eyebrows furrowed.

Tentatively, you asked: "Coney Island?"

He nodded.

"Luna Park to be exact."

"You do know it's not the same, right?"

Bucky squinted when he turned to you.

"Shame, here I thought the Witching Waves still existed."

His tone was dripping in irony and the grin pulling at the corner of his mouth only confirmed it.

"Okay, alright, I get it," you defended with a chuckle.

After a pause, you could not help but question: "Is that where you used to take your dates? Back in the day?"

You admired him intently: head down, suddenly bashful, briefly closing his eyes. Bucky rose his shoulders, shrugging.

"'t happened."

You gasped, the hand that was not laced with his rising to your chest.

"So I'm not special?" you asked, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed.

Bucky laughed. Properly laughed for the first time around you. It was loud, bright and clear, shaking his shoulders with every breath he pushed out.

"It's not funny!" you continued, pitching your voice up to make clear it was still a joke. "You're just gonna forget about me by morning!"

You could not keep the act up any longer, however. Not when Bucky met your gaze and shook his head, crinkles around his eyes.

"No, doll, not a chance," he begun. "You're very special to me."

You huffed.

"Laying on the charm thick, aren't we?" you teased, voice back to normal.

He licked his lips.

"Just a tad," he admitted. "But you're the first lady I'm taking out since I've found myself again."

The air was knocked out of your lungs. You hesitated a second before saying anything. Was he being serious? How long was that? You swallowed with difficulty and bit your lip.

"Really?"

The question was posed just above a whisper, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Bucky's head tilted to you, meeting your gaze.

"You're surprised."

Once again. Not a question.

"I am," you admitted.

He was amused. Bucky may not have flustered you with the confession, but this pleased him just as much.

The stroll from your apartment had led you to a metro station, which you were now entering, allowing Bucky to guide you to the correct platform. A breeze was flowing in from the underground tunnels.

Pulling your hand for you to face him, Bucky asked with furrowed brows: "Cold?"

You shook your head no.

His eyes scanned the screen behind you.

"3 minutes."

The station was as busy as usual for a Tuesday evening, neither overly crowded nor deserted. Some held large grocery bags, others were focused on texting back. A man talked loudly into his phone. Plenty were wearing headsets, rendering them blissfully unaware to his personal problems that were being shouted for all to hear. Something about how he didn't do it, baby girl, she misunderstood and it wasn't like that.

You suppressed a laugh, amused by the poor attempts at excuses. A knowing glance was shared with Bucky, who was also pushing down the corners of his mouth.

On the train, when you did not have to bear the yelling any longer, you spoke to Bucky: "Can I ask about your life before the war?"

He nodded.

"Only if I can ask something first though."

You rolled your eyes but smiled.

"Sure."

"When did you recognize me?"

The tone was not accusing, merely curious. You inhaled sharply.

"Towards the end of our first conversation."

"Hm." Bucky slowly acquiesced. "You didn't say anything."

"Why should I have?"

"Alright." He huffed, seemingly satisfied with your answer. "What's your question?"

"Do I only get one?"

"Obviously. Too bad you just used it."

"Ha-ha," you ironized.

He was smirking.

You shoved him back, palm pressing against his chest.

"More seriously though... what was it like?" you waved a hand to accompany your words.

Bucky paused, lips pursed and eyes lost in the distance.

"Different." He swallowed. "Pardon my french here, but I'm so fucking grateful for the progress we've made as a species since I was a kid."

"Like what?"

"Like fucking vaccines for example!"

You chuckled. That was not where your mind was headed, instead picturing more trivial topics, such as colored television.

"Can't help but think how much better Steve's life would've been had we gotten those back in the day."

Your amusement caused by the initial surprise was replaced by tenderness and endearment.

Hesitant, you nevertheless said: "I'm happy you two somehow found each other back."

"Me too, doll."

Bucky and Steve had a special connection. You realized that. One that you would most likely never share with anyone. They were best friends, yes, but it was deeper than that. They had crossed through time, both frozen -- asleep only to awaken in the 21st century. How unlikely, and yet here they both were.

"How did you meet?" you wondered aloud.

"Steve and I?" Bucky asked back, eyebrows raised.

You nodded.

The remainder of the train ride was spent in comfortable silence for you, only reacting occasionally to Bucky's childhood tales. While he did not attract any attention to yourselves, he knew how to spin a narrative, how to maintain your attention. He paused for dramatic effect whenever he saw fit, keeping you on the edge of your seat. You laughed on more than one occasion, ranging from quiet to bright and clear.

Bucky had been the most curious one by text so far. You enjoyed the role reversal, listening to him intently while he recounted what sounded like the best days of his life, all spent with his dearest friend.

Your halt was reached just as Bucky finished telling you about his and Steve's most memorable trip to Rockaway Beach -- when they had to sit in the back of a truck to get back to Brooklyn after having spent all their trip money on hot dogs.

"Here we are," Bucky announced, leading you off the train.

The sky was tinted in dark oranges and pinks when you exited the underground tunnels, welcomed back to the surface by the setting sun. What remained of the voyage was done on foot once again.

"Did you come here often?"

"Coney Island, you mean?"

You nodded, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket to keep yourself from interlacing Bucky's fingers with your own.

"Not really, if I'm being honest. Steve and I brought a couple dates here in our twenties, but younger, our families didn't have much money," he explained. "We were four kids at home and getting all of us here was expensive. Steve's parents had other things on their mind, their son being a sickly one, and all that."

You remained quiet, pondering his words.

"Do you try to make up for certain things? Now that money isn't a concern anymore."

Bucky shrugged: "Som'times. Not all of it's worth it though. And there's other things I gotta miss out on instead."

"Like what?" you wondered, eyebrows furrowed.

"Down-time," he said matter-of-factly. "Don't have as much of it as I used to. I've gotten busy."

"You can never truly win, I guess."

"Nah, but you can make the best of what you have," he smiled. "And for what concerns me, the best way to spend my time is in your company."

You managed to fight back the smile for mere seconds, before letting it split your face across. A hand slipped back out of your coat pocket to meet his. Bucky's eyes were sparkling, looking at you as you interlaced your fingers.

Stop staring, you were tempted to say, but you held his gaze instead. Being the center of his attention made you happy; it made you feel important. You could only imagine how many people would have killed to be in your shoes in that instant, but you quickly realized how little you cared. What mattered was the man next to you, admiring you as if you were a star. The openness and sensitivity he had shown until now only served to elevate him further.

By the time you reached the entrance to Luna Park, neither of your smiles had faltered.

Bucky paid for your tickets, unbothered by the look of recognition the cashier did not even try to conceal. You almost expected him to ask for an autograph.

"You ever been here before?" he wondered as you passed the barriers.

"Nope." You accompanied your answer by shaking your head. "But I've been meaning to."

"Lucky me, I guess."

"Very lucky."

Bucky grinned your way, understanding that you were, in fact, calling him lucky for landing a date with you at all. While it was not entirely false, your confidence and busy schedule having kept you from attending many romantic rendez-vous in the past, it was still a jest. If anything, you would have called yourself the lucky one. For that matter, you may just do that, admitting it in an moment of bare honesty.

A gentle smile tugged at Bucky's lips.

"Trust me, doll. I am."

And just like that, your heart was fluttering once more. You doubted you would ever grow tired of Bucky's charm, no matter how cheeky it might become at times. You could not envision disliking being the center of this man's world; an Apollo singing your praises.

The task of choosing rides was left to you, Bucky never pulling you to one side or the other in the park. He followed you onto all of them, no matter their speed or lack thereof. Halfway through the evening, he insisted on treating to you to a snack and drink in spite of your protests.

"You know I have a job and living wage, right? You already paid for the tickets."

"I am well aware of that fact, but I am also a man from the past."

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked despite the knowing look that already shaped your features.

Bucky licked his lips and chuckled, diverting his gaze briefly.

"You're impossible," he mumbled to himself. Then, turning back to you, he added: "Please, doll, let me be old fashioned just a little longer."

"Depends what you mean by that," you challenged.

"Nothing you'd disapprove of."

You sighed, understanding you'd met your match in stubbornness. Unsure what to say, your eyes stared into the ocean, dark and mysterious now that the night had fully set. Lampposts were illuminating the pier in a warm glow while stars speckled the dark canvas in the distance. It was a cloudless night.

Bucky's warm breath hit your ear, as he whispered: "All I want is to treat a beautiful woman on our first date." You turned back towards him and a shiver ran down your spine when you noticed his proximity, not having been this close since the night you'd met. The fresh scent of his cologne tingled your nostrils. "Please, pick whatever you'd like, and just this time lemme pay for it."

You swallowed and blinked fast, focusing to form a coherent sentence.

"Just this time?" you asked.

A chuckle rumbled through Bucky's chest before he answered.

"Just this time. For now."

You breathed him in one last time before turning away. Various drinks and small foods piqued your interest. Had you asked, you had no doubt Bucky would have paid for all of them, but you pushed that thought down. Instead, you settled for one of each and tried your best to not take the price into consideration. It was silly, money clearly not being a concern for Bucky, but you could not help yourself. Call it pride or education, either way, he would have to accept it.

"Are you always like that?" you wondered when you sat down on one of the benches at the pier, facing the ocean.

"Like what?" he asked, looking as if he knew exactly what you were referring to.

"So..." you hesitated. "Old fashioned."

Bucky chuckled, lowering his drink while he had been about to sip from it.

"Suppose I am," he shrugged. "Told you, I'm a man from the past."

"Yeah, quite literally," you nodded. "I sometimes forget that."

"Does it bother you?"

"Your manners?" You thought before answering. "No, I'm just not used to that."

Bucky nodded slowly.

"And my age?" he asked hesitantly.

You blinked, surprised at first. Then your brows furrowed.

"Not at all. I'd actually never thought about it."

"Is that so?"

"Just cause you've been existing for over 80 years doesn't mean that's your age."

"Not everyone agrees."

"Well they're idiots."

"Are you calling my best friend an idiot?" he joked.

"I believe I am."

A short laugh was shared and you relished in the way Bucky's eyes sparkled.

"I just... I don't see the point of counting all the years you were asleep, frozen. Sure physically speaking, you are really old."

"Gee thanks!" he laughed.

"You're welcome. But more seriously, on a mental level, you aren't a senior citizen. Except in your old fashioned ways sometimes I suppose, but that's not the same."

Bucky swallowed a bite of his own snack, listening to you.

"How do you feel about it?" you wondered.

"A mix of both. I'm not a modern-day 30 year old. I'm also not an elderly man. It's confusing at times. Don't really fit in anywhere."

You nodded in understanding.

"I've been wondering about something," you admitted. "Have you been catching up on what happened in the world?"

Bucky lowered his drink and swallowed.

"The important stuff's been covered, yeah."

"And what about... the less important? The banal?" You hesitated. "The pop culture?"

He winced, opened his mouth and closed it again.

"It's on the back-burner."

"Not interested?" you asked, brows furrowed.

"That's not it. It's just so much."

You nodded, chuckling. "Definitely."

After a pause, he wondered: "Why are you asking?"

"Just curious," you shrugged.

Bucky squinted, half a smile tugging at his lips.

"Okay, maybe I have a few recommendations," you admitted, avoiding his gaze.

"Really?" he mocked surprise. "Well why don't you show me a few things on our next date?"

You paused, eyes wide.

"Are you serious?"

Bucky nodded.

"If you'd like that, of course."

It was your turn to shake your head, excited by the prospect of a second date with this man.

"I've been having a great time with you tonight. I'd love to do it again."

"The pleasure would be mine, doll."

Your gazes locked.

At first out of pride, playing this as a game, you did not want to look away. Then you realized just how comfortable you felt. Bucky's eyes were warm, gentle, young yet reflective of everything he had lived through. For a second only, they flicked down, to your lips.

You could not help yourself, stealing a glance at his own. They were slightly parted, pink and inviting. Your heart rattled inside its cage at the prospect of closing the gap, leaning in closer.

His warm breath fanned over your skin, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You shivered, both nervous and excited.

However, your reverie was interrupted when Bucky cleared his throat. All of a sudden, you realized how cold it had gotten since the sun had sunk under the horizon. Even more so now that a breeze flew through your hair.

"I should get you home," Bucky said seriously, still maintaining your gaze.

You nodded. "Alright."

For the way back, a taxi was halted and guided to your apartment. The ride was quiet as you held hands on the backseat, creases around your eyes. When the car stopped in front of your building, Bucky stepped out with you and let the driver go.

Standing face to face, you thanked him for the evening.

"It was an honor," Bucky answered.

You chuckled.

"I hope to see you again very soon," he added.

"I'd love that."

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Bucky held up your hand again and bent down to press a kiss onto your knuckle. Despite the déjà-vu, your heart fluttered nonetheless.

"Have a wonderful night."

"You too, Bucky."

"Trust me, I will. You'll haunt my dreams. I couldn't wish for anything better."

A wide smile split your face and you could not help yourself any longer. You walked closer to the man in front of you and pulled him down by the shoulder. Hoping to leave some sort of mark, you kissed his cheek, your free hand cradling the other side of his face.

When you pulled away, you whispered: "Goodnight, Bucky. Sweet dreams."

It was only once you'd passed the metal front door that you heard the soldier reply under his breath.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

[mrmorganswoman]

no grave can hold my body down, ill crawl home to her

summary:

arthur morgan knew he was the type of man that shouldn’t risk falling in love, but jesus she just made it so hard NOT to

a/n: first fic!! inspired by work song by hozier lol. hope y’all enjoy it Xx 💗

‘Arthur Morgan, you fool’ He thought to himself, mentally swearing for catching himself staring at their camps newest member yet again. But he just couldn’t help it. He knew he shouldn’t indulge in this. It was stupid really, any attempt at love in the past had failed him. All because of this life he chose to live. One that wasn’t easy to leave behind. Though Arthur knew, if you asked him to he’d throw it all away. God this man would do anything for you, he practically worshiped the ground you walked on. He didn’t know why he was so captivated by you, maybe it was your honey sweet voice, or the kindness you showed him right from your first day of knowing him. He couldn’t stop himself from loving every little thing about you, to him you were perfect. A goddamned goddess. He thought you deserved someone better than him. A woman such as yourself deserved to live a good life, one where the law isn’t out to get you. One where people could be out to hurt you because of your husband’s line of work. You deserved to feel safe and secure in your life. Nothing like the chaos you were living through now.

Little did Arthur know, you were feeling the exact same way about him. You had deep feelings for Arthur Morgan, you were as sweet like sugar on that man. You loved everything about him, but most of all how he treated you. He made 100% sure you felt safe and were taken care of all the time. You were one of the first people he’d check up on when returning from a job. Or you mentioned something you needed and the next day he would just so happen to need to run to town and what do you know, the exact scarf, seasoning, hair ribbon, you name it would be included in his haul. And if he was around at meal times, he would not so subtly make sure you got your portion. All of this and yet, he rarely said a word to you. It confused you to no end, it felt like he cared about you deeply but he rarely paid any attention to you. You were a lost soul before you started riding with the Van Der Lindes, and because of the Blackwater situation it was hard for the gang to let in a new mouth to feed. But ever since the beginning Arthur made you feel so welcomed. You don’t know what you did do deserve his kindness but it was deeply appreciated. Mary-Beth was CONVINCED Arthur was sweet on you, so we’re Tilly, Molly, Abigail, Karen, goodness even Susan Grimahaw herself made a comment about it you once. You wanted to believe it so badly, but he didn’t talk to you!! He could just be a kind man of little words and you’re reading into the situation all wrong.

‘Oh well…’ You thought with a sigh, flicking your eyes up from the needle work you had long been neglecting because of your thinking. To your surprise, you found a pair of beautiful blue eyes already looking in your direction…

~~~~~~~

“Shit!” Arthur swore under his breath, god dammit you were still as a staute for ages before this why’d you have to look up now?? Arthur begrudgingly tore my eyes away from t and started walking to his horse- where he was supposed to be already. Hosea wanted to take him into town for some reason he had yet to say.

“Arthur!” Hosea said warmly. He then raised an eyebrow. “I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here?”

‘Oh I this is NOT goin’ there.’ Arthur thought.

“Course not.” He said flatly. Hosea smiled a knowing smile, before long they mounted thier horses and were off.

The ride to Valentine was thankfully silent and quick. But Arthur knew that was going to change as soon as Hosea informed him that he was taking Arthur to the saloon to “Chat over a drink” With such a grin on his face that Arthur knew he was nothing short of doomed.

After getting situated at the bar with a neat whiskey and a beer, Hosea start talking to Arthur, though it felt more like he was speaking AT at him. Making little remarks about love and what it does for people. Sharing little stories of “the joys of marriage.” …..very sneaky, Hosea.

“Hosea…. Please get to whatever point it is yer tryin’ to make here.” Arthur said, cutting into his rambling.

“Arthur….” He cooed, sounding like he was talking to some schoolyard boy. “I’ve been watching you pine over (Name) for MONTHS.”

Arthur said nothing. Nothing but a silent prayer that his cheeks weren’t burning a fiery shade of red.

“I know you’re sweet on her, it’s as obvious as a wolf standing in a pack of sheep!”

Arthur ran a hand over my face and let out a tired sigh. Hosea sipped his beer, waiting for him to respond.

“What ‘m I supposed’t say?” Arthur grumbled, crossing his arms over my chest. ‘God, what a pathetic fool I am.’ Arthur thought. “Not like she’d want an ugly bastard like me ‘nyway.”

“On the contrary! Hosea chuckles. “I was walking by the women’s tent last nigh- couldn’t sleep. Wanted to walk a bit to clear my head- and my boy you should’ve heard the things (Name) was saying about you!”

At that, Arthur sat up a little straighter. “What things…?” He asked, slightly wearily. Hosea smiled.

“Son, she’s fallen for you head first! If only you’d start speaking more then 2 words a week to her! You do so much for that girl Arthur, would it be so hard to do that too?”

He didn’t say anything. Learning that, by some fucking MIRACLE- the woman of his dreams has fallen for him was making his head spin. Could this really be happening?? Could this work?? A stab of pain shot through him as he remembered Mary, and how things ended with her. But this could be different, after all you were with the gang. You didn’t care about his life, you loved him despite it all…Arthur hadn’t dared let himself think that a love with you could possibly work out. The thought made him giddy. He felt dumb as rocks, feeling so strongly for you without ever saying a damn word to you. But he couldn’t let himself get to know you- he couldn’t bare to hear your silky voice say his name more then you already do. With such kindness, such love.He wanted to talk to you, to love you, to cherish you and worship you like you deserved to be, but-

“Hosea, I’m afraid.” Arthur said quietly. “Look at ‘er, I can’t drag this woman down the path I’m on. She doesn’t deserve a man like me.”

Hosea pushed Arthur’s untouched whiskey towards him, Arthur took the glass and downed it all in one go. He listened to Hosea’a next words at the fiery liquid settled in his stomach.

“Are you going to risk making that decision for her?”

~~~~~~~

You sat on the cold ground in front of the dying out campfire, grateful that everyone had fallen into their cots for the night. You loved the solitude of nighttime. It was so nice to be by yourself, enjoying the quiet peace of the stars above you.

Before long, your thoughts (as they always did) turned to Arthur Morgan. Hosea has returned to camp hours ago, telling you that Arthur should be back shortly. It’s been hours and still no sign of him. You knew it was normal, but you couldn’t help but worry while he was out of camp. Which was stupid really, you weren’t his girl. Just because he was kind didn’t mean you had to get your knickers all on a twist over him.

‘Damn your mysterious-ness Arthur Morgan….’

You only know you dozed off when the familiar sound of a horse whining woke you up. And then an even more familiar voice soothing the distressed animal.

“Easy girl…. Y’know I can’t spend all my time with ya’ don’t you?”

You stretched your arms out and listened to the sweet interaction. Despite him being the gang’s toughest enforcer, a wanted dead or alive outlaw, Arthur truly was a sweetheart. He treated all the women of the camp with the utmost respect and was such a help to any soul in need of. If only he knew how badly you needed him.

You from your spot on the ground, drawing the outlaws attention. He approached with a small smile.

“Glad it was jus’ you..” Arthur said, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. You on the other hand were absolutely over the MOON at the fact that Arthur had finally decided to talk to you.

“Oh I hope you’re not too disappointed Mr. Morgan!” You said with a light chuckle. Arthur, not sensing your sarcasm through his nerves, panicked.

“N-no! Not at all, ma’am! I apologize if I came off that way-”

“I’m just teasing ya’ Arthur. It’s quite alright.” You said and smiled. A smile so sweet and bright Arthur could’ve melted on the spot. Your sweet smile, the way his name rolled off your lips. Arthur wasn’t a religious man, but he might as well have been in heaven.

“(Name)….” Arthur said, his sweet southern drawl when he said your name making you blush. “I’d like to apologize. For how I’ve been treatin’ you.”

“Oh Arthur! You’ve been nothin’ but kind to me since I’ve been here- whatever are you sorry for?” You asked him, genuinely shocked at the man’s statement. Were you talking to the same Arthur who took care of your horse for you, bought you ribbons to put in your hair, and watched over you like a protective hawk? Sure he didn’t speak to you much, but you knew he was a man of few words. Even if it hurt sometimes, could live with it. You didn’t need him to love you back for you to love him all the same. You’d almost accepted it. Almost.

Arthur sighed a deep and nervous sigh, his thoughts blurring and the several whiskeys he had in him were NOT helping. Not a bit.

“You see- well it’s, it’s just-” Arthur stammered- god he was making a complete FOOL of himself!

You stepped closer to Arthur, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. You looked up at him nervously. The two of you had never been close as this. Arthur looked down at you, you had concern laced in your eyes. Concern for him. Your long hair was falling out of its messy braid, the loose strands framing your face beautifully. He could see the nights starts reflected in your eyes.

‘How beautiful..’ Arthur thought. He was completely captivated by you. ‘How could a woman like this be allowed to roam the same earth as someone like me..?’

Without even realizing what he was doing, Arthur pulled you flush against his chest, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other reaching up to cup your chin. His touch was feather light as he stroked his thumb over your face.

“I ain’t never felt like this before Miss…” Arthur mumbled, leaning his forehead down to touch your. He didn’t have time to wonder (or thank) whatever divine force gave him to courage to do this. “You got me makin’ a fool outta myself…”

You let out a soft gasp at the a sudden touch from Arthur. You had only ever been like this in your sweetest dreams, was this really happening??

“Arthur…?” You whispered, questioning him. “Wha…What ‘re you d-”

That’s it. He couldn’t take it anymore. To hell with the risks, the past to hell with it all! He had come to love you more than life itself. You were exactly what he needed in his painful and cruel life.

You were such a loving soul, treating everyone and everything around you so kindly it was heartwarming. You give and give and GIVE to everyone around you. You never judged anyone around you for their actions- past or present. You picked up chores from the other women when they needed a break. You sung little Jack to sleep when Abigail was too exhausted to lift her head from her cot. You put braided flowers into your beautiful long hair whenever you had a moment to yourself. You smiled at him every morning when you left your tent to begin your day. You always kept the pink silk scarf he picked up for you and left in your tent with a note in the pocket of your skirt. You picked at nails and hummed when you were nervous. You loved staying up late, gazing at the stars and admiring the universe. He had pages upon pages of you doing exactly that sketched in his journal.

You were heaven sent. You were perfect. The world didn’t fucking deserve you.

Arthur slammed his lips down onto yours without wasting another moment. And he shuddered at the feelings of your lips finally being against his own. You kissed him back just has hard, standing on your tip toes to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. You felt his tongue slide against his bottom lip, and wasted not a moment opening your mouth to let him in.

Months of longing, tension, were fought out as your tongues pushed against each other. Of course Arthur won, you could barely contain the moan that was building in the back of your throat when you felt his tongue exploring your mouth like a starving man. If he hadn’t been holding you so tightly, you would’ve fallen over. The sheer want and desperation of the kiss made your knees go completely weak.

Unfortunately, you both needed air and had to pull away. Arthur rested his forehead against your own. The both of you stood there, panting with closed eyes. Neither wanting the moment to end.

When you eventually opened your eyes, you looked up at Arthur. And couldn’t help the giddy smile that spread across your face. Arthur wrapped both of his strong arms around your waist, and he smiled sweetly back at you. You both stood there for a moment, swaying gently back and forth as you embraced each other. The silence that fell between you both was comfortable and welcome as you gazed into each others eyes, both sharing the same look of love and adoration.

Arthur was the one who finally broke the silence between the two of you, and you will never forget his next words.

“Please darlin’” He whispered. “I’m beggin’ you… I want you to be my girl. I’m sorry I was a fool for such a long time-”

You leaned up on your tip toes and silenced him with a gentle kiss.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Mr. Morgan.”

[hexesandroses]

🎲

14. A kiss to the stomach

Terms of endearment in Old Norse: Ástin mín - my love, my dear Ljúfr - dear, beloved

Minors DNI

I just needed to see Dainsleif simping really hard 😭

Sunlight never reached the fallen kingdom of Khaenri'ah. There, below the surface, used to live a nation that didn't know the warmth of the sun; making the most of what they had, they adapted to the darkness, used ancient alchemy to bring forth new life.

Dainsleif remembered emerging from the ruins of his homeland and feeling the sunlight on his skin for the very first time. He remembered shunning it, retreating to the shadows until night fell - the only remainder of a nation that once was. The searing heat, foreign as it was, would send waves of pain through his midnight blue skin. Warmth, light - everything that he had once known - had been artificial, but the blinding sun in the sky was anything but.

So he thought until he met you.

Dainsleif believed that he hadn't known true light until he found you. You, whose love brought him to life, awakened parts of him he thought were long erased; whose touch set his skin alight; whose smiles were as lovely as the sunlight that streamed through the curtains. Radiant, warm, wonderful you - Dainsleif couldn't get away even if he tried.

A man deprived of something was not so easily satiated; a man deprived of sunlight would not feel its warmth until it burned him. Such was his nature - such was his vice.

Dainsleif's lips trailed your soft skin, leaving not an inch neglected. Large hands held your waist as though fearing your departure would come with nightfall.

You stood before him half-bare with your back pressed against the wall. There were better places to do this, no doubt, but Dainsleif loathed the idea of letting you go even for a moment. Desire coursed through his body, clouding his senses until all he could see, feel and hear was you.

All traces of rationality had long been overtaken by a desperate craving that only you could satisfy. As it was, he was certain you could feel his hardened cock pressed against your hip.

Dainsleif pulled away from your neck where his teeth had grazed your skin, leaving purple bruises in their wake. One careful look at you served to make his heart swell with adoration.

"Beautiful," he murmured, raising a hand to caress your cheek. "The word itself pales in comparison to you."

He was rewarded with a bright laugh, with fingers curling in his blonde hair.

"That can't be true."

"I would never lie, ljúfr," Dainsleif said earnestly, "not to you."

The corners of your lips tilted upwards in a soft smile, and through Dainsleif's mind ran thoughts he had pondered a million times before: how could someone like you look at him that way when he was no longer fully human? A monster in the making; did he deserve your smiles, your tenderness?

Does it matter?

He pressed a kiss to your lips, slow and sensual, reveling in the way you sighed into his mouth. This was all he could ask for; you were his sanctuary, the only constant in an ever-changing world. Without you, there was no light in Dainsleif's life - nothing left to hope for.

His lips peppered your skin with kisses - from your neck, shoulders and to your chest - until Dainsleif sank to his knees before you, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes.

Your breath hitched in your throat. Dainsleif watched in amusement as you raised a hand to cover your face.

"There's no need," you stammered.

"I want to," a soft smile, "let me take care of you, ástin mín."

Dainsleif leaned in, lips brushing against your stomach in a reverent kiss that made you shiver. Briefly, he found himself thinking: if you were a goddess, then Dainsleif was your devotee.

And the only right way to pray, he supposed, was to do so on his knees.

[moonlitdesertdreams]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗Star Wars Masterlist ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

✮✮✮One Shots✮✮✮

Too Sweet (You've been a safe place for Din Djarin for years. He comes to you at his most vulnerable, but always has to leave before you're ready)

✮✮✮Multi-Chapter✮✮✮

Judgement Call (Din Djarin x Fm!OC)

✮Original on Ao3 here ✮Currently uploading a revamped version, with new chapters below✮

Part I: Pagodon Part II: Reward Part III: Travel Part IV: The Compound Part V: Trapped Part VI: The Egg Part VII: Nevarro Part VIII: The Raid

[aethelwyneleigh27]

I HAVE BEEN LISTENING TO HOZIER NON-STOP FOR THE PAST 6 HOURS.

If you guys know his songs "Too Sweet" and "Work Song", YOU CANNOT TELL ME SIMON RILEY ISN'T CODED IN THOSE SONGS, LIKE I KNOW THE HARDENED LIEUTENANT MORE LIKELY DOESN'T LISTEN TO THOSE KINDS OF SONGS BUT YOU CAN'T TELL ME THOSE SONGS AREN'T HIM ENGRAINED IN LYRICS.

There's so many ways to interpret "Too Sweet" and though the original meaning of the song is rejection, I have another way in mind to interpret it. So the question is, what do you want me to post first? These post will carry angst, I have no promises of a happy ending but I'll do my best to make it work.

And yes, although I know it's a rejection song, I will say early on that I will interpret it far different than what others will because I want to sway it a little bit on the end goal. I need happy endings too yk.

I'M FUCKING OBSESSED WITH HOZIER, IS THIS A NEW PHASE?

Also would y'all be interested in a Simon Riley dating playlist from my music taste??

@wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thelightdjinnofpalestine @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @fawnchives @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam

[fluffysucker]

There's nothing like this

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU) Boxer/Biker! Bucky Barnes x Chef! Reader Part of the Miss Americana & The heartbreak Prince. AKA Bucky and his princess ALL ONESHOTS CAN BE READ AS STAND-ALONE

Bucky looks at you and your relationship

Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female. Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me.

Been sitting on this one for a while now.Anyway hope you look it.

HEAVILY based on Hozier's song 'Two sweet'. Because look at me and tell this song isn't so Bucky and his princess.

Main Masterlist

It was absurd. It was unusual. It was odd. It was unconventional. It was everything but normal.

However, it made perfect sense for both of them.

He was focused. He was determined. He was in the ring. He held his hands up near his face, calculating his next steps carefully. If he played it right, the fight was his with the least effort.

And he did. Because right now, he was the legend. The icon. The unbeatable. He was James Barnes. He was, as many like to call him, the Winter Soldier.

The opposite man never stood a chance to begin with. He knew it. Everybody knew it. It's a sad day in any player's life when they are paired with Barnes.

His legacy was unequal. His reputation preceded him. His demeanor spoke loudly. His appearance made it clear. His strong body and physique. His toned muscles. His broad shoulders. His long hair. His cold stare.

Everything about him prompted fear to the hearts of all players who sought this game as a profession.

He was untouchable. He was unconquerable. He was the Winter Soldier. He was James Barnes.

Winning this fight in record time with a final blow from his left arm, which the opponent wouldn't recover from, wasn't what was abnormal about this.

The abnormality came from the girl in the pink dress and bright makeup who sat in the first row and cheered for Barnes like her life was dependent on it.

Finally, you were able to get to this place in your relationship where Bucky was okay with you watching him fight.

You thought you had lost your hearing when Bucky told you that you could come and watch for the first time. You were playfully nagging him about it like you usually did whenever he had fights coming up. You never expected him to give in and agree this time. It took you a couple of seconds to react. Only regaining composure when he offered to take it back. Over your dead body. You had been waiting for this long enough.

Bucky couldn't understand how or why someone would get this happy and excited to watch a boxing match. Especially someone like you. Someone so sweet and adorable.

Your excited squeals and up-and-down jumping in the kitchen of his apartment once he told you left him surprised in a pleasant way.

You really did love him so much that you wanted to risk being in such a place only to support him. Not that he would let anything happen to you. Never in a million years. But a person like you could never belong to places like these. And you were smart enough to know that.

But you didn't care. You had been asking for this for a long time. You meant every word you said. You wanted to support him, be there for him, and cheer for him. You wanted it.

You wanted to be a part of every aspect of Bucky's life. Because you loved everything about him.

And letting you come and watch him felt like a great victory and a big step forward. All your patience and understanding paid off.

And you continued. Letting Bucky decide whenever you could join. Let him have one of the guys pick you up and drop you off. Let him assign another one to stay with you.

It made you laugh inside. One of them would show up at your restaurant's door at the agreed-upon time and take you to the Stark property. Then, once you reached inside, another would be waiting for you to accompany you the whole time you were here. Most of the time, it was either Steve or Sam. Given that Bucky trusted them the most and you were closest to them,.

The whole thing felt very funny to you. You felt like a child being handed around from one to the other. But you were okay with it. You knew that was the only way for Bucky to let you come here. So you didn't mind. Whatever would put his mind at ease and would allow you to support your boyfriend. You were fine with it.

Bucky always made sure he planned it right. He made sure you arrived at the right time when you were able to watch his full fight from the start, but nothing before it. You were here only for him, and it should stay like this. He didn't like the idea of you seeing other messy, brutal fights. That was also why he made sure he brought you to fights that were easy. He knew he was winning. Fights that he came out of with barely a scratch.

Of course, you noticed this pattern of choices. But you didn't bring it. And you wouldn't. At least for now.

However, the most important thing for Bucky was making sure someone stayed with you at all times until you left. If Sam or Steve were unavailable to do this job for any reason, you weren't coming. It wasn't up to debate.

He knew the people who frequented Stark Property. They would eat you alive. Your lovability and tenderness would draw them to you like a deer in a wolf den. And they wouldn't be kind. And Bucky couldn't have this. If anyone said something to you, let alone tried to lay a hand on you, Bucky would burn the whole place down. No hesitation. No thoughts. Everybody would be in great danger.

Just like he was untouchable, you were too. And even more.

Knowing so, Sam and Steve took their assignments seriously. Because while both men loved you and cared for you, they were aware of Bucky's nature. It was no joke to him. God forbid he turn around mid-fight and see you sitting alone. They wouldn't hear the end of it. There were very few things the three men considered to be a threat to their long and strong friendship; this was one of them.

So today, after the referee announced him the winner, he turned to the crowd that was applauding him. His eyes immediately caught you. Standing in between Yelena and Sam in your puff-sleeved, heart-shaped neckline, filled with rose-flower pink dress, matching your shiny pinkish makeup. Your hair braided at the top and rest falling freely on your back. The necklace with his initials resting on the pit of your neck. You were cheering for him like he won the world's most prestigious prize.

Bucky was trying to fight his smile and not break character. You looked unbelievably cute. With your happy smile, bright eyes, and nonstop clapping, it was all for him. You did it for him.

Everybody was cheering for James Barnes or the Winter Soldier, while you were cheering for Bucky.

And he was so grateful.

Bucky left the ring, only throwing a wink at you on his way inside. While Bucky didn't show much affection towards you in here, everyone connected the dots.

You were the boxer's girl. And you held that with pride

Once Bucky was inside, some of the guys came out, making you all head out to the bar to continue the night there.

You were in the middle of a conversation with Wanda when you felt the familiar, strong arms wrap around your waist.

"Hey, princess." Bucky whispered in your ear as he pulled you close to his chest, laying soft kisses on your exposed neck.

You smiled at Wanda, who took this as her cue to give you two spaces. Because in here with the people he mostly trusted, Bucky wasn't shy about giving you all his attention and affection. In other words, it gets sickeningly sweet and loving.

"Hey, babe." You turned around to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands tightened around your waist.

"You were so great in there." You said this as you gave his lips a little peck.

"You liked it?" Bucky asked as he kept giving you small kisses.

"Yes, I wanted to shout at everyone to look at how strong my boyfriend is." You were laughing as you tried to speak between his kisses.

"I think they already know." Bucky couldn't help himself when he buried his face in your neck, kissing it softly.

"Well, they need to hear it from me." You felt the vibration of his laugh on your neck.

You moved a bit so he could look at you. You wanted to say this to his face.

"I'm so proud of you." You were looking into his eyes as you said it.

The playful smile on Bucky's face turned into something genuine. The care and love you gave after the fights touched him immensely. Nobody ever treated him like that. So gently. It was puzzling how, after watching a fight like this, you still chose to love him so sweetly.

It was an active choice you kept making. He didn't understand why, but he would never complain.

He leaned forward to capture your lips and kiss you softly yet passionately. He wanted to stay like this forever.

As the night went on, you and Bucky separated, travelling to different circles of people. But that didn't mean Bucky didn't keep his eyes off you.

Which was what led to where he was now.

Bucky was sitting in one of the booths, observing you. The back booth gave him the opportunity to see everything.

You were standing with his friends. People who were so different from you yet here you were, getting along greatly with all of them. You were talking to all of them, laughing, and sharing jokes.

Bucky couldn't help the smile on his face when he saw you struggling to give Clint an opinion about the dish he made and presented to you.

But you being you. You managed to find something nice to say about the barely edible food, making Clint's smile bigger than the sky.

You treat your mouth as if it's Heaven's gate.

The rest of you like you're the TSA.

Bucky kept watching you. He watched as you listened carefully to Peter's stories, and how you interacted and was fully invested. He watched as Pepper stole you to ask about a cake recipe for Morgan, which you happily provided.

Then he watched as you rejoined Natasha at the bar, picking up where you left off in the conversation with her.

It wasn't just the colors you wore that made you stand out. It was everything.

I wish that I could go along, babe, don't get me wrong

You know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain

Pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape

Bucky couldn't take his eyes off you. How you listened to everyone. How you treated everyone. How swiftly you got along with everyone. How compassionate and accepting you were. How sweet you were.

And you were all his.

Bucky kept looking at you as you were walking towards him.

"I brought you another one." You said this as you put the two cups on the table. His neat whisky and your raspberry martini.

Before you could sit down, Bucky pulled you to himself, ushering for you to sit on his lap. You gladly did.

His arms came around your waist, and yours around his shoulders. Your floral scent evaded his senses. It was the opposite of his. Strong scent like the woods and black coffee.

Your pink dress clashed with his all-black outfit. You felt too bright for the dark spot he was sitting in.

Everything about the two of you didn't make any sense. Not even in the slightest. You were the polar opposite.

You were nice. He was stiff. You were friendly. He was feared. You were understanding. He was strict. You were smiley. He was sullen. You were vulnerable. He was a closed book.

You were everything he wasn't. He was everything you weren't.

There was nothing like this.

And somehow, that made you perfect.

You brought lights he had never seen in his life before. You created happiness he never thought of. You led him to feelings he didn't know existed. You gave him love, which he always claimed he was unworthy of.

You changed his life. You turned his life upside down. In the best way possible.

Bucky wished there were enough words in the world to tell you how much he loved you. Bucky wished there were enough ways he could express his gratitude for you. Bucky wished there were enough time to show you how much he cherished you.

Bucky wished that one day you would ever comprehend how your sweetness saved him. How you were everything to him

"You're too sweet for me." Bucky spoke slowly as he kissed you.

[crow-raven-crow]

would you write something with the song “take me to church* from hozier, between reader and larissa?🤍

𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

Larissa Weems x Outcast f!reader words: ~2.3k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: LYRIC FIC, angst, fluff, nsfw: dom!Larissa, sub!Reader, marking, scratching, reader receiving, homophobia, description of anxiety, injury, blood, parental abuse, good ending (depending how you look at it)

summer: see above

masterlist

AO3 link in title ✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: I HAVE BEEN BEGGING FOR THE FREE TIME TO WRITE THIS ONEEEEEE!! Hozier is definately someone that I want to get into more and this has given me that opportunity hehe. If you follow me on other socials, you'll know that I'm actually seeing him in concert in november with dog and bug - im so fucking excited. Lyrics are jumbled but in order of the song. Enjoy x

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

Larissa pressed you against the soft cushions of your living room couch, her body fitting perfectly with yours as she rested between your thighs. A cold chill ran against your skin as soft, gentle hands explored the canvas you pushed forward, tracing over every dip, every scratch, every smooth expanse that your body had to offer. Her hand wrapped around you, your back arching as she pulled you up and consumed you with her touch.

If the Heavens ever did speak..

Her lips trailed down your jawline, starved kisses making their claim against the beautiful skin that housed your sinful soul. A whimper left your throat as her tongue met your pulse point, flattening and licking a long stripe up to your ear. Her voice was low as she spoke, a deep rumble in her chest projecting itself into desire dripping with lust. "Don't hide those delicious sounds from me, my darling.."

She's the last true mouthpiece..

Her hands traveled down your sides, tracing her fingertips down to your thighs as goosebumps were left in their wake. Her lips made their way down, down, down, her hot breath igniting a wave of electricity to shoot down to your core. Her tongue swiped over your right bud, swirling around the sensitive skin before capturing it in her mouth. An unadulterated moan left your lips as she sucked, your back arching into her ministrations as one of her hands toyed with the other.

The only Heaven I'll be sent to..

She gave the other bud the same amount of attention, pulling back after and admiring just how delectable you looked underneath her. A deep blush covered your features as your chest heaved, your eyes were dark and full of lust, full of want, full of the need to have her take all of you. She traced her fingers lightly along all the marks that were littered against your skin, appreciating them as though they were the most beautiful pieces of art that she'd ever made.

Is when I'm alone with you..

"Please.." The word left your lips weakly, merely above a whisper and contrasting the fire that burned within your lungs. It spurred her on, causing a sinister smirk to rise on her lips as she lowered her head between your thighs, facing where you needed her the most. Her lips ghosted along your inner thighs, your heart jumping to your throat as the need for her grew by the second. She placed kisses against your core, letting out a hum as the juices that managed to spill out made a presence against her lips. Her tongue ran through your folds, your nails sweetly digging into her shoulders as her tongue met your bundle of nerves.

Command me to be well..

The sounds she was capable of forcing out of your throat were sinful, and it was then that you realized how lucky you were to worship a goddess as unholy as her. Your back arched as she sucked your clit, the sensation coursing through your body and tearing a broken moan from your lungs. Her fingers teased your entrance, collecting your juices like a nectar before easily slipping into your core.

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies..

Your eyes fluttered shut as ecstasy took hold of your being, taking you in its corrupted grip as you begged to see stars. Her nails dug into your thigh, eliciting a hiss from you as the succulent pain kept you in the moment, kept you in the pleasure, kept you with her. A warmth slowly consumed your being, spreading to all ends of your soul and building you up with each curl of her fingers.

Her speed quickened as you got lost in the pleasure she provided you, the sight before her becoming an addiction she would dive into time and time again. Your body looked intoxicating under her touch as her limbs fit perfectly with yours. She continued a ruthless pace, pulling her name out from you in moans and whimpers and she built you to the wonderful edge. Your peak quickly approached, the pleasure slamming into you as your mind got lost in it, the entirety of reality fading away. Your body shook as you came, your mere existence being overcasted by the pure bliss that rippled through you.

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife..

A loud knock at the front door stole you from the hold of ecstasy, another set of knocks following and making you sober up. You both rushed to gather your clothes, picking everything up and becoming presentable before peeking through the blinds to see who still stood behind it, not knowing who would come up as you took the two of your to visit your hometown. All had gone well so far, though.. you were just forced to face the inevitable, the sight causing your heart dropping to your feet and your blood slow in your veins.

Offer me that deathless death..

Your parents stood behind the door, the tension building itself and closing up your throat at the thought that the only thing keeping you separated was a piece of wood. Your relationship with them wasn't the best and you were hoping that they wouldn't catch wind of you being there, let alone catch you with your lover. You turned to Larissa as panic rushed through your veins.

"You-" You cupped her face in your hands, gently rubbing your thumbs across her cheeks. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes as every horrible thing they used to do to you came flooding back. They would never accept you, and if they saw this? You were sure you wouldn't see the light of day again. "You need to go.. please.."

Good God, let me give you my life..

A wave of confusion consumed her, the worry in your features stilling her blood as she realized exactly what you meant. "I- No. I can't leave you with them-"

"They'll kill you-"

"They'll kill you!"

A silence filled the room, and you hoped for everything wrong to fade from existence as you looked into her eyes. They were so full of concern, so scared for what would happen, so scared to leave you. "Meet me at the spot by the river.. I promise, Larissa.. I'll be there. Please.."

The moment in which she realized she didn't have a choice settled in her bones and made her soul feel heavy. Another set of knocks echoed off the walls of your found sanctuary, pushing reality, pushing dread, pushing hate to the forefront of your minds. You led her to the backdoor, urging her to get there safely as she slowly disappeared from your view.

My lover's the sunlight..

You'd do anything to protect her, especially from the entities that stood just a few feet away. Your hand grasped the doorknob, everything stilling as you turned and opened the door. "Oh! Hi.. Sorry, I was-"

They pushed themselves in, forcing their existence in your temporary home, sucking the safety out of it as they walked deeper into the house. Your father spoke, his voice never straying far from demanding."Why didn't you tell us you were here?"

She demands a sacrifice..

They settled around the kitchen island, your mom placing her bag down as your dad leaned against the countertop, both facing you and demanding explanations in the end.

"I'm here for work-"

"Bullshit," your mom spat out, venom lacing her voice. "No one would come to a small town like this just for work."

"You'd actually be surprised.." You trailed off as you rested against the opposite counter, never making the mistake of not facing them while speaking again. You had done so once, and the aftermath was nothing less than swollen. "There's a lot you can do with the outcast-"

"You're still on about that? When are you gonna move on from them?"

"Maybe the day I become a normie.."

Your head was harshly turned to the side as a solid smack made way against your cheek, the familiar feeling of your fathers ring slicing up the skin and allowing a burn to settle there. You rose a hand to your cheek, touching lightly before wincing, a warm feeling soaking into your fingerprints. You didn't even need to look to know what had happened.

Something meaty for the main course..

"You are not different, y/n! Do you hear me?" Your fathers voice boomed through the kitchen, successfully stealing the breath from your lungs as your eyes shut in fear. Your hands trembled and you gripped the edge of the counter behind you to ground yourself, before looking into his eyes for what felt like the first time in your life.

"I'm done being erased by you.." Your voice was weak, lost somewhere in your throat but was pushed out by the feeling of finally being able to be yourself, the feeling of finally being able to live with Larissa, to truly live with her. "You've taken too much from me, and I want it back."

Confidence brought your posture up, your soul projecting itself to stand your ground. Laughs were reflected back at you, forcing anger through your veins as each one escaped their throat. Your stance wavered, and your mother took the opportunity to grip you by the collar of your shit, bringing you the closest to her that you've been in years.

She took you in, took in the fire that burned behind your eyes, took in the dread that coursed through your veins, took in the way that you didn't back down this time.. Her eyes scanned along your features, landing at the base of your neck that was now exposed to her. "You're here with a woman!"

That looks tasty..

Another hard smack landed on your face, making pain radiate against your cheekbone. You took in a breath, shaking it in your throat before it settled in your lungs. Your eyes were trained down to her feet, and you knew there was nothing you could say.. She'd seen the marks..

That looks plenty..

"I didn't want-" You were cut off by another one, this time being shoved against the counter behind you and forced to look into her eyes. Your head throbbed as the room spun every so slightly.

"You have no right to speak.. You have no right to be part of this family." She paused, allowing her words to situate themselves in your ears.

This is hungry work..

"I never was-" The last one to every grace you was planted against your skin. Your soul screamed with the knowledge, but your body wildly contrasted the feeling as tears streamed down your face, the salt burning the open wound before you shot your gaze up to your mother.

"Leave."

Take me to church..

You walked forward, pressing her against the other counter before clawing her hands off you. The action shocked them both, and it was then that your parents realized that they no longer had you under their control - you worshipped one goddess, and it was your goal to get back to her.

"Y/n.. wait.. we only-"

"Leave! You said it yourself. I'm not part of this family, and I'm enacting that statement now. Get out of my house."

You forced them out the door, grabbing them by the arms and shoving them out, causing them to trip over their own feet as the door slammed behind them - the image of who they were in your life quickly slipping away as a fresh breath filled your lungs.

You ran through the house, from the front door to the back one and jumped past the steps. You needed to get back to her.

Only then I am human..

Your feet met the hard ground beneath you, rocks and leaves getting blown away with the urgency found within your steps. The cool air filled your lungs, a burning feeling making way to your throat with every breath. You stopped at the top of the hill, taking in the sight in front of you as you took a moment to catch your breath.

Only then I am clean..

The sun was setting, casting the valley in a golden glow, your lover stood at the edge of the river, the rushing water filling your ears as you watched her run her hands through the clear liquid, her hair glowed along with the light, and her features ran soft even though there was a filter of worry that overcasted them.

You made your way over to her, the shuffling of your body causing her to shoot her gaze in your direction. A bright smile met her lips as she stood up and rushed over to you, soon being overshadowed in the worry that quickly consumed her.

Amen, Amen, Amen

She cupped your face gently, taking in the intensity of your wound as you watched her eyes scan over every aspect of your face. "How-"

"They're not going to bother us anymore.." You sunk into her touch, pressing the uninjured side your face against her palm as you closed your eyes, your hands shooting up to hold hers as your thumbs rubbed against her knuckles.

You were quickly consumed into a soul crushing hug, the air knocking out of your lungs as a small yelp left your lips. You quickly started laughing as you squeezed her back, the love your felt for each other radiating off your skin. She turned her head, resting it on your shoulder before speaking. "Let's go back.. Let me take care of you, love."

A smile rose to your lips as your turned your head just as she did moments before. You already felt the safety echo through your chest, bouncing across your ribcage and settling into your heart. A light chuckle left you as your locked eyes with hers. "Yeah.. Let's go.."

Good God, let me give you my life..

~~

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: THIS WAS SO FUCKING FUN TO WRITE HELLO?

it does get a bit heavy in the middle but after rewatching the music video I needed to display some of the emotions from that and was inspired and ended up with this hehe.

thank you for this ask ! im sorry I havent been posting as much but again im a wokring college student so I know yall will understand. I absolutely love it in this community and always love when I get to write for you all :)

hope you liked it !

x

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐯𝐲𝐧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

@eveymay @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @s-c-rambledegggs @vendocrap8008 @gwendolinechristieiscute @lvinhs @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

[the-blind-assassin-12]

What Can Still Be Known

A/N: This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge... which I meant to have finished weeks ago, but since it's May the 4th, today seems like a good time to post it even if it is later than I originally planned. Thank you so much to Gin for putting this together! I love music prompts, so this was right up my alley. I can't wait to catch up on the other stories written for this event! Make sure you all go check them out, too! You can find them here.

Prompt: My song was Butchered Tongue from the album Unreal, Unearth, and my character was Din. I was delighted to get this prompt, because that song speaks to my soul. It's melancholic and beautiful, and I think it fits Din so damn well, so I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: angst, mentions of canon typical violence, mention of death of parents/family, you know, Mandalorian stuff.

Word Count: 3,545 (oops.)

Summary: Din doesn't remember much about his parents or his life with them... but that doesn't stop him from wishing it were different.

Nevarro’s sun burned bright and hot as Din crossed the scrubby stretch of flatlands that separated the town from the Mandalorian encampment. Shifting the crate he carried under one arm, he tilted his head down to where Grogu hopped along beside him, using the Force to propel himself every few steps to accommodate for his father’s much longer stride. The sight, along with the string of happy gurgles and babbles spilling from the kid’s mouth, made a smile sprout beneath the man’s helmet. 

“It’s good to be back, isn’t it buddy?” 

Grogu looked up at him and squealed happily, nodding and pointing one clawed finger at the semi-permanent settlement growing closer with every step they took. 

Though the efforts to reclaim their homeworld had been successful, a small group of Mandalorians remained on Nevarro during the rebuilding process on Mandalore - mainly those responsible for teaching and raising the foundlings and other young children that were not yet ready to start their trials. There were two combat instructors, two teachers whose focus was on the tenants of the Resol’nare, one additional teacher who was responsible for teaching Mando’a, as well as a dozen or so students and their guardians. Eventually they’d all join the rest of their people on Mandalore, but until things were more solidly settled there, Nevarro was as safe an option for an outpost as could be found in the Outer Rim. 

Din chuckled. “I’m sure your friends will be happy to see you again, too.” 

That response sent the kid bouncing with excitement, hopping high enough so that he could fit in a flip before touching down again, the rondel and small pauldron he wore clinging together like chimes with his motion. 

“Go ahead,” Din urged him, jutting his chin out in front of him. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll be right behind -” But the child was gone before the last word left his lips. He sighed and shook his head in amusement. “-You.” He watched through the tinted screen of his visor as Grogu darted towards the sparring grounds, no doubt in search of Ragnar.  

It had been a few months since they’d been back on Nevarro, Din busy taking Grogu through his apprenticeship, teaching him skills that he would need in order to move on in his training. Tracking, hunting, navigation, survival, negotiation, just to name a few. Every lesson took them to a different planet, some of them coming with the added bonus of coinciding with a bounty or paid favor. The most recent one, a lesson in tracking on Rodia, had resulted in uncovering a stash of beskar ingots that had been defaced with an Imperial stamp. 

Immediately after finishing up on Rodia - Din showing Grogu how to incapacitate an enemy without killing them - they’d taken the recovered beskar back to the Armorer on Mandalore, so that she could fashion it into new pieces for the foundlings. It was strange, but good, to see the glass encrusted planet so teeming with life. It was a relief to know that what his people had fought for for so long, what so many had given their lives for, was finally secure. Finally theirs. 

But despite the fact that the Mandalorian people finally had a safe place to call home, Din had yet to feel that sort of connection with the planet. Unlike Bo-Katan, he hadn’t been born there, nor had he spent any time there as a child. He’d heard stories about what the Great Forge had been like in its glory, how lush the gardens of Sundari had been long ago. But to him, a foundling Child of the Watch who had never set foot on Mandalore until he was a grown man, they’d always felt like stories about some fictional, far off place. He wondered if that would change, if he would ever feel at home in a place that brought him no nostalgia or warmth. 

A part of him hoped that it would. Because it wasn’t just Mandalore that he felt that absence of connection to. It was everywhere he went. A side-effect of losing every home he’d ever had, it turned out, was not knowing where your roots would grow if they could grow anywhere they chose. 

He knew he had a home once. A true home, one where he could have collected a whole life’s worth of memories, enough of them so that when he returned there they’d all come rushing to fill his heart with warmth and welcome. He knew he had a family before the Tribe had become that for him, too. A mother and father who loved him so fiercely that they sacrificed their own lives to save his. When he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could still find their faces. His father’s was easier to recall because he himself wore so many of the same features. Every time he saw his own reflection he was reminded of the man who carried him through the battlefield that their village had become. 

His mother’s face was more difficult to recall in detail, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten her. He remembered her thick, dark hair and the way it curled at her shoulders. He remembered the texture of the red robes she wore, remembered tracing the intricate pattern of woven stitching on the cuffs of her sleeves with the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t be sure, but he had the thought that he must have remembered these things because she was the one who comforted him when he was hurt, sad or scared. That what he really recalled when he thought of his mother was the feeling of safety and warmth that her embrace provided. 

He remembered the tone of her voice, soothing but strong. His father’s was full and confident and always sounded like a smile was about to appear. He remembered that the two of them sang often. Sometimes he’d be hit with a snippet of a melody, the lyrics lost, turned to dust and ash like the rest of his homeworld, but he’d find himself humming and realize that it was one of the songs his parents used to sing. 

The forgotten lyrics were only a small part of a larger loss, though. They were written in a language that had died when the population of Aq Vetina had been snuffed out. So he could remember his parents’ voices. He could remember the melodies they sang. But the things they said, the words they used, the meaning behind them? All of that was gone. For all the languages and means of communication he did know, the first one he’d ever heard and learned escaped him. And in all of his travels since leaving his homeworld in the arms of an armored stranger that had become his Buir, Din had never met anyone who spoke his native tongue. 

It made him wonder if anyone else had survived the attack on his home that day, or if he was the last living member of a completely slain culture. 

Before he could ruminate on that thought for too long, though, Azil, one of the combat instructors, saw him walking towards the sparring grounds and waved him over. “Olarom, Djarin!” He pointed at the crate Din carried, tilting his helmeted-head in question. “Gifts from home?” 

The contents of the box shifted as Din handed it over, newly cast cuiresses ringing together in answer to Azil’s inquiry. “New beskar,” Din responded with a nod. “Freshly forged on Mandalore,” he added in answer to Azil’s question about where it came from. “I was told to deliver them to you for distribution to your students.” 

Azil set the crate down and clapped one gloved hand to Din’s shoulder. “Vor entye, vod.” 

Returning the gesture, Din did the same. “This is the Way.” 

“This is the Way,” Azil echoed, and then immediately set about unpacking the box of armor, sorting it by size, leaving Din to see where Grogu had gone. 

It didn’t take long for him to find his son. The long, green ears were a giveaway, sure. But so was the small crowd of other children gathered around to watch him levitate a black chunk of volcanic rock while Ragnar Vizsla practiced blasting it with training darts. With each successful hit, the other kids would cheer, a collective sound of amazement coming from them each time Grogu managed to evade the blast by redirecting the rock. 

Din stood watching for a few moments, silently appreciative that these children had this opportunity to laugh and learn and grow together somewhere open and safe and free. He could remember playing similar training games and showing off new skills with the few other children in his covert, though then it was all done underground, in hiding. But he couldn’t recall the kinds of games he might have played with friends in his village. If there were any nursery rhymes or tall tales he might have known once, they’d long since faded from his memory. 

It made him wonder if he’d eventually forget what little he could remember about his native culture. Would he lose it piece by piece? Until not even a familiar tune or the color red or his own reflection sparked any feeling? He hoped not, but it seemed inevitable. 

At least, it had. 

Suddenly - from a different group of children than the one gathered around Grogu, much to Din’s relief - a small child went darting by his boots, arms outstretched in front of her, the distinct sound of sniffles and cries trailing after her. Turning away from the training grounds, he watched as the child was scooped up by a woman who had just stepped out of one of the tents. He assumed that whatever sent the girl running was just the result of one of the other kids being a little too rough. Or perhaps one of Nevarro’s reptilian species had frightened the child. Either way, it was clear that there was no real danger and that the woman had things under control, so he started to turn back towards Grogu and Ragnar’s shenanigans. 

But then he overheard the woman begin to soothe the young girl in her arms. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

It stopped him in his tracks and sent his head swiveling back in the direction it came from. His heart pounded beneath the elongated diamond stamped into the center of his chestplate as he felt something unlock in his memory. 

He’d heard those same words before. So long ago that he was stunned when he recognized the phrase. So long ago that the meaning behind them was lost. But he knew they were spoken to him as comfort. He knew that they were words steeped in love. He watched the way the woman cradled the child to her armored chest, his eyes catching on the piece of red fabric that was pinned to the cowl of her flight suit. 

No matter how impossible it seemed that the words he’d just heard had survived what a whole settlement of people hadn’t, no matter how unlikely it was that it was there of all places that he’d heard it, no matter how slim the odds were that the tattered scarlet linen was the same fabric that he remembered from his home, Din found himself drawn to her. 

To you. 

—  —  — 

You were rewiring the com device in your helmet when you heard Tira’s cry. 

Though you knew that she was probably fine - there were dozens of other Mandalorian adults present in the settlement, and you knew that none of them would allow any real harm to come to the children - you immediately set your work down and stepped outside, senses heightened. But as soon as you saw her running towards you, you relaxed. She wasn’t hurt or being chased. She’d likely just been knocked over by one of the bigger kids while they played one of their games. Tira was small, but didn’t like to be told that. And since her older brother had begun his trials and wasn’t there as often to make sure she didn’t get pushed around by the others, she’d been having trouble adjusting. 

It didn’t help that less than a year ago, she and Maj had lost both of their parents in the battle to retake Mandalore, which is how the children had come to be in your care. 

As a former foundling yourself, you were more than willing to step in and raise them as your own, just as the Mandalorian who rescued you the day your village was attacked and your parents were killed would have done had he not been able to reunite you with your kin. You’d been brought to Corellia, where your mother’s sister lived with her family, and they’d taken you in and raised you instead. It wasn’t until you became an adult that you rejoined the Mandalorians and took the Creed, choosing to commit your life to the very people who had saved it. 

But though you mainly spoke Galactic Basic and were muddling your way through learning Mando’a, it was still your first language that came to you when you scooped a sniffling Tira into your arms and cradled her to your armored chest. It was still the words your parents - and then your aunt - had spoken to you when you’d been hurt or scared that you used to comfort the girl. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

You’re safe with me, sweet one.

You knew Tira and Maj didn’t speak Aquitto. They only knew the meaning of that one phrase because you’d taught it to them. And since your aunt had passed away, you knew that you were possibly the only person left in the galaxy who would even recognize it let alone speak it. As far as you knew, there hadn’t been any other survivors from your village that day. It struck you that every time you spoke it could be the last time it was ever uttered. 

Pushing that thought from your mind, you focused on Tira, kissing her cheek and letting her clutch at the sculpted pin that held a piece of red fabric - a remnant of the hooded robe you’d been wearing the day you were rescued on Aq Vetina - in place on your cowl. The pin had belonged to your mother, the woman pressing it into your hand before disappearing to go try to fight off the monstrous machines with the rest of the village. As a child you would trace the design on it with your fingertip whenever she held you, whenever she made the same promise you were making Tira. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

By the time you’d said it a second time, the girl had stopped crying. The words themselves weren’t magic, but the sentiment in them was. Even if they were the last scraps of the Aquitto language to live on, you hoped that one day Tira or Maj would pass them along to a child who needed to hear them, too.

Whatever had brought on the sudden storm of tears had passed, and Tira wriggled in your hold as she caught sight of some of the other children watching as the Jedi foundling levitated chunky rocks for Ragnar to blast with darts. You chuckled at her eagerness to get back out there with the big kids. “Okay, necta. But watch out for yourself, got it?” You set her back on the ground, stooping down to her level and ruffling her hair. “I know you’re a tough one, but you still have to be careful.” 

She nodded enthusiastically, telling you that she would be, and then she was gone, scurrying back across the crusty flatland towards the other kids. When you stood back up, you were met with the dark visor of Din Djarin - a man you’d never personally met, but who you’d heard a great deal about from the others in the settlement on Nevarro. You knew he was the Jedi foundling’s adoptive father. You knew he had previously wielded the Darksaber and that he was instrumental in helping Bo-Katan Kryze and the others take back Mandalore. You knew that he was responsible for reclaiming the beskar that your armor had been forged from. 

– – – 

“Oh, hello,” you greeted him, a small laugh in your voice that he figured was a result of the way he’d caught you off guard. You lifted a hand and reflexively tucked the piece of red fabric at your collar into place. “It’s Din, right?”

“Yes. Din Djarin. I’m sorry I don’t know your name, I-” 

You waved him off and introduced yourself. Smiling, you pointed in the direction that the little one you’d just set down had run off in. “That’s your son over there, isn’t it? Tira was excited to see him.” 

Din turned his head to follow your finger, though he didn’t need to look to know that you were indicating Grogu. “It is,” he confirmed, facing you again with a small shrug. “He likes to show off.” 

You laughed at that. “I would too, if I could do what he can.” 

“He’s a special kid,” Din replied, and you smiled again. 

“He is.” You nodded, and it was clear to him that you were still unsure of why he had approached you. “Is there-”

“Can I ask you something?” He tilted his head, hidden eyes fixed on the fabric at your neck - and on the sculpted pin that held it in place, the designs so familiar to him he could feel them on his fingers. 

You furrowed your brow, expression turning serious. “Of course. Not sure if I’ll be able to help you with it, but-” You held your hands up, palms to the sky. “Ask away.” 

“The words you just spoke to that little girl… Tira?” You nodded so he went on. “How do you know that language?” 

He watched your eyes widen with your blink. “You… You’re familiar with Aquitto?” 

Din sighed, giving a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t even remember what it was called, but… Yes. Or, that phrase, anyway. How do you know it?”

You let out a breath. “I… I was born on Aq Vetina. It was the language my parents spoke. It…” Again your fingers came up to the pin and the fabric that it secured. “It was my first language. I was lucky that my aunt knew it, too, or else I would have forgotten it completely after our village was destroyed and-” Something dawned on you and your eyes widened again. “You said you were familiar with it?” He nodded. “How?” 

You asked the question in a way that made him think you already knew the answer, but you needed - or wanted - to hear him say it. So he did. “Same as you. I was born there. It was my parents’ language. But I haven’t heard it spoken since the day droids raided our home.” He blinked, somewhat stunned that only moments before he had been mourning the loss of his native language and culture only to find a source of it right in front of him. “I didn’t know there were other survivors.” 

Your mouth fell open slightly as you stared up into the visor that hid his eyes from view. When you spoke again it was quiet, your words equally full of disbelief. “Neither did I.” Your lips twitched into a small smile despite the way your eyes had started to water. “I’m glad we were both wrong, Din.” 

“I am, too.” He felt a tightening in his chest, but it was unlike anything he felt before. It wasn’t from sorrow or anxiety, it wasn’t to alert him to a threat or caused by regret. It felt more like a connection forming - like meeting you had brought him closer to his own heart somehow. Instantly, a thousand questions popped into his mind for you, and he imagined you might have had some for him as well. But there was one thing he needed to know first. “Can you tell me what it means? What you said to Tira? My… I think my parents used to say it to me, and…” He trailed off, waiting for your response. 

“It means, ‘You’re safe with me, sweet one.’” You smiled again. “It literally translates to ‘You’re in my heart’ though. It’s… It’s what you say to the people you love most.” 

Just then, Grogu and Tira came tearing over, Din bending down to pick up his son and you settling your hand on the little girl’s head as she clung to your side. “Hey, Buddy. Remember when I told you about my parents and what I remembered about where I came from?” 

“Patu.” His head moved up and down, ears flapping with his nod. 

“Well, this lady comes from the same place that I do, and she just taught me how to say something in my old language. You wanna hear it?” 

“Patu!” He spread his clawed fingers over Din’s chestplate. 

Din looked over at you - at the warm smile on your face as you smoothed the little girl’s play-ruffled hair and gave him an encouraging nod - and then back down at Grogu. “Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

.

.

.

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[chosoclub]

SUNDAY MORNING ⋆ CHOSO KAMO

PAIRING — choso ° f!reader GENRE — lazy sunday au!smut!oneshot WORD COUNT — 1.7k TAGS — MDNI ° fingering (f!receiving) ° some smooch smooch ° drooling ° slight spit play ° slight voyeurism ° dirty talk (i didn't overdo it TRUST) ° giving gentle dom!choso a chance to shine CONSPECTUS — The sun like a bright, amber blanket, veils you and Choso as the two of you spend a lazy Sunday in bed.

The golden sun peeks behind the window shades, the partitions separating the light into smaller seams that overlook the bed. Choso softly snores next to you; his breaths are dense, and his eyelids are molded perfectly, resting against the pillowcase. His hair spreads across the pillow, strands idle on his forehead; the rest of the dark mane is a tangle near his temple. You reach over and plant a kiss against his cheek. His black eyelashes twitch before resting on his waterline again.

The lingering of your lips has him fluttering his eyes open, umber retinas melt into yours, and the edges of his eyes curl when he smirks. Good morning, he rasps, voice like honeysuckle, bitter from the long night of slumber, sweet at the sight of you. 

Under the covers, his hand moves with a smooth slink to your waist. It’s unexpectedly cold in contrast, but it slips behind your lower back and scoots you closer to his abdomen. He leans to kiss the spot between your jaw and neck. 

“How’d you sleep?” He murmurs under the hood of your jaw. 

“Not bad. Did you sleep well?” He emerges back to face you, smiling.

“Yeah, I did.” His hand tips your back closer to lean against his torso. His chest is warm; you can smell the trail of his cologne from the day prior. He rests his chin atop your head, saying, “We can stay here, like this for the day. How’s that sound?” 

His words reverberate when your forehead is against his throat. You chuckle, first at the vibrations of his nodes, second at the suggestion. 

“You wish, I have too much to do.” 

He brings his other arm to crawl under you, encircling around your upper back. He rests it there, sighing before squeezing his biceps slightly around your arms. His muscles are protruding, and arteries veiled by the beige skin begin to seep through even though he isn’t pressing hard enough that you can’t escape. 

“Looks like you don’t have much choice.” He presses a kiss to your scalp and shuffles you closer to his chest. 

You mumble against his skin that this isn’t funny. The only response is another kiss atop your head. He lets you pry from his arms, a pout revealing itself when you detach from his skin. 

“But it’s still early. Can’t you stay a little while longer?” He softly whines. It’s not a tone you hear from him often, a slow mutter; It’s dissimilar to his normal, intense, and quiet demeanor. His eyes gaze into yours, slow blinking, trying to lure and trap you within their conditions: staying in bed all day. Before you can process his movement, despite how slow it is, he has his arm trailing your waist again; this time, his fingers softly grip the flesh of your hip. C’mon, it’s Sunday. You should rest, he coos. He’s like a siren and you’re the delible sailor who is risking plunging into his trap until he has his claws sunken into your skin. 

He leans over and lingers his lips over your collarbone. Just a little while, he adds. He kisses the area, then travels up your neck for another kiss. He’s four kisses deep on your neck when you realize it’s too late for you; without even realizing it, you sink like an anchor straight into the perimeter of a bear trap resting on the deep-sea sand. 

He reaches your chin, pressing his plush lips against the hollow of your mouth. You melt into him, his bottom lip is warm and inviting, and the tip of his tongue is soft as it slowly probes at the divets of your lips. Letting him in, accepting delicious defeat, you tilt into the kiss, and when he hangs his mouth open, you mix your tongue with his. His mouth is dry, and you can taste the slumber from the ridges of his tongue. The kiss turns messy quickly; slick, pink lips that nibble at yours. Drool seeps out of Choso’s mouth that you lick up against his chin — He groans in response, unknowing that something so trivial as you tonguing and swallowing his spit could make him rock hard and have him dragging your pelvis against his. He hovers his hand under your shirt, reaching your breast and gently taking your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, a soft whine escaping your lips when he flicks the bud. It leads him to push his mouth even closer to yours, the sloppy, wet kiss full of warmth and desperation, your chin and upper lip covered in his spit. 

He’s swallowing every gasp that escapes your mouth as his cold hand now hesitates over the waistband of your panties, as if silently asking is this okay? As if the heat that has overtaken your cheeks, your heavy breaths, and the viscous sap that pools in your cunt aren’t already enough of an answer.

His kisses settle to quick, wet pecks on your face before he pulls away, “god, you’re so sexy when you’re like this.” 

“Like what?”

“Desperate for me.”

Something about his words and how his lips glisten as the morning sunlight creeps up the bed has heat traveling up your abdomen. Choso smirks, bringing his middle and ring finger up to his lips, coating the digits in saliva. Tipping his head forward, idle strands falling and framing his dark eyes full of intention, he scoots his hand under the waistline, cold fingers caressing over the goosebumps on your skin and prying your thighs open. When his middle finger reaches the opening of your pussy, collecting the wetness that’s already formed, your eyes roll back into your head, and your eyelids succumb to the pleasure. It’s acute the way he watches you; You’re desperate to have him kiss you again, a dry film already taking over your lips, but you know it won’t happen. He’s honed in on watching you get off from his fingers. 

He slides his middle finger up the middle and to your clit, the soft, slick spot already rosy and sensitive. A moan escapes your lips, causing him to pick up speed, and despite your eyelids hanging low, you can see Choso tilt his chin up in satisfaction before pressing his lips against your neck. He draws a tight circle around the boundaries of your clit, ring finger pushing past your entrance – He groans against your skin when he feels you shamelessly buckle your hips in rhythm with his thrusts. He retreats his fingers, twisting them like coils as he enters again, making you writhe and whine against his jungle of hair.

Mmm, he hums lowly, “So wet, listen to the sound of that,” he slides his middle finger inside, pressing against your swollen walls. And you do hear the flow of your pussy, coating his fingers, the squelch that makes your toes curl against his calves. Beckoning your pelvis with the two fingers, Choso tips your hips forward against his hand and the bed to get more leverage and allow you to bear your hips to his thrusts. He draws his tongue against your neck, laving in slow circles sending tingles up your back, and draws his coated middle finger to slide up your swollen clit until you’re whimpering against his ear; The molecules in the air are fizzing as the coils inside your pussy rend, the heat overwhelming and making you downright delirious. He picks up pace inside your walls, pushing his fingers until he’s knuckle-deep. Choso keeps his cheek against your neck, listening to your moans resonate against his skin. You tighten your folds against his fingers as you feel your climax crescendo. He draws his fingers out to the fleshy tips before pressing them inside once again, swirling them within the confines of your cunt. When his thumb reaches over to your pearly clit, gently pressing and stimulating the rosebud, it’s game over. His fingers have you oversensitive, writhing and moaning against him, which only has Choso going faster and his dick growing harder. 

“You’re so sweet when you’re trying to come from my fingers,” Choso peers down under the covers and at your hips that buck and thrust against his digits in desperation. He’s twisting his fingers knuckle-deep again and suckling at a spot on your collarbone until it’s bright red and glistening with spit. “I know you got it in you, baby,” he adds. 

“It feels – ah! – too good,” you arch your back, whimpering helplessly into the covers. He curls his two fingers inside the pillows of your pussy, relaxing them, drawing them out, back in, and curling them again, still keeping your clit stimulated until you become an arousal-filled, overstimulated mess. You orgasm all over his fingers, moaning against his chest at the sensitivity of your cunt. Choso pauses to draw his fingers out slowly, your eyes half-lidded, watching him bring the digits into his mouth and lick up the honey-coated fingers while his burnt umber eyes stare into yours. He relishes at the sight of you, strands of hair stuck to the glisten of your forehead, mouth hung slightly open, and eyes rolled back. It makes him feel proud to be the only one to have and see you like this, pussy spilling pearly-white cum and lips sultry to kiss him. The corners of his mouth quirk, watching your breathing slow as you float back to Earth. He drops his arm over your upper back to drag you against his chest. He doesn’t mind your sweat, in fact kissing your shiny forehead and saying, 

“See? I truly meant just a little while.” 

“So unfair,” you mumble.

“You can get me back when you have the energy,” He separates your forms to look down and shoot you a wink. 

You’re too tired to say another thing. The potential responsibilities of the day dissipate until you can’t even remember why you wanted to leave in the first place. The sun isn’t even near its peak position, and Choso’s chest is so warm, and the way he smiles at you is lethargic. He presses a kiss to your lips, you taste of yourself and his spit as your heavy eyelids set in the amber light. 

[seretonin-please]

(Just trying something new with my writing lol unedited- )

His new religion ~

His thumb smeared the glittery lipgloss across her lips. She looked up at him, waiting, wanting. The look in her eyes was uncertain yet excited. He carefully parted her lips, gently placing the pad of his thumb flat on her tongue.

Her siren eyes stared into him as she curved her tongue around his thumb. The look she gave him brought out something in him. He wasn’t one to do things like this, especially not in the dark hallway of his best friend's home. But she always managed to bring out the worst parts of him. She tantalizes him, she knows she does. She makes him greedy and he makes her…

He pulled his thumb out of her mouth, replacing it with his own. Her taste, her scent, everything. Everything about her drove him crazy. His fingers traced over her collar bones, to her shoulders, down to her waist. His tongue hungrily licked at hers, feeling the piercing she has on her tongue.

His hands went to her ass, then slightly lower to her thighs, she smiled into the kiss immediately knowing what he wanted. Wordlessly she wrapped her arms around his neck and jumped. He caught her with no problem and eagerly pressed her against the wall. She parted the kiss panting heavily, a knowing smile on her face as he chased her lips.

“I thought you said last time was the last time?” She teased.

“Kiss me.” He pleaded. Desperate to feel every part of her again.

She brushed her lips against his, feeling herself grow more excited in other places as she felt him press himself against her. She loved the look he gave her, the way he looked at her like he’d stop breathing if she’d so much as take her eyes off of him for a second.

She gave him what he wanted, pressing her lips against his, laughing into it as she felt him jolt. The simplest touch of hers electrifying him.

Tonight again he belonged to her, but she and him both knew that he’d belong to her for as long as she’ll have him.

[hyukascampfire]

your taehyun is so northern attitude coded omg

oh my GOD i love northern attitude. he absolutely is, it was like one of the first songs i added to his playlist 😭 the lyrics are like??? actually perfect????

i love u for this anon. i’m glad somebody said it cause i get excited every time i listen to the song 🙂‍↕️

[witchywithwhiskey]

the alpha next door

pairing: alpha!steve rogers x omega!female reader

summary: you and your neighbor are harboring feelings for each other, but both of you think the other is too sweet. then, things take a turn when your first heat since moving in hits, revealing the depth of your feelings for the alpha next door—and his for you.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), omegaverse AU tropes (heats, knots, purring, mating, scenting), piv sex, breeding kink/pregnancy kink (reader's on birth control tho), accidental voyeurism, masturbation (m + f), dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, size kink, pet names (baby), mutual pining, idiots in love, dual pov

word count: 8.9k

a/n: here's my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420's Cum Together Extravaganza!!! i used the A/B/O AU and breeding kink prompts—and this is my very first omegaverse fic!!! so uhhh please be kind because i don't know what i'm doing 😅 also loosely inspired by "too sweet" by hozier!! anyway, this ended up a lot longer than i thought it would be....whoops!! hope y'all enjoy!!!

When you first moved into the little pink cottage next door, Steve Rogers decided that you were too sweet for an ex-soldier alpha like him. An omega like you was filled with sunshine and gentleness, and you deserved an alpha who would treat you like the precious thing you were. 

The kindest thing Steve could do for you was stay away. The thoughts you inspired in his alpha hindbrain had him hating the rough and greedy animal side of himself. He wanted to dig his fingers into your plush hips and bend you over, make you present your pretty little body in the way the alpha in him craved. 

But he reminded himself you were too sweet. Too sweet for the obscene thoughts that plagued his mind. Too sweet to be defiled by a big alpha like him. Too sweet to be swollen and round and glowing because you were carrying his child…

Still, you were his neighbor and Steve couldn’t avoid you entirely, even though everything he saw only reaffirmed his belief that you were too good for him. 

The little pink cottage beside his house had come with a front garden filled with pink roses and all manner of other pink flowers that Steve couldn’t even begin to name, but you tended to them like you’d planted them yourself. Steve would get home from work, park his truck in his driveway—which had a perfect view of your front garden. He’d watch you from behind his tinted windows as you took care of your flowers, looking like a garden fairy come to life.

When Steve eventually grew uncomfortable with how long he’d been watching you, he would get out of his truck and call a gruff hello to you as he made his way inside. Your melodic voice returning his greeting would follow him into his house, where he’d close his door and lean against it, panting like he’d just escaped a warzone while his cock strained against his jeans. But Steve wouldn’t stoop to jerking himself off to the thought of you—at least not while you were just outside. 

On weekends, Steve would work in his backyard, mowing the grass and tending to the shrubs that ran along the line separating his property from yours. When the weather was nice and pleasantly warm, you would sit out on your small back porch, curled up in a wicker chair reading some book or another.

Steve would offer to mow your lawn, just for an excuse to stay outside longer, and be a little bit closer to you. You’d let him, and thank him for his efforts by giving him some ice cold lemonade, smiling up at him while he drank it. Steve wasn’t the least bit surprised the lemonade was more sweet than tart. 

As the weeks and months passed since you’d moved in, Steve couldn’t help but feel his desire for you growing, becoming a living thing curling around his heart, making it beat for you. You were the sweetest and prettiest omega he’d ever met, and he’d be lucky to be your alpha, but he kept his distance, certain you could do better than him.

That is, until your first heat after moving in next door changed everything.

That was when Steve learned you were far more than the innocent little omega he’d determined you to be—you were a creature of sex and desire, made to take an alpha’s knot and be pumped full of come in the hopes that their seed would take root in your womb. When your heat hit fully, your keening wails echoed from your cottage, and they were a siren song that called directly to Steve’s alpha heart.

But he kept himself away. After all, there were polite ways of going about these things, and he’d never even asked you out on a date, so he certainly wasn’t going to assume you wanted his help to get you through your heat. Besides, you hadn’t asked for him to join you, anyway.

That didn’t stop Steve from keeping an eye on you, though.

He’d noticed the slight change in your scent a few days before your heat truly set in, his cock reacting even more to your perfect omega body than normal. Steve felt like he was walking around with a constant bulge in his pants after getting a single whiff of your scent, but he ignored the niggling feeling telling him he needed to be close to you and did his best to hide his reaction. He knew you had other things to worry about than the comfort of the alpha next door. 

Even though something in him compelled him to go to you, Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk over to your cottage. It occurred to him that even if you didn’t want him to help you through your heat, he could offer to go to the store to get the food and provisions you’d need. But he didn’t. He was worried about what he’d do if he looked into your home and saw your nest and smelled your sweet perfume. 

So Steve kept his distance, watching you from his truck and the windows of his house as you brought home a week’s worth of provisions—protein bars and sports drinks that would keep you nourished enough to make it through your heat. Steve wished he could carry the heavy-looking bags into your home, but his cock was pitching a tent in his sweatpants, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with the way his alpha body reacted to your omega scent. 

Finally, as your heat drew closer, you locked up your cottage, closing all the windows and drawing all the curtains. Steve couldn’t help but notice, though, that you left the skylight in your bedroom cracked open a tiny bit. Steve’s alpha hindbrain itched at the thought that you’d only left it open because you couldn’t close it yourself, and he had to hold himself back from going over to your cottage to offer to close it.

Steve knew omegas liked to keep their nests dark and warm and locked up tight. They wanted to keep all the scents created during a heat trapped in their nest, at least until their heat broke. So it was curious that you’d left the skylight open, even a little bit. 

But when your heat hit in earnest that evening, your pitiful whimpers and desperate moans filtering through the open window and directly to Steve’s ears—through the window of his bedroom that he’d thrown open the moment he’d heard you—he forgot about what omegas typically wanted. Instead, all the blood in his body rushed to his cock, making him harder than he’d ever been in his life. 

Steve stood at the window of his bedroom, which overlooked your cottage, his eyes glazing over as he listened to you pant and whine and cry out for an alpha that wasn’t coming. Because of course Steve had noticed that no alpha had arrived to help you through your heat. He assumed you were using any number of the toys that were sold precisely to help unmated omegas get through their heats without an alpha’s help. 

But it meant you were alone, in your nest, riding out your heat on some silicone knot. That thought nearly made Steve storm from his house and barge into your cottage to demand you let him help you, but he reminded himself you were too sweet, too sweet, too sweet for him. So instead, he fisted his cock and listened to your raspy pleas fill the night sky.

“Need your knot, alpha, oh god, please,” you babbled, your voice beautifully melodic to Steve even when you were desperately begging for something he knew he shouldn’t give you. “Fill me up, daddy, I need it—need your knot, alpha—daddy, daddy, alpha, please, please, please!” Your moans grew louder and Steve could only imagine the thick silicone knot that was filling you up the way he should be filling you.

One of Steve’s hands gripped the frame of his window tightly, using the feel of the wood digging into his palm to keep himself grounded as he physically fought with his alpha instincts. He wanted to break into your cottage and rip your toys away from you so he could help you through your heat. Like he was meant to. It should be him inside you, sinking into your warm, welcoming cunt while you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours.

Steve’s other hand gripped his cock, pumping his hard, stiff length with a fist so tight, it was nearly punishing. It helped a little, but his fist was a far cry from your perfect cunt, which would be gushing with wetness and so hot, Steve would feel like he was sinking into heaven and hell at the same time. And when he came, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as emptying his balls right against your cervix, pumping your womb full of his seed while knot locked your bodies together so it would be almost certain he’d knock you up. 

That is, if you weren’t on birth control. Which most unmated omegas were, Steve reminded himself.

Still, the alpha in him was a beast barely caged—he wanted to breed you. 

Steve wanted to see you impaled on his cock and his knot, so bloated from how full you were with his come that he could see it in the way your belly bulged, giving a preview of what you’d look like growing with his child. He wanted to knock you up, he wanted to see you swollen and round with his pup. 

He wanted to keep fucking you even as you carried his child, watching you bounce on his knot, your tits swollen with milk and your belly big and round while he tried to fill your womb with another before you’d even popped out the first. Steve wanted to keep you pregnant all the time, your pretty little omega body always ripe and swollen with his pups, taking his knot and his come every moment of the day so he could make sure you were always glowing with the radiance of motherhood.

It was that image of you—beautiful and knocked up, your eyes hazy with pleasure that came only from being impaled on his cock, and being locked on his knot—that made Steve come. 

He grunted as the pleasure of his fist and his thoughts of you finally became too much, wrapping both his hands around his thick length, one squeezing his knot while the other pumped the rest of his shaft. His come erupted from the tip, streaming over the windowsill and dripping down to his bare feet on the wooden floor of his bedroom.

A growl tore from Steve’s lips while he came, a deep, dark part of his alpha hindbrain responding furiously to the fact that he was wasting his seed. He should be emptying his balls deep in your fertile cunt while your slick walls gripped his knot and milked every drop of his seed into your womb, where it belonged. 

Steve’s release seemed to last for ages, longer than he’d ever experienced before, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his head finally started to clear when it abated, he would’ve been worried he’d gone into rut. But finally, Steve surfaced from the depths of his pleasure, and winced when he remembered the thoughts that had made him come.

Steve was appalled by the direction in which his imagination had gone, and felt guilty for imagining you in such a state as pregnant and bouncing on his cock—even as the reminder made his cock leak one last spurt of his release. Cursing and castigating himself, Steve moved away from the window to clean himself up and wipe down the spot where he’d been standing. 

The entire time he was cleaning up after himself, Steve felt off-balance. He’d never felt such a pull toward an omega before you, and he’d never been so close to going into rut just from listening to an omega whimper and moan. If he didn’t know better, he would think you were his mate—the one omega in the whole world who was perfect for him. 

But Steve pushed that thought aside and reminded himself you were too sweet for an alpha like him. You might’ve sounded desperate and needy while you suffered through your heat alone, but you deserved better than an alpha who could think of nothing else besides pumping you full of come and knocking you up with his child.

Steve felt disturbed all over again when he thought of the vivid, obscene things he’d imagined while he’d jerked himself off. He’d never been the type of alpha to get off on the idea of breeding, let alone pictured anyone swollen with his kid while they were impaled on his cock. Steve felt so far out of his depth, he swiped his clean hand down his face to try to regain the equilibrium that had been shattered by your pretty omega sounds.

Thankfully, you’d gone blessedly quiet at some point when Steve had been coming all over his windowsill. He tossed the rag he’d used to clean up his mess into the laundry and flopped down on his bed, knowing he wouldn’t be getting any rest that night. It was a good thing he’d called out of work on heat leave.

Even as Steve lay in his bed, the refrain that you were too sweet for him repeating in his mind, he couldn’t help hoping that you were getting some much-needed rest. He’d never been one to worry over much about whether someone was sleeping or eating, but he wondered if you’d had a protein bar and drank a sports drink before falling asleep. He knew you needed to keep up your strength if you’d make it through your heat. 

His thoughts spinning around in his mind, Steve fell into a light, fitful sleep, his alpha hindbrain remaining alert and attuned to the sounds coming from your cottage. Little did he know, it wouldn’t be long before everything would change. Something would happen that would force Steve to finally give in to the connection between him and the omega next door.

When you woke on the second morning of your heat, it was to a burning need cutting through your core, urging you to roll onto your knees and sink down on the silicone knot toy that had slipped from your pussy while you slept. Unbidden, the face of the alpha next door, Steve Rogers, popped into your mind and you sobbed through another wave of aching desire, wishing desperately that he was with you to help you through your heat.

You hadn’t met the alpha until after you’d moved into the little pink cottage next door to his much larger home, and you were instantly smitten with the former soldier. He was big—so much bigger than you—with broad shoulders and bulging biceps that were barely hidden beneath the tight t-shirts he always seemed to wear. But it was Steve’s thighs that were always so distracting to you, so thick they made you want to ride them until your slick was drenching his jeans.

A pitiful moan fell from your lips as you reached between your thighs, grasping blindly for the toy you’d discarded in your sleep. With your face still shoved into a pillow and sleep still clinging to the edges of your consciousness, you slid down on the thick silicone cock, pretending it belonged to Steve. 

The alpha next door was just so…sweet. 

It hadn’t taken you long after moving into your cottage to learn your neighbor’s schedule, and you made sure to always be working in the garden in front of your home when he got back from work. You lived for the growly greetings he would call to you, and the faint blush that would graze his cheekbones, like he was shy around you, his harmless omega neighbor. 

And on the weekends, when you knew Steve wasn’t working, you sat on your back porch reading—though you were more often ogling the fit alpha’s shoulders and arms as he worked in his backyard. The sun would shine on Steve’s blond hair and make him look like a golden god, with sparkling blue eyes that would occasionally flick in your direction, though you didn’t think he was really looking at you.

Of course, when he’d offer to mow your lawn, you’d let him. Then, to show the alpha your thanks, you’d make him some nice refreshing lemonade. If that meant you could watch him quench his thirst while you imagined his sweet mouth on your body, drinking your slick as eagerly as he drank your lemonade, then that was just a bonus to being a good neighbor. Right?

It had become abundantly clear to you that you harbored a crush on Steve, and it was nearly excruciating living next to him when he didn’t seem interested in making a move on his omega neighbor. After all, it had been months, and he’d been nothing but friendly and respectful and sweet. 

It was obvious, at least to you, that Steve was too sweet for you—too sweet to be the rough, dominant alpha you craved. Too sweet to bend you over and impale you on his thick cock with one stroke. Too sweet to shove his knot into your cunt and make you come so hard you saw stars. Too sweet to knock you up over and over again, filling up that big house of his with pups that you’d created together. 

You’d told yourself it was for the best that Steve kept his distance. If he couldn’t be what you needed, then you didn’t want your crush to develop into unrequited feelings. But your heart didn’t listen, so you kept putting yourself in situations where you’d get to see your neighbor—working in your front garden when he got home, sitting on your back porch while he was in his backyard. 

Then, you began to feel your heat coming on, and your thoughts about the alpha next door only worsened. It wasn’t uncommon anymore for unmated omegas to ask alpha friends or acquaintances to help them through their heats, but the prospect of asking Steve for his help, getting to come all over his knot for days on end, and then trying to go back to the way things were sounded torturous. 

Instead, you went about your heat preparations as you always did, gathering supplies from the grocery store and stocking up the minifridge in your bedroom with sports drinks while you piled your bedside table high with protein bars. You closed and locked all the doors and windows of your cottage, drawing the curtains tight to keep out the sun. 

You knew you were a bit of an odd omega, and you didn’t like total darkness in your nest, which was why you had been the only one interested in the little cottage. It had a skylight in the bedroom that any other omega would want closed and covered during their heat. The window itself was covered in a film that dampened most of the direct  sunlight and you enjoyed the natural light, even when you were deep in your heat, so it was perfect for you.

It occurred to you, as you were preparing your room, that if you cracked open the skylight, the sounds you made during your heat would filter out from your cottage. Your desperate cries for a knot might even be heard by the alpha next door…

Later, you’d blame your decision to leave the skylight open on the dangerous combination of your pre-heat brain and the exquisite agony of your crush on Steve. But by that time, the little decision you’d made in the urgency of your heat preparations would’ve irrevocably changed your life—for the better—and you wouldn’t give a thought to regretting what you’d done.

Still, on that second morning of your heat, when you were woken by the need to be knotted and flooded with come, you didn’t even remember that you’d decided to leave the skylight open. So you had no idea whether it was working or not, whether Steve could hear you—but he wasn’t far from your thoughts as you rode your silicone alpha toy, trying to slake the need that burned through your body. 

Your heats were always a little hazy, like most omega’s, with desire and need pounding through your blood so insistently, you couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. Your mind could only focus on getting a cock inside you, then a knot and, if you’d had an alpha to help you, the gush of their come. Since you were so mindless, you uttered words that you’d forgotten the second they fell from your lips.

The first night of your heat, when you’d had a moment of clear-headedness enough to gulp down a sports drink and scarf a protein bar, you’d hoped you hadn’t cried out anything that would embarrass you—like Steve’s name. You’d had a vague memory of calling out for an alpha, which was normal for an unmated omega, and a daddy, which was normal for you, given your desires when you weren’t going through your heat. But you’d breathed a sigh of relief when you didn’t remember calling out for Steve specifically. 

You couldn’t imagine what would happen if you cried out Steve’s name while in heat. But you were about to find out.

The silicone toy in your cunt wasn’t cutting it. It had been just fine that first night, though you hadn’t felt as satisfied as you normally did, and you hadn’t slept as long as you typically did in between waves of your heat. Something about this heat felt different. You weren’t just desperate for an alpha’s knot and come, you wanted more…

You wanted a pup. You wanted an alpha’s cock shoved deep in your cunt, unloading their come against your cervix, filling your womb with a seed that would take and knock you up. You wanted to be bred—and not just by any alpha. You wanted the alpha next door to breed you.

Steve. You wanted Steve. You needed Steve. 

“Please,” you gasped, the word leaving your lips as you thought of your big, sweet alpha neighbor. His face came easily to your mind, those sparkling blue eyes and soft lips, that strong jaw and the way a blush turned his cheeks the most perfect shade of pink. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need your come,” you whined, speaking to the image of Steve in your mind.

You pushed yourself up onto your knees, grabbing one of the many pillows from your bed and shoving it between your thighs, forcing the silicone alpha cock deeper into your cunt. Still, it wasn’t enough, even as you tried to make due. 

You rocked your hips, trying to replicate the feeling of fucking yourself on an alpha’s cock, but it paled in comparison. A desperate whine worked its way up your throat, filling your room and slipping from the skylight into the morning air.

“Please, daddy, wanna have your baby,” you cried, your hands going to your tits and tugging on your nipples so roughly, pleasure and pain swirled through your body, creating a tornado of sensation that only fed the need burning in your core. “Wan’ you to knock me up, alpha, wanna give you pups, wan’ you to suck on my milky tits while you fuck me, daddy.” You groped your breasts, pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself, the sensations making your cunt gush slick all over the toy inside you. 

The pleasure was gathering in your core, making you more desperate to reach the pinnacle of your climax. Your hips worked, humping the pillow and cock between your thighs, shoving yourself down against the knot at the base of the toy, knowing it was what you needed to come, but your pussy was still too tight to take it. 

“Oh god, I need it, alpha, I need it, I need it,” you babbled mindlessly, fucking yourself furiously on the toy and still wishing it was Steve’s cock. 

You pictured him beneath you, his cheeks tinged pink, not with a blush, but with the flush of his desire for you, his blue eyes nearly black from his pupils blowing wide as he stared up at you. His soft mouth parted as he groaned, his thick cock buried in your tight cunt, twitching as you squeezed him.

It was with that image in your mind that the fateful words spilled from your lips. You cried out desperately, “Knock me up, daddy, gimme your pup, please—please, breed me, Steve!” 

So close to the edge of your release, you barely heard the distant crashing sound that echoed between your little cottage and the house that belonged to the alpha next door. All you heard were your gasping breaths and mindless moans, the toy shoving into your cunt making low squelching noises that only managed to turn you on more. 

It was only when a much closer smashing sound preceded the swirl of cool morning air infiltrating your home, and flooding into your nest, that you were able to drag your attention away from your own desperate frustration. Your omega instincts were going haywire, part of you telling you something was wrong, while another part unfurled and shifted, like a flower blooming toward the sun. 

Blinking your eyes to clear away the haze of your heat, your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ of surprise at the sight of the alpha in your bedroom doorway. 

Steve’s big body filled the doorway, his hands clutching the wooden frame while his chest heaved with heavy breaths. It looked like he was trying to hold himself back, his grip so tight on your doorframe that a distant part of your mind worried it might splinter beneath his palms. But you couldn’t think too closely about that, not when your neighbor was staring at you with a crazed look in his eyes, like he wanted to fill you with his knot as badly as you wanted to be filled.

Your too sweet alpha neighbor’s mouth—which was normally curved in a soft, friendly smile—was twisted with ferocious lust, and when he spoke, his voice was a rough growl like nothing you’d ever heard from Steve. 

“Invite me into your bed,” he rumbled, the order clear in his voice even if he didn’t use his alpha command. “Ask me to help you through your heat, tell me you want me here,” he went on through clenched teeth, an edge of desperation in his tone that called your heart—and your cunt. “Tell me you want me, omega.” His fingers gripped the doorframe tighter, and you heard the wood creak beneath his strength. 

Your pussy spasmed and your heart lurched when Steve called you by your designation, but it was when his scent hit you that you felt something inside your being shift and lock into place. Steve smelled like home—like safety and security and love. He smelled like a future of wrangling children together and making love together and sitting on a porch swing together and growing old together. 

In that moment, you knew what your instincts had known from the moment you met Steve—he was your mate. He was the one alpha in all the world who was meant for you, just as you were the omega meant for him. And once you knew that, it was the easiest thing in the world to part your lips and beg him to join you in your nest, in your bed, and help you through your heat.

“Please, Steve—please, mate, please help me,” you begged, your voice breathy with need and excitement, tears of joy shining in your eyes. 

Something shifted in Steve’s expression when you called him your mate. You watched as he took a deep breath, scenting you the way you had him. A riot of emotions swirled in those beautiful blue eyes of his—disbelief, acknowledgement, acceptance, satisfaction, pride. You saw the moment he realized what you’d only just discovered, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

“My omega, my mate,” Steve growled, finally letting go of the doorframe and launching himself at you.

Finally—finally—Steve was coming to you, closing the distance between you, and you’d never been happier in all your life. The alpha next door was your mate, and you hoped that meant he would be more than willing to knock you up and breed you like you needed.

Steve had woken from his fitful sleep to the sound of your sweet cries that morning, though they sounded much more desperate to his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but you sounded less than satisfied with whatever toy you were using and Steve slid a hand down to his already hard cock, thinking you should’ve been riding him instead of some silicone dick.

He’d lazily stroked his cock, trying to restrain himself from coming all over his stomach, while listening to your increasingly desperate cries. Steve had fisted a hand in the sheets of his bed, hoping it would be enough to hold himself back from storming over to your cottage and taking your heat into his own hands. 

Then, Steve heard you cry out his name and something in him snapped. Before he even knew what he was doing, he’d thrown on some boxer briefs and stormed out of his bedroom, leaping down the stairs and throwing open the front door of his house so ferociously, he’d ripped it off some of the hinges. 

Not even caring that he was leaving his door open, Steve charged over to your cottage, taking a little bit more care with your front door when he broke the lock and pushed it open, flinging it closed behind him. He knew it was likely stuck closed thanks to the broken lock, but Steve only cared that it would prevent anyone else from getting into your home. He’d deal with getting out later. Much later.

Finally, Steve got to the doorway of your bedroom, your nest, and he’d stumbled to a stop at the sight that lay before him.

You were perched in the center of your big bed, a pillow wedged between your thighs, the knot of a toy barely visible while you humped futilely on the fake cock. Your delicate fingers groped your tits, squeezing your soft flesh and pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself—that thought making even more blood rush to Steve’s cock. Desperate whimpers and whines fell from your lips, more pleas to be knocked up and filled with pups, and they were nearly his undoing.

At the last second, Steve gripped the doorframe, holding himself back from pouncing on you, as he tried to remember why he shouldn’t be there. You were an unmated omega, in heat, and he hadn’t gotten permission to be in your nest, let alone help you through your heat. And you were too sweet for him…

God, you looked sweet, though. Sweet enough that Steve’s mouth watered with the thought of how slick you were, how good you would taste on his tongue. Even from the doorway, he could see the way your wetness had soaked the pillow between your thighs. He wanted to taste you, to scent you, he wanted you. 

Steve was seconds away from launching himself at you when your gaze finally landed on him. It was the delighted surprise in your eyes that urged him to ground out a desperate plea for consent to enter your room and help you through your heat. Blessedly, you seemed coherent enough to answer—but you didn’t only answer and beg for his help, you called him your mate.

That word struck a chord in Steve’s chest, his heart pounding even harder at the impossible prospect that you were his mate—that you were meant to be his. But he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of you and opening himself up to the possibility that you were his. 

You even smelled sweet, like the pink roses in your front garden—or, rather, the peace Steve felt when he came home to find you tending to your flowers. You smelled like the warmth of a gentle fire and the giddiness of butterfly kisses. You smelled like life, like the time unfurling before the two of you, years and decades spent with each other, making each other happy. 

It was as if Steve truly came alive for the first time when he scented you, and the last tether of the self-restraint holding him back from you snapped. 

“My omega, my mate,” he rumbled in a low purr, a voice he’d never even heard himself use before. But he didn’t have time to think about that too closely—he only knew he needed to get to you. 

As quickly as he could, Steve surged into your room, tearing off his boxer briefs—the only clothing he’d had the presence of mind to put on, and he was thankful for it, since it saved him the grief of a public indecency charge—in the few steps it took to get to your bed.

By the time Steve tackled you into the tangle of blankets and pillows, he was naked as the day he was born, his cock throbbing with need and brushing against swaths of your soft, bare skin, leaving his precum behind. The alpha cradled your body in his strong arms as he rolled you beneath him, his narrow hips slotting perfectly between your plush thighs, his hard length resting against your mound. 

But there was something in his way, something that shouldn’t be inside you and Steve couldn’t help but growl, “Get that fucking toy out of my cunt, ‘mega.” He softened the fury in his voice with light, fleeting kisses to your cheeks and temple and forehead, greedy to taste the sweetness of your skin.

“Yes, alpha,” you gasped, fumbling between your bodies to wrench the silicone dick from your tight hole. 

The sweet submission in your voice was too much for Steve—he had to taste it. Slanting his lips to yours, Steve kissed you for the first time, groaning into your mouth at the wondrous feeling of your mouth beneath his. You tasted better than you smelled, like radiant sunshine bursting on his tongue and casting a golden glow over his entire body. 

Deepening the kiss, Steve plundered your mouth, stroking his tongue against yours and nipping at your lips until you were gasping and panting beneath him. Your entire body trembled with unslaked need, your fingers clinging to his bulging biceps as you cried out for him, all of which stroked Steve’s alpha ego so much, his cock twitched and leaked against your belly.

“Please, Steve—daddy—alpha—I need you inside me,” you wailed in a broken voice and Steve’s instincts took over.

He shifted his hips back, the tip of his cock finding your slick hole and he pushed forward, sinking his hard length into your cunt with one thrust. Steve’s entire world realigned, his heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your tight heat consuming him, overwhelming him. An animalistic groan left his lips, and he buried the sound in your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried not to come immediately.

With Steve’s cock finally buried inside you, he felt your body relax beneath him, your moan of pleasure dissolving into a sigh of relief. Steve’s hindbrain felt a deep satisfaction at the way you melted in his arms, your submission to him apparent in the loosening of your muscles. Finding your lips again, Steve kissed you sweetly, cherishing the moment of calm before your heat urged the two of you to move.

“Thank you, alpha,” you whispered, your voice soft and blissful and the most content Steve had heard it since your heat began in earnest the day before. “The toys weren’t working.” You pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek on your way to burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing so deeply he could hear your inhale, making his cock twitch in the depths of your pussy. 

Then, your words pierced through the haze of pleasure in Steve’s mind and he purred, smiling into your neck when you relaxed further beneath him, responding to him.

“You needed your mate, didn’t you, baby?” Steve cooed, lavishing your neck with kisses until you were whining and squirming beneath him. “Needed your daddy to pound your needy little cunt like only your alpha could, huh?” He started rolling his hips in tight circles, grinding into your cunt, his knot rubbing your clit in a way that had you clenching deliciously around him. “Needed me to pump your sweet little womb full of come, huh, needed me to give you a pup?” 

As soon as the heated words fell from Steve’s lips, he wished he could take them back. He’d heard you beg him to breed you, but that was when you were riding a silicone alpha dick, not when you were seconds away from taking Steve’s knot. 

Mentally, Steve chastised himself for letting his mouth run away from him so soon. He’d barely gotten his cock in you and he was already talking about knocking you up. He didn’t want you to think he was that kind of alpha, one that only wanted an omega to pump out babies for him—even though the thought did make Steve rock hard.

“Sorry, ‘mega,” Steve mumbled, shifting his arms beneath your body so he could cradle your head in one hand, holding you still while he rocked his hips into yours, kissing your cheek and jaw and neck and anywhere he could reach. 

“Sorry for what?” you asked on a gasp, hooking your legs around Steve’s sides and clinging to him so you could grind on his thick cock. 

Thankfully, you didn’t seem turned off or scared by Steve’s breeding talk. If anything, the way you arched your spine and shoved your cunt down on his dick made him think you liked it. But surely that couldn’t be true.

“Didn’t mean to mention pups so soon,” Steve said gruffly, hiding his face in your neck so you wouldn’t see the blush that he knew was turning his cheeks pink. 

“Oh god,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing Steve’s cock as your body writhed beneath his. “Wanna give you so many pups, alpha,” you cried, humping up from beneath Steve’s big body, riding his cock harder than you’d been riding your toy when he’d walked in. 

Steve went cross-eyed at the assault on his senses. Between the perfect heat of your slick pussy gripping his cock, teasing his knot every time you rocked against him, and the sound of your sweet voice confessing you wanted him to knock you up, Steve’s body shuddered with the effort it took not slam his knot home and flood your womb with his seed to give you exactly what you wanted.

“You like that idea, huh?” Steve rumbled, hungry passion and desire coursing through his body and urging him to move faster, to fuck you harder. He pulled out of your fluttering pussy and slammed back inside, relishing the desperate cry that left your lips and the way your fingers dug into the muscles of his arms. “You like it when your alpha tells you how much he wants to breed you?” 

Despite his best efforts, Steve could hear the thread of insecurity in his question, and he wasn’t surprised when you cupped his face and moved his head up so you could look into his eyes. What he didn’t expect was the sheer amount of pleasure and desire in your hazy gaze, or the mixture of sweetness and depravity in the little smirk you gave him.

“I do, daddy,” you said, your voice breathy but no less firm in your resolve. “I want to hear everything you’ve thought about doing to your little omega—want you to breed me, alpha.” 

Everything else in the world melted away as Steve focused on you—his omega, his mate—and the fact that he was going to try his damndest to give you what you wanted. After all, that was his duty as your alpha. You were his to take care of, to provide for, to protect, to cherish—to fuck and to knot. 

You were his to love—you were his to breed. And Steve planned on loving you and breeding you plenty.

You’d never felt anything so good as Steve sinking his thick alpha cock into your weeping cunt, and you nearly sobbed in relief as the edge of aching, burning need finally abated. This was what you needed—not a toy or any alpha’s cock, but your mate’s. Your body and omega instincts had known something was wrong, and it had taken a slip of your tongue to fix it. 

Even if it had been an accident to cry out Steve’s name, you couldn’t feel embarrassed about it, not when you finally felt something like satisfaction. The need of your heat still burned bright beneath your skin, but for a moment, you could revel in the feeling of being so intimately connected to your mate, your Steve—the alpha next door. 

The words of thanks had slipped past your lips before you could stop them, and you loved the teasing way he responded. But then you felt a shift in Steve. He’d seemed to feel guilty for mentioning pups, but even his apology turned you on, making your arousal burn hotter. Your body had been unable to still when you needed him so badly—needed to give him pups, needed to grow round with his child and know that he had claimed you in the most primal way possible. 

Your brain had short-circuited when Steve had said he wanted to breed you, but you’d still heard the anxiousness in his tone and you’d guided his head up so you could look at him. The uncertainty and guilt in Steve’s beautiful blue eyes nearly broke your heart. He was too sweet for words, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with even the words he said in the heat of the moment. 

Between one breath and the next, you fell in love with Steve Rogers. He wasn’t simply the alpha next door, he was your mate, and he was yours. A fierce possessiveness filled your chest as you smirked up at your alpha, determining to show him exactly how much you wanted everything he’d said.

“Want you to breed me, alpha,” you begged on a moan, your hips rising up off the bed to meet the brutal thrusts of your mate. “Fill me up with your pups, daddy, please, I need it!” You held Steve’s gaze, letting him see the pleasure on your face, hear the genuineness of your words. 

You saw the moment Steve’s insecurity and guilt melted into desire and determination. His blue eyes darkened and his face twisted into a mask of sinful resolve. He looked like a fallen god, with his golden hair and tanned skin, framed perfectly in the little bit of morning light filtering in through the skylight above your bed. Your pussy clenched around his cock, fluttering as he thrust inside you, teasing your hole with his knot.

“Don’t worry, ‘mega,” Steve rumbled, ducking down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that left you gasping for breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your eyes. “We’re making a baby today.”

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, spreading your legs wider in an effort to let Steve fuck you deeper. He grinned, shifting his hands to your thighs and pushing them up against your chest, folding you in half and pounding you into the bed. 

“Gonna fill up your perfect cunt with all the seed in my balls, and if it doesn’t take today, ‘m gonna fill you up until you’re overflowing with my come—until your belly’s bulging with it,” Steve growled, rutting into you with a ferociousness you never would’ve expected from your sweet alpha neighbor. But Steve’s sweetness was never far from the surface, and he proved it by lowering his voice to a deep rumble that you felt in your belly, asking, “Mm, ’s that what you want, baby, want daddy to give you a pup?”

You were pinned beneath Steve, his cock fucking you so hard, your room was filing with the wet squelching sounds of your soaking cunt and the sharp rhythm of your alpha’s thighs slapping against your own. But still, it was his words that seemed to have the most effect on you, turning you into a writhing, needy creature who’d only be satisfied when Steve emptied his balls deep in your cunt. 

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, your fingers clinging to Steve’s shoulders, digging into his warm, golden skin while he fucked you into oblivion. “Want you to knock me up, wanna give you a pup, wanna grow big and round with your child and feed you both from my milky tits,” you babbled, throwing your head back and screaming when Steve’s cock hit against your cervix, pleasure and pain swirling like an inferno in your body. “Please, daddy, god, I need it, I need it—knot me, breed, me, Steve, please!” 

“Baby,” Steve groaned, capturing your lips in another kiss while he rutted into you faster and harder, his knot pressing against your tight hole with every thrust and teasing you with the stretch of it. “You’re gonna get a pup, alright,” he growled when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna pop out a kid for me and then I’m gonna fill you right back up.” Steve moaned, his body shuddering and you knew he was close. “Wanna watch you bounce on my cock with your belly ripe and swollen with my pups, your tits heavy with milk—the prettiest mommy and mate an alpha could ask for.” 

“Steve,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, kissing him and thrusting your hips up to meet his. “Please, make me a mommy, alpha—wanna be a mommy, please, daddy, daddy, please!” Then your lips were too preoccupied with Steve’s, kissing him messily in between desperate moans while he fucked you hard and fast. 

Finally, Steve pulled back and thrust forward with so much power, his knot pushed inside your tight cunt and you screamed in pleasure, the feeling of his thick bulge stretching your tight hole sending you over the edge into the most earth-shattering release you’d felt in your life. It was a transcendental experience, coming on your mate’s cock, your alpha surrounding you and filling you up in every way possible.

As your body squeezed Steve’s cock, he groaned loudly in your ear, burying his face in your neck while his hips stuttered against yours, trying to fuck you with his knot but unable to move because your bodies were locked so tightly together. Then, with a moan of, “my mate,” you felt the moment Steve began to come. His cock twitched deep inside your cunt, a warmth filling you as he shot rope after rope of come against your cervix, filling your womb.

For a long time, the two of you stayed locked together, riding out your releases in each other’s embrace. Giggles and moans filled the room, each of you kissing the other wherever you could reach while you basked in your pleasure together. You breathed in the scent of Steve, your lips dragging up and down the column of his throat while he kissed your neck and shoulder and just beneath your ear, making you shiver. 

Eventually, when the squeezing of your cunt was reduced to a flutter and your body had milked every last drop of seed from Steve’s cock, the two of you settled. Your heat had abated for the moment. Though need still burned low in the core of your body, reminding you it wasn’t over just yet. 

But you had a bit of a respite, and you took the time to revel in you newfound mate. Turning your head, you pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, which was flushed pink with pleasure.

You felt Steve’s smile against your skin and then he was rising up so you could see the full blush that tinged your alpha’s cheeks. He looked so sweet and ruined, his blond hair a mess, his blue eyes bright with satisfaction, a deeply smug smile on his plump lips. 

“Feeling better, ‘mega?” he asked, though there was so much male satisfaction in his tone, you were certain he already knew the answer. 

Still, you liked seeing this side of Steve. Typically you didn’t like cocky alphas, but Steve looked so hot when he was confident, your pussy fluttered around his knot at the sight of his smirk.

“I am, daddy,” you said softly, smiling up at your alpha, enjoying the way his smirk deepened as you confirmed what he knew. You couldn’t help but stroke his ego a little more. “Now that you’re here to take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he pressed a heated kiss to your lips. “Good,” he said when he pulled away. Then his arms were wrapping around you and he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were splayed across his broad chest, your bodies still locked together by his knot. 

It would deflate soon enough, but you reveled in the feeling while it lasted, snuggling into Steve’s arms. Sleep called to you, but Steve was still moving and you when you opened your eyes, you found him reaching for your stash of provisions on your bedside table.

“Gotta eat and hydrate, baby,” Steve murmured as he unwrapped a protein bar and began feeding it to you. Even though you were exhausted, you knew he was right and you let him feed you, only sitting up when it was time to gulp down some of the sports drink he offered you. “Good girl, ‘mega, doing so well for your alpha,” Steve said, praising you while you ate and drank.

When you were done, Steve tossed the empty wrappers and bottles back onto your bedside table and relaxed into the many pillows on your bed. You settled down on his chest, your body sated in every way possible, muscles going loose when your alpha began to purr. 

“Thank you, alpha,” you mumbled, the urge to sleep more insistent since you were fed. Steve’s hands smoothed down your back, tracing your spine lightly with his fingertips in a way that made you melt even further into him. 

“Don’t need to thank me,” he grumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. “You’re my mate, ‘m gonna do everything I can to take care of you—and our kids.” He added the last bit like it was an afterthought, but you knew Steve meant it, and your heart warmed at his protectiveness. 

You smiled into Steve’s warm skin, nuzzling into his neck beneath his jaw, breathing in the scent of him—the scent of home—but his words made you remember something you should tell him. 

“Steve, ‘m on birth control,” you murmured sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the thick column of his neck. “Thought you should know.” You snorted a little, laughing at yourself for the silliness of your last statement, even though it was true.

The rumble of Steve’s purr changed as he chuckled, his strong arms tightening around your waist for a moment before he grabbed a blanket and pulled it up over your cooling bodies. “Figured, ‘mega,” he rumbled, his voice so warm, you could hear his smile. “Doesn’t mean ‘m gonna stop picturing you round with my pup, even if it’s a while before that happens.”

“Mm,” you hummed in acknowledgment, then pouted as you processed his words. “As long as it’s not a long while,” you muttered, hardly listening to what you were saying because you were so close to sleep.

Steve chuckled again, his hands squeezing you lightly. “It’ll be as long or as short as you want, baby,” he assured you in a gruff voice that was thick with just as much tiredness as yours. “I’d give you a pup today if I could.” 

You smiled, your heart filling with emotion, and pressed your lips to your alpha’s neck. You might’ve been exhausted, but it didn’t stop you from murmuring the words your heart urged you to say, “I love you, Steve.” 

Steve’s purr deepened, and he held you close, no hesitation in his voice when he said, “I love you, too.” Your alpha brushed a kiss to your cheek and smacked your ass very lightly. “Now rest, omega, we still have to get through the rest of your heat.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face, feeling safe and protected and satisfied in the arms of your mate, your bodies still locked together by Steve’s knot. You never would’ve expected anything to come of your crush on your neighbor—and you never would’ve expected he’d be a perfect fit for your desires, let alone your mate. 

But, you knew the two of you were going to live a happy life together—and you couldn’t wait to spend every moment of it with the alpha next door.